by David Drake
Adele stepped onto dry land; well, land baked to coarse limestone by the exhaust of ships landing in the slips to either side. A motor barge was moored in the opposite slip.
Twenty spacers had come down with Adele and Daniel in 610, the last of the prize crew which'd brought the Scheer to orbit above Nikitin. Now they poured aboard the barge, laughing as they bragged about what they were going to do when they got to the dives of East End and how often they were going to do it.
Through the cutter's optics during the landing approach, Adele'd seen five aircars parked on the shore. Their passengers had waited near the vehicles until the steam from 610's landing had dissipated, but now they started down the hundred yards of quay toward the new arrivals.
"Looks like we're bloody heroes again," Hogg observed with satisfaction. "Good. That's always worth a few drinks."
The group was a mixture of civilians and naval officers in 1st class uniforms. Daniel's local bimbo, Geneva Raynham, and her mother were among them; that was only to be expected. What Adele hadn't expected, though—
"Daniel?" she said, a little more tensely than she'd intended. The module was in her right hand, but she found her left hand was half into her tunic pocket. "Who are those people in gray? Are they soldiers?"
"Umm," said Daniel. "Well, I suspect some of them have been. They're private security personnel now, though; from that transport, I shouldn't wonder. Now who would they be guarding, do you suppose?"
"Ah," said Adele. She hadn't fallen into the filthy water of the slip, but she seemed to have found an equally effective way to embarrass herself. "Yes, of course."
Sun and Tovera had patched Adele's specialized equipment into the cruiser, but it'd required hardware modifications that wouldn't have been necessary on an RCN vessel. Because of the time Adele knew would be required to remove it, she started stripping it out as soon as they reached Nikitin. She hadn't been able to give more than a cursory glance to the ships filling Sinmary Port.
Her personal data unit almost certainly contained the answer to who'd arrived aboard the fast transport. It'd take Adele longer to retrieve the information than it would for the person approaching within the wedge of large men in gray to introduce himself.
Ginny Raynham sprinted the last two steps toward Daniel. She wore a broad smile and would've thrown her arms around his neck if a man in a gray suit hadn't gotten between them without apparent effort.
Ginnie squawked in surprise. Her mother laughed out loud.
"Why, hello, Deirdre!" said Daniel, stepping forward to clasp arms with his sister. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on business for the Shippers' and Merchants' Treasury," Deirdre said. Her tone was austere, but her smile as she stepped back from the embrace was warm and extended to Adele as well as her brother. "I'm safeguarding our clients' financial interests. Their very considerable financial interests, I'm pleased to say. When word of the captures was received in Xenos, the directors of the bank ordered me to set out immediately to take charge of affairs before the prize court."
Deirdre gave a smile which in a less perfectly composed woman might've been called a smirk. "Some of the fees which the prize commission here on Sinmary have been reported as charging would be considered criminal in a court on Xenos," she explained. "The directors trust my ability to convince the commissioners that they'll be before just such a court if they attempt any such foolishness with our clients."
Adele had no idea who the directors of the Shippers' and Merchants' Treasury might be. She was quite certain, however, that they were all nominees of Corder Leary and that they carried out his directions with the innocent simplicity of robots.
"Ah," said Daniel, who very possibly didn't know that his father owned the bank. So far as Adele had been able to tell during the years of their acquaintance, Daniel had no interest in finance so long as he had the price of a round of drinks or the barman would let him chalk a tab. "You came on the new transport I saw in harbor as we landed, then?"
"Yes," Deirdre said. She was dark-haired in contrast to her blond brother and not unattractive, though she made no effort to emphasize her looks. Deirdre was Corder Leary's elder child, his spiritual heir and his close associate from her early youth. She exuded authority, as cold and inexorable as the face of a glacier. "Its name's the Tonnant. Your shipyard manager, Lieutenant Mon, recommended her for our purposes."
"Ah!" said Daniel. "You couldn't have asked a better advisor. She's fast, then? She looks it!"
Deirdre shrugged. "I gather she is," she said. "That's not my department."
Daniel laughed. "Well, it's very good of you to come out here, I'm sure," he said. "Ah—Deirdre? Please excuse me for a moment. I think I'd best talk with these gentlemen."
Two officers waiting at the edge of Deirdre's guards wore RCN dress whites. The lieutenant with curly black hair was probably a serving officer; the slim, ash-blond officer was not. The latter's name was Wilsing. He wore lieutenant's insignia as he had when Adele had met him a year before in Xenos, but his real duties were to Mistress Sand's organization.
"Oh, we won't break in on a family reunion, Lieutenant," Wilsing said with easy cheerfulness. "We've just come to offer you and Officer Mundy—"
He nodded to her, smiling. Wilsing would smile politely if they stood him in front of a firing squad. He was always polite, always appropriate. Wilsing couldn't do Adele's job, but she was well aware that she couldn't have done his, either.
"—the congratulations of Admiral Jeffords and his invitation to attend him in Squadron House at your convenience."
