by David Weber
* * *
On the Manasseh, the plaque on Claire's assigned stateroom had her name already engraved and thoroughly shellacked in a shiny clear coating. Relief at finally seeing it lifted her shoulders. Then she read the next line down: Ensign Cecelie Rustin.
Claire flushed. She'd heard about that girl in the class that followed hers at Saganami Island. There were a ton of Grayson students, sure, but darn few of them were female. The boys seemed to think that every midshipwoman was somehow the same girl, responsible for every female's actions in ways no guy would hold himself accountable for another midshipman's behavior. Claire tried to remember which of the outlandish things she had been accused of condoning were perpetrated by Rustin. Cecelie Rustin had been a year behind her, Claire was at least sure of that.
She choked back bitter bile as she realized that Rustin would had to have proved herself fast to already be an ensign instead of a midshipwoman.
Claire calculated furiously. Even if Rustin had been one of those to figure out her first posting early and spend Saganami Island school breaks out with the ship, learning her systems, she couldn't possibly have been here even half as long as it had taken Claire to make ensign. Fury mixed with shame, and Claire pushed through the door into her new stateroom nearly catching the bag porter in the doorway as it wobbled trying to follow her abrupt action.
Had Rustin been the one on the triathlon team that won all those awards that usually went to heavy planeters? Or was she that study-mad one taking all the extra courses and forever asking professors questions that had nothing to do with the material on the exams?
The smug little Rustin was sitting hunched over a terminal with her back to the door when Claire barged in. It was definitely the studious one. Claire visually swept the space, looking for things to detach from their safety housings to make room for her luggage while she moved in.
With a broad smile that Claire immediately distrusted, the Rustin girl looked up and broke into an outright grin. Chattering a welcome, she fairly bounced up from her chair in a way that must have been entirely normal for her, because while Claire was wincing waiting for the back of the overturned chair to hit the bare metal deck, Rustin's free hand flew back behind herself, caught the edge of the chair mid-fall and set it back upright without even turning around to look at it.
Claire matched the smile with habitual wariness and made noncommittal noises as Rustin flurried around verbally for several minutes about how delighted she was to have a new friend onboard, not that the guys weren't friends of course, but women have a special bond—or at least that was what Commander Greentree said.
Claire felt her face tighten at the reference to their too-handsome CO, and Rustin paused. She looked a little disconcerted, as if she wasn't feeling that “special bond” just at the moment. But when Claire smoothed the edges of her mouth into a friendlier shape, Rustin relaxed and bounded verbally onward after on the briefest of pauses.
Claire decided that actual verbal responses were not apparently necessary and busied herself with figuring out which of the lockers weren't already claimed so that she could unpack, collapse her luggage, and find someplace out of the way to store it. Rustin responded to Claire's unfastening of the top of her luggage by opening up empty compartments and then showing the ones she'd already filled and offering to switch if Claire would rather have the use of those.
There was an embarrassed deferral to Claire's earlier graduation date here, and Claire's smile must have slipped because Rustin switched to a wildly ranging discourse on how everyone knew that ships in the yards didn't grant midshipwomen as much opportunity for studying operating ship's systems and continued on from there to a side discussion again about Commander Greentree. The logic was difficult to follow, but it seemed that at least Rustin believed that Commander Greentree had asked the Office of Personnel to send another female officer to his ship.
The theory that women needed to be in groups featured prominently along with the commander's marital experiences. Apparently since Commander Greentree's first wife, Elsabeta was tremendously unhappy attempting to manage the social obligations of a rising officer. Greentree's marriage to a second wife, Annette Marie, had made a world of difference.
But, in what Claire was quickly coming to recognize as Rustin's habit of covering any possible misunderstanding with a pile of words, the other ensign insisted that of course the senior wife Elsabeta was due all proper dignity and social respect. Even though—this part was rather talked around—it certainly sounded to Claire as if Annette Marie had a flair for the social hobnobbing expected of a senior officer's wife while Elsabeta would just as soon stay home, possibly with a cat and a book. If anyone didn't like it, Elsabeta was perhaps more than willing to mix pulverized cat droppings into their tea should she be forced into hosting anything remotely like a ladies tea.
Claire managed a few diffident questions. The cat droppings had not been invented by Rustin and had been verified or at least repeated to Rustin by no less than three officer wives. Also, Rustin found all of the officers' wives with the exception of Elsabeta Greentree to be eminently avoidable and by varying degrees students of the social art of public evisceration.
Claire, having by this point fully cataloged the spontaneous blushes which warmed her roommate's creamy complexion and the tendency of bouncing blond curls to escape the hairstyle attempting to severely restrain them, felt confident she could accuse the Manasseh Wardroom Wives' Club of having selected one Ensign Cecelie Rustin as public enemy number one. The group had likely closed ranks against Rustin almost as soon they'd caught sight of her. Pure instinct to defend marriages strained by repeated separations would make them hate Rustin. These women had all the whores of all the worlds to worry about already, and, in her, they had a woman actually traveling with their men day in and day out. In retrospect, Claire was mildly annoyed that the Ephraim Wives' Club had been so accepting of her own presence.
