... And, with far too many other demands on their budgets, governments had been unwilling to make that commitment.
And the treaty stipulated that the system had to be largely undefended, he thought, sourly. I don’t think anyone wants to invest billions of pounds when they could lose their investment overnight.
“Which means that the colonists will probably not be inclined to listen to us,” Susan said, finally. “Strong-minded independent types?”
“Mostly,” Henry said. “Each of the Great Powers provided a cadre of settlers, but it wasn't easy to find suitable volunteers without offering massive inducements. There are just too many other potential destinations. The ones who did volunteer were people who wanted to be away from the government or had some ... reason ... for wanting to leave the Human Sphere permanently. I think they were seriously considering deporting small-time criminals to make up the numbers.”
“God help them,” Susan said. “Did they ever try?”
“Not to Unity, thankfully,” Henry said. “Someone pointed out that it would be bad if the Tadpoles got a good look at what sort of bastards we could be.”
“They captured a database or two of our popular entertainment,” Susan pointed out. She smiled, rather thinly. “I’m surprised they didn't insist on fighting the war to the bitter end.”
Henry shrugged. The Tadpoles hadn't understood much of the entertainment files they’d captured - and, even with human cultural experts trying to bridge the gap, they’d never really made progress. Much human entertainment was as incomprehensible to them as their entertainment was to human observers. Trying to explain the ninth season of Star Trek had wasted a couple of hours, even though the tenth season had featured a Tadpole officer on the Enterprise-Z. They just hadn't understood what they were seeing.
He put the matter aside as he leaned forward. “The planetary settlers, we think, will help us, but they may also resent us,” he warned. “That’s another problem for me.”
Susan lifted her eyebrows. “You've been there?”
“Not for five years,” Henry said. He’d visited twice, once when the first colony was landed and again when the third batch of settlers arrived, but he hadn't had much time to look around. The handful of settlers he’d met had struck him as the usual hardy outdoors type, eyeing him with disdain for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. “I imagine things will have changed a great deal in that time.”
“Probably,” Susan agreed.
Henry gave her a long look. “Can I ask a more personal question?”
Susan lifted her eyebrows, but nodded shortly.
“Tell me,” Henry said. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I caught a couple of hours sleep last night,” Susan said. She seemed surprised by the question, which nagged at his mind until he remembered she’d been bombarded with sharp questions, all prying into her innermost thoughts and feelings, over the last month. “There’s too much to do, Your Excellency.”
“I would still advise a sounder sleep,” Henry said, delicately. He wouldn't have liked to be told anything of the sort, back when he'd been a starfighter pilot ... and he knew, all too well, that Kurt Schneider would not have hesitated to tell him to go to his bunk - and ground him from flying, if he refused to take proper care of himself. “There’s still a day or two before the fleet has to move to the RV point, right?”
“Yes,” Susan said. She cleared her throat. “I’ve been away from this ship for a month, Your Excellency. I have to command her in battle, but I don’t have anything like a complete understanding of her new capabilities - not yet. The new weapons mix is largely unfamiliar to me, as are the repairs and modifications made to her hull. I have to know what I have in my hand before I try to use it.”
“And you are on the verge of falling asleep,” Henry said, gently. “You’ll have two months, in transit, to get to know your ship. I’m sure your crew will have brought any significant concerns to your attention by now.”
“We may not know they are significant concerns,” Susan said. She looked, just for a moment, as if she was fighting back a yawn. “But you may have a point.”
“It’s no good getting back in the command chair,” Henry said, “if you put yourself in sickbay through overwork.”
Susan gave him a sharp look, which - in itself - proved just how tired she was. Glaring at an ambassador, even one she probably considered a friend of sorts, was never a good idea. He resisted the urge to point it out and waited, knowing he couldn't go any further. Calling the ship’s doctor might be technically within his power, depending on how one looked at it, but it would utterly destroy their working relationship. She’d see it as a betrayal.
And she doesn't know I spoke up for her, he thought, numbly. He was sure of that, now. She isn’t used to having anyone stand up for her.
“I’ll catch some sleep,” Susan said, finally. “And I’ll expect a full copy of your department’s findings before you transfer - if you transfer.”
“I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair,” Henry promised. He rose and bowed politely as she rose too. “And you’ll be first in line to hear what we discover.”
“Try and find a way to talk to them,” Susan said. “Fighting the war would be a great deal easier if we knew what they wanted.”
Chapter Eight
The shuttle hatch didn't look ominous - it was a standard hatch, no different from countless others installed on countless starships - but George couldn't help feeling a flicker of nervousness as she stared at the blank metal and waited. She’d received the update only ten minutes ago, informing her that the shuttle carrying the new midshipmen was on its way and hurried down to the hatch, without even bothering to change into her dress uniform. She still wasn't sure if that had been a wise move or not.