Wilsing didn't say "earliest convenience," but that was implied. Adele wouldn't claim to be an expert in RCN protocol, but she understood what a polite offer meant when it was directed to someone so far down the chain of command.
"I, ah, I'll be glad to," Daniel said. "I was hoping to replace the uniform I lost aboard the Hermes before I made formal calls, though. How urgent would you say . . . ?"
"Not that urgent, Mister Leary," said the dark-haired lieutenant, Broderick according to his nametag. "Though the Admiral's looking forward to meeting you. Informally, that is, before he presides over the court-martial regarding the loss of the Hermes."
"Court-martial?" Adele said. She didn't raise her voice, but she clipped the words and her expression must have shown a touch of what was going on in her mind. Lieutenant Broderick looked shocked, and Wilsing lost his smile for a heartbeat.
"There's a court-martial any time a ship's lost, Adele," Daniel said. His use of her first name here in a semi-official context showed how concerned he was about how she might react. "It's the only way to clear the commanding officer in cases where the loss wasn't a result of his malfeasance or neglect."
"Not to prejudge the findings of the court . . ." Lieutenant Broderick said, relaxing but looking from Daniel to Adele speculatively. "But I will say that all the testimony gathered thus far indicates that Mister Leary's brief period commanding the Hermes was fully in line with his distinguished previous career."
Broderick's speculation was of course false. Adele had come to believe that most things that most people thought were false, so it probably didn't matter.
Broderick faced Daniel and instinctively drew himself to attention. Wilsing had been attached to Admiral Jeffords' staff, but Adele was sure his duties only indirectly involved Jeffords or even the RCN. Broderick was the real Flag Lieutenant, a relative of either the Admiral or of someone highly placed in naval or political circles with a claim on the Admiral.
"A remarkable career, Lieutenant," Broderick said. He was at most two years younger than Daniel, but from the awe in his voice he might've been addressing a hoary patriarch of ninety. "It's truly an honor to meet you."
"We're both fortunate to be part of RCN, Broderick," Daniel said in a tone of good fellowship, clasping the other man's arm to break the formality of the moment. "A pleasure to meet you, too."
He turned toward his sister, keeping the two officers in the corner of his eye to
include them also. "Deirdre?" he said. "Would you be able to carry me and Officer Mundy and our servants in the aircar you came in? I'd like to get to the transient officers' housing as quickly as possible so we can borrow dress uniforms. I realize you have your own entourage."
Which was one way of describing the squad of bodyguards. They'd let the two officers past, but the dozen or so local civilians who'd come to greet Daniel were kept resolutely behind a wall of gray.
"We can carry you, Leary," Wilsing said smoothly. "Our car's a six-seat so the servants will have to squeeze onto the front bench with the driver. I'm sure the engines have sufficient power, though. Ah, don't you think so, Broderick?"
Of course the engines do! Adele thought, remembering the load their aircar had carried in the assault on Big Florida Island. But she knew that if she said, "Put the car in ground effect if you doubt it can fly with the load," these officers in Dress Whites would look at her blankly. They hadn't seen or done the things Daniel had.
She grinned broadly, startling Broderick even more than she'd done by breaking in on the discussions of commissioned officers. Very few people had seen and done what Daniel had; but she, Adele Mundy, was one of the exceptions.
"That won't be necessary, gentlemen," Deirdre said coolly. Neither her voice nor the gaze she turned on the officers had any hint of challenge. Adele doubted that Deirdre respected either man enough to consider them worth a challenge. "I brought a 12-place vehicle in the Tonnant, since I'd been warned that transportation might be a problem. There's ample room for my brother and his associates."
She turned to Daniel and continued, "And as for uniforms, when the other directors and I heard what had happened to the Hermes, we assumed you'd need replacements. I have full sets of clothing for both of you aboard the Tonnant. Since they'll need final fitting, I brought the tailor along also. I don't think it will delay you more than a few minutes."
"Good God," Daniel said. "Well, that simplifies matters, doesn't it, Officer Mundy? I, ah, suppose we'd best get to it, then. Broderick, please present our compliments to Admiral Jeffords and tell him that we'll call on him as soon as we're properly uniformed!"
* * *
Daniel, feeling uncomfortable in his new uniform, stepped into the outer office of the Squadron House Annex. His discomfort wasn't because of the Whites themselves but rather because of the amount the tailor'd had let out seams that'd been cut to Daniel's measurements from not very long ago. If he wasn't careful he'd be as fat as an admiral by the time he was thirty. . . .
The reception clerk, a senior rating, touched her intercom before Daniel had a chance to speak. "Lieutenant Leary and Lady Mundy have arrived, sir," she said. Daniel couldn't hear the reply, but after a moment she beamed professionally at them and said, "It'll be just a moment, Lieutenant."
Admiral Jeffords was Director of Chandlery at the Navy Office; he reported directly to Admiral Anston. The Alliance vessels captured at Bromley contained vast quantities of naval stores, enough to justify someone so senior coming out to take charge. Conducting the court-martial on the loss of the Hermes was a mere sidelight of his presence on Nikitin.