As Claire put away the last of her uniforms, Rustin exclaimed in delight over the industrial tape she'd used to finish the hems of the uniform split skirts. Then the other young woman produced an elaborate sewing kit of the type Claire had seen in the hands of one of Steadholder Burdette's wives during her mandatory visits there.
These were the tools the idle rich could use to devote hours and hours to doing what a machine would do in seconds. True artisans would use them to create the one-of-a-kind creations worn by the most fashionable of steadholder wives. Now Rustin picked up the fabric shears, imprinted with the brand of Grayson's finest clothier, and transferred them from her left hand to her right to recut a mangled pair of split skirts.
Claire snatched the scissors out of her hands.
Those uniforms were too expensive. She could not watch a left-handed amateur seamstress using right-handed tools attempt to cut without even a pattern guide. Her new roommate took Claire's mutterings without rancor and readily admitted to destroying the last set. Rustin's moms had sent the sewing kit and two new uniforms for her to learn to do it properly.
Claire goggled at the idea that a family would have so much money as to be able to send two new uniforms but would still insist that Rustin do the hemming herself rather than just have them be professionally fitted.
Her roommate responded that it was important to learn to be independent, entirely unaware of the irony of an adult receiving clothing from her parents while claiming to be independent. Claire decided not to mention that her own financial transfers went in the other direction.
After unpacking, Claire struggled with the communications system on the ship as she tried to obey her new commanding officer's order to get a skin treatment. Rustin stepped right in and made the connection from her own console. As she punched in the com code she explained that personal off-ship communication required a transfer fee, and while contacting medical was professional business, getting privacy in any of the ship's offices would be a nuisance.
Rustin laughed off the question of when the bill would arrive for Claire to p
ay her part. She said it was nothing and not worth the trouble of trying to break it out from the much more expensive, lengthy transmissions Rustin assured her she sent to her moms each week.
Her roommate stepped outside to give her privacy, and Claire gave the closed door a genuine smile. The other ensign really was actually and truly a nice, if clueless, person. She resolved to help her as much as she could even if it meant hemming all of the woman's uniforms.
Claire called the clinic and reached a bored dermatologist who had her dial up the camera's resolution and turn this way and that to show her full face and then hands when he caught a glimpse of the scaring on the back of her right hand. He sent a prescription directly off to the Manasseh's medical unit for her to pick up later. He muttered about butchers playing pediatrician but seemed to think her skin would be fine in a matter of weeks. When Claire tentatively asked about the cost, he looked confused.
* * *
The introduction to Claire's new boss, a harried Lieutenant Loyd, went quickly and smoothly. He'd read the Ephraim AuxO's equipment failure reports and wanted to be sure Manasseh didn't miss the same maintenance and follow her sister ship into a prolonged repair period. He asked her some technical questions. They quickly revealed that he didn't actually understand radiation deformation of metals beyond knowing that it existed and that certain schedules of preventative maintenance could sometimes extend machinery service life. He was a tactical track officer, though, so Claire forgave him. At least he knew that machinery mattered and wanted there to be someone tracking it and making sure it lasted longer than just his own tour of duty.
The interview was conducted in the wardroom, with several of his peers popping in and out and making various observations or throwing challenging questions her way. At the end of it the executive officer came in and asked a couple of tactics questions.
Claire wasn't even sure why they mattered. She turned to her boss.
Lieutenant Loyd immediately told the exec that he would work with her to brush up on her tactical proficiency and run some sims for her now that she was on a fully functional Joseph-class ship. The exec snorted pointing out that sims could be run just as easily in a yard as on a ship in space. He glared at Claire and told her that there would be no excuses for shirking her continued tactical education on this ship.
The exec slapped a comp on the table. It was scrolled all the way to the end of a formal midshipman's board for promotion to ensign and already signed by all the officers who had been dropping in and asking questions. The exec patted his pockets and then looked around with a pained expression. Claire produced a stylus from her pocket. The exec snatched it out of her hand scribbled the final signature and slapped his thumbprint down.
Loyd and the exec stood. Claire stumbled to her feet copying the others from Saganami-trained instinct.
Commander Greentree's clear tenor came from just to her left calling for the exec to hand him the ship's patch. Claire counted herself lucky that she wasn't an easy blusher. The man was too gorgeous.
According to Rustin, he had two wives. But on a commander's salary, he could certainly afford a third—if, that was, he actually wanted one and if his first two wives could tolerate her. The Burdette Ladies were sure to comment on that. Greentree for his part seemed not even to notice her jerking her face away from him to cut off her lingering inspection of his body. Letting a boss know you like him is a horrible idea, Claire reminded herself. Why couldn't he have been just a bit smelly like Captain Ayres or have dirty fingernails or something?
The wardroom filled quickly with the Manasseh's full officer complement while Claire concentrated on keeping her eyes off her CO. Rustin gave a little wave from the corner, giving two thumbs up paired with a giant grin. Not hopping up and down was probably surreptitious for the woman. Claire credited Rustin's Saganami Island training for that.