You were a prefect, she told herself, as she clasped her hands behind her back. You shouldn't be concerned about bossing younger students around.
But these aren't younger students, her own thoughts answered her. Two of them are older than me - and one of them would be in command, save for a fluke chance.
She sucked in her breath as the indicator over the hatch turned from red to green. She'd gone through the files, as Fraser had suggested, but they’d left her with more questions than answers. There was no clear reason why Paula had been beached for so long, no suggestion as to what horrible crime she’d committed. It was possible, George supposed, that she’d accidentally been rude to the Captain’s wife, but surely that would have been included in the files. Her commander would have had to give some reason why he was issuing such a harsh punishment. Transferring her sideways - to an asteroid mining station - would have been easier.
The hatch hissed open. She stood straighter as four young officers filed into the compartment and snapped to attention, saluting the flag and then saluting her. George returned the salute, taking advantage of the opportunity to study them carefully. Both Simon Potter and Paula looked older than her, the latter so crisp in her white uniform that she could have stepped off a recruiting poster. Her blonde hair was cut short in a determined attempt to render her features masculine, much like George herself. She couldn't help wondering if she’d found a kindred soul.
“Welcome aboard,” she said, allowing her eyes to roam over them. “I am Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam, First Middy.”
Simon Potter’s handsome face was a mask, but she saw a flicker of irritation crossing his features before he managed to hide it. A handful of extra days and he would have been First Middy ... that had to sting. His uniform was neat, but not crisp; it was clear, even to the untrained eye, that he’d been a midshipman for over a year. He lacked the freshness of a midshipman who’d only just left the Academy.
Beside him, Clayton Henderson looked ... odd. George studied him thoughtfully, trying to put her finger on it. There was nothing wrong with his uniform, nor his stance, but there was something wrong with him. It nagged at her mind, suggesting that she’d seen something like it before, yet no m
atter how hard she thought, she couldn't see it. There was a blandness about his features that surprised her, even in naval uniform. She resolved to keep a sharp eye on him and turned her attention to his companion.
Midshipwoman Felicity Wheeler was a slight girl, wearing a naval uniform that looked a size or two too big for her. George had no idea how she managed to give that impression - it was beyond belief that the quartermaster wouldn't have provided her with a uniform that fitted perfectly - but it was hard to escape the sense that she was under eighteen. George knew for a fact that she was twenty-two - it was rare for someone to enter the Academy before turning eighteen, although George herself had managed it - and yet she looked utterly unsure of herself, utterly out of place. She should be grateful, George supposed, that she didn't have to deal with Fraser as First Middy.
George cleared her throat. “Follow me,” she ordered, keeping her voice calm. It wasn't that unlike being a school prefect. “Once we’re in Middy Country, we’ll sit down and have a long talk.”
She led the way through the maze of corridors, wondering if she should have tasked one of them with leading the way. Their orientation packet would have included a shipboard diagram, a map of the giant battleship; it would be interesting, she supposed, to see how many of them had actually studied it. But then, she knew from bitter experience that the orientation packet didn't include all the details. She’d managed to get lost more than once, even though she’d memorised the original set of deck plans. Fraser had been very sarcastic after she’d nearly been late to her duty assignments a couple of times.
And he told me to make sure I always arrived early, she thought, as they passed through the hatch into Middy Country. He never gave me any better advice.
“Put your knapsacks in the lockers and choose a bunk, then join me in the wardroom,” she ordered. “If any of you need to go to the toilet, go now.”
She watched, feeling growing concern, as the four newcomers bickered over the bunks. She hadn't fought over the lockers, had she? But then, she'd been one of two new midshipmen and the pecking order had already been established. Potter laid claim to the locker closest to hers, pushing Henderson aside; Paula and Felicity seemed torn over who should have the locker furthest away from the bunks. Technically, it should have been Felicity’s, but Paula seemed to want it. And to think she could claim the one right after Henderson, if she wished.
“That will do,” she snapped at Potter, when he pulled Felicity back from claiming the upper bunk. They’d always been seen as better than the lower bunks, although objectively she knew there was no real difference. “There’s more than enough room for all of us.”
“She should be at the bottom,” Potter argued. There was a glint of irritation in his eyes, mixed with an unspoken challenge. “She’s just left the academy.”
“And you are expected to be an officer and a gentleman,” George said, feeling a flicker of sympathy for Fraser. No wonder he’d been so tempted to settle matters with his fists. “Take one of the lower bunks, then join me in the wardroom.”
George sighed as she turned and left the compartment. Henderson and Paula, thankfully, had taken their bunks without complaint, although she caught Henderson looking at the upper bunks a little wistfully. No doubt he was looking forward to being First Middy himself, she thought, even though it would take several years before he was the senior midshipman. She might be promoted, but other midshipmen might be brought onboard ...