The Office of Personnel did not have a record of Claire's oath for assuming the rank of ensign back on GNS Ephraim, Commander Greentree informed Claire in a voice meant to carry to the whole wardroom. His wry smile gave away that he was fully aware of all that he wasn't saying. Blackbird Yard Public Affairs had not been able to locate a quality recording to send to Burdette Steading for the local news release. So, if she didn't object to the irregularity, he'd just as soon hold the ceremony again here on Manasseh. He had Rustin provide him with some of her midshipwoman insignia and motioned for Rustin to switch out Claire's collar and shoulder devices for the single silver collar pip of a midshipwoman.
Commander Greentree shooed Rustin back to her corner vantage point and cued up the spacer drafted to capture the proceedings to begin recording. The exec called the assembled officers to attention and read off the official orders from the Grayson Space Navy Office authorizing Midshipwoman Claire Bedlam Lecroix to wear the rank of Ensign and assume all the duties and responsibilities of a commissioned officer of the Grayson Space Navy at the recommendation of Commander Phineas Greentree, Commanding Officer GNS Manasseh.
The Ayres name was notably absent from the orders. Somehow Claire doubted that if Personnel had resent a copy of an old approval they would have gone back and changed the requesting commanding officer's name to the current reporting senior.
Claire pulled her attention back as Commander Greentree administered her oath of office. She swore loyalty once again to Grayson, Protector Benjamin Mayhew IX, and the Office of the Protector. She would do her duty to God and her star nation and ever rise to meet the Tests set before her in the faithful performance of her duty. The words were so familiar that she had to focus to avoid embarrassing herself by switching up phrases with the common prayer for the Protectorate of Grayson or the Burdette Steading pledge of allegiance.
Commander Greentree smiled rather broadly at her. It wasn't fair. A man that lovely should know what he did to women and control himself better. Claire curled her toes inside her ship boots to distract herself from the whiff of aftershave as he leaned over to pin the two silver pips of an ensign to her collar and shoulder boards.
She looked around the room trying not to think about how it would feel if a man were clasping a necklace instead of pinning on rank insignia. She should think herself lucky to be here. Really, she should.
So what if the Burdette Lady Steadholders worried that she was not going to find a man interested in even a third wife who was constantly away in the GSN? This was all a means to an end. She had a degree after all and a really quite amazing education at Saganami Island in the engineering of ship power systems and auxiliaries. Merchants used different systems. But, physics was physics. Claire resolved to continue studying for the technical school certifications in those other merchant systems.
A Grayson in-system shipper might not want to hire her, but there were others who did business in Yeltsin's Star who wouldn't mind hiring a young woman. A life could be built on Blackbird Yard that way. And who knew, she might meet someone who'd want a wife who could travel with him and knock out some of the qualifications required by Grayson Transit Control, thus saving him the cost of hiring extra hands.
It was a cold plan, but Claire thought it might work. The GSN kept providing more and more training. The ship combat simulations were completely useless for any long-term plans, but they'd been easy to avoid on the Ephraim. The Manasseh would not be much different. And even when Claire did have to waste time on them, ship combat sims still beat washing dishes by hand when the restaurant had to wait to clear enough profit to buy the parts for fixing the dishwasher.
The ceremony drew to a close with a burst of applause prompted by the exec, and at his chivvying, the officers made their way around the room to congratulate Claire one by one and welcome her to the ship. The lieutenants and higher ranked officers asked after her pastimes at Saganami, course of study, and so on. They seemed to listen to each other's questions since they repeated questions only every fifth person or so.
The midshipmen and ensigns offered a simple congrats or sometimes welcome aboard and congratulations.
Rustin gave her a hug. Claire held her awkwardly and scanned the room for disapproval. That's when she first saw the Royal Manticoran Navy exchange officer, a leering man with the broad frame that came of extreme athleticism in school followed by a few years of carb loading without the sport to burn the energy. As a Grayson his rounded face might be just old enough to belong to a midshipman, but on the Mantie lieutenant commander it just meant he'd received the prolong life extension treatment. She reexamined the Mantie and decided his expression couldn't have actually been ill intended since the rest of the wardroom hadn't reacted.
Commander Greentree poked the exec in the ribs with his elbow. Too many side conversations muffled the words, but it was clear that the CO was celebrating having a second female officer onboard and chiding his exec for doubting that she and Rustin would get along like sisters.
Claire didn't have sisters or brothers. That was relatively rare among Grayson steaders, but it was well-nigh unheard of among the wealthy steadholder families. Unless of course, there was something very shameful going on, like infidelity leading to divorce and disownment or maybe a tragic death, or several.
The next well wisher in line must have caught part of the CO's comments. He paired his congratulations with a question on how her siblings would react to the news.
“I'm an only child, Sir.” Claire felt her smile freeze as she surrendered information about herself that she had managed to keep hidden on Ephraim.
The lieutenant gawked.
An uncomfortable silence spread around the room, until Rustin who was still only a few steps away spun around and injected a cheery, “Well, she's got me now, and I'm delighted.”
The edge of battlesteel in Rustin's voice was entirely surprising. Did Rustin really think she could protect anyone else when it seemed as if Rustin herself had spread her own whole life out for these people to dissect and judge?