“Take a cup of something and sit down,” she ordered, once all four midshipmen had assembled in the wardroom. “And take a bar of chocolate from the fridge too.”
She smiled, inwardly, at the flicker of astonishment on Potter’s face, although Paula showed no visible reaction. The two younger middies didn't realise just how odd it was to hand out chocolate bars, certainly not real chocolate. They were in for a shock when someone gave them a cheap mass-produced navy-issue quasi-chocolate bar. George had heard that they cost the government a pound apiece, but no one knew what happened to the remaining seventy-five pence. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that it vanished into a top secret black project on the other side of the Human Sphere.
“First, welcome to Middy Country,” she said, once they were all sitting down. Felicity and Henderson were munching their chocolate, while the older - and wiser - midshipmen had concealed their bars in their pockets. “This is going to be your home for the next six months, at the very least. If you should happen to want to leave ... well, it isn't going to happen unless you can talk the doctor into a medical discharge.”
She smiled, rather humourlessly. The doctor would take a dim view of any malingering, particularly amongst the officers. God knew George had seen quite a few girls, back at school, claiming to be ill - or homesick - and almost all of them had bucked up after a quick visit to the matron. Personally, she suspected their conditions had improved so rapidly because hardly anyone wanted to visit the matron. The woman had been widely believed to be a war criminal from a Russian gulag. She’d certainly been unpleasant enough.
“Second, I’m afraid you’re going to have to hit the ground running,” she added. “Normally, there would be one or two newcomers and five or six experienced hands. Now, you have me, two midshipmen with experience on other vessels and two newcomers. I’m afraid that means there will be a great deal of work and hardly any downtime.”
“We can take it,” Potter said, cheerfully.
“I’ll be relying on you and Paula to handle yourselves as much as possible,” George said, firmly. “You already have a number of badges, so I’ve assigned you to duty posts where you can actually be of use. If you have problems, of course, let me know.”
“We won’t have any problems,” Potter said. He gave Paula a suggestive wink, but she didn't show any trace of a reaction. “You can count on us, really.”
George eyed him darkly, then nodded. “Clayton and Felicity will have to start the standard program from scratch, which won’t be easy because the crew is already overworked,” she added. “I’ve put together a training program for both of you, including a great deal of time in the simulators. You won’t receive your first set of badges until you’re actually checked out on the various consoles and departments, but we’ll get you as far along as possible before you’re expected to perform.”
“It’s no substitute,” Potter said.
“No, it isn't,” George said. She would have been more impressed if that wasn’t common knowledge. Their instructors had hammered into their heads, time and time again, that there was no substitute for actual experience. She’d known promising cadets who’d flunked out when confronted with a real problem. “Do you have any better suggestions?”
“I do have several badges,” Potter said. “It wouldn't be hard for me to introduce them to the systems ...”
“Except you’re not cleared to train,” George said. She had no idea what the XO would say, if she tried, but she suspected it would be very bad. Allow a junior midshipman to train his subordinates? She’d be lucky if she only got beached long enough to put her right back at the bottom of the pecking order. “Or do you have a training certificate that isn't included in your file?”
She scowled at Potter, who looked back at her with an irritating firmness. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Then keep your help reasonable,” George snapped. She forced herself to calm down. “We will concentrate on simulations as much as possible, at least until we can get some proper training done.”
Standing, she keyed the wall-mounted terminal. “You have the rest of the day to explore the ship and orientate yourself,” she said. “If you have memorised the deck plans, you would be well-advised to go through the ship and make sure you know what’s different. Quite a few things have changed in the last month and the deck plans in the orientation packet are probably out of date.”
“Probably,” Paula repeated.
“Probably,” George said. Paula should have enough experience to know, by now, just how easily suc
h things could get out of date. The bureaucracy took weeks or months to catch up, by which time the interior designs could have changed again. “You can download copies of your timetables, assignment schedules and the ship’s files from the database. If you have any problems, or you think you can't handle your tasks, let me know. This is not the time and place to pretend that you are super-competent.”
“Or Stellar Star,” Felicity said, with a shy smile.
“You don’t have the bust for it,” Potter said. “Or the hair ...”
“Or the scriptwriter,” Paula added. She smiled, rather humourlessly. “Stellar Star has the most powerful weapon of all - a friendly man writing the lines.”
“It isn't as if she has a bad technique,” Potter objected. “Fall out of her uniform every twenty minutes ... who’s going to say no to her?”
George cleared her throat. “And in the real world, Stellar Star would be arrested and put in front of a court martial board,” she said. “Trying her techniques would land you in the brig too.”
Fear God and Dread Naught Page 8