The Annex had been the outdoor reception hall, across a garden from Squadron House proper; this present outer office had been the cloak room. The base complement had partitioned the remainder of the hall, then covered the floor with carpets and the raw walls with hangings and pictures.
From the quantity of the furnishings, they must've scrounged from Nikitin's wealthier civilians as well as the naval personnel. The result was a sort of trashy opulence, making Daniel think of a warehouse filled with stolen goods.
Daniel crossed his hands behind his back. There were chairs of enameled wood, but he preferred to stand.
"Did you notice the big tree in the garden?" he said to Adele, primly erect beside him. "I don't recognize the species."
"It's a Terran black walnut," Adele said. "I thought you might ask, so I checked before we left the Tonnant. I'd seen it when I was in Squadron House previously."
She smiled, broadly for her, but she continued to look toward a painting of a man with a trowel in one hand and a law book in the other. It was allegorical, Daniel supposed.
Adele was dressed in a civilian suit rather than a 1st Class uniform like Daniel's. The closely tailored tunic was a mauve so dark it approached black in dim light, picked out with small gray trapezoids; the trousers' pattern was identical, but the colors were reversed. Daniel didn't recognize the fabric, but it had the soft luster of highly radioactive ore.
In an RCN uniform, Adele would be a junior warrant officer who had no business dealing directly with an admiral. In civilian clothing, very expensive civilian clothing, she was Mundy of Chatsworth and could meet anybody in the Republic on terms of equality.
Deirdre was a very clever person, and a very political person. Daniel grinned: Speaker Leary'd been fortunate in his firstborn.
Lieutenant Broderick opened the door of the inner office. "Lieutenant Leary," he said formally, "the Admiral will see you now. Mistress Mundy, the Admiral begs your indulgence and asks that you grant him a few moments alone with Lieutenant Leary. If you'd like some refreshment, or . . . ?"
Adele gave a tiny shake of her head. "I'll entertain myself," she said, sitting on one of the chairs. Her tone might've seemed curt to a stranger, but Daniel recognized it as his friend stating the truth without emotion or embellishment.
She nodded to Daniel, then took her personal data unit from a thigh pocket. Deirdre really didn't miss a bet. . . .
Daniel stepped past Broderick, who closed the door from the outside. That left Daniel alone with Admiral Jeffords, a tall man with a pronounced widow's peak. He braced to attention and saluted with enthusiasm if not skill.
"Sir!" he said. "Lieutenant Daniel Leary reporting!"
Jeffords returned the salute from his seat. He wasn't much better at saluting than Daniel was. Perhaps they'd both get credit for having made the effort if they appeared at the gate of Drill and Ceremony Heaven.
"Sit down," he said. Jeffords was behind a console that'd been brought here at his arrival. "I'm pleased to meet you, Leary. I won't claim I've been following your career, but I've heard your name around the Navy Office. Now, let me find what I'm looking for."
Jeffords keyed in commands, then scowled in concentration at his display. A thick cable snaked from the console, running in the direction of the main building; it humped the carpet like a gopher track.
While the Admiral worked, Daniel settled on one of the four chairs placed for visitors. Their frames of heavy, dark wood had squared outlines; the seats were black leather. Daniel had seen pressed-metal furniture that was more inviting, but he was sure this set had cost somebody a great deal.
Jeffords looked at Daniel again and said, "I want to check with you about the manifests of the captured ships. You provided them, didn't you?"
"Signals Officer Mundy provided them, sir," Daniel said. "I merely forwarded them to Squadron command. Ah—Officer Mundy's in the outer office right now, sir. If you'd like to know something specific?"
"I've heard about her too, Leary," Jeffords said with a wintry smile. "I've got nothing against her, you understand. We need that sort, Porra has them so we have to. But I'd sooner deal with somebody who reports to me, if you see what I mean. So tell me, Lieutenant: can we trust the information here?"
Daniel let his face blank as he considered the question. "Yes sir," he said. "With allowance for the sort of errors that crop up in any loading operation. I won't swear that a crate marked hand grenades isn't really full of canned soup; but I will swear that the loadmaster who signed off on it thought it was hand grenades. Officer Mundy is confident of her data, and I'd take her word over that of anyone else I know."
He smiled, but he realized that expression was a trifle harder than he'd intended. "I'd trust her before I'd trust myself," he said.
Jeffords nodded. "I thought that might be the case," he said. "I told you I'd heard about her. And if
it's so, it's going to save a devil of a job of offloading every ship, doing an inventory, and then loading it back. We don't have the facilities or the personnel at Sinmary Port to do that. But—"
He smiled at Daniel in wry good-humor.
"—by the same token, if I tell the Garlock Sector Commander that he's got a Planetary Defense Array coming and he finds it's really a shipload of pictures of Guarantor Porra, Anston'll have my guts for garters. And be right to."
Jeffords touched a control and leaned back as the seat reshaped itself to his body. "All right," he said, "I'll order the condemnation of military stores from the cargoes on the basis of the manifests. That'll cut a month off the process, which is a bloody good thing given how badly we need some of them in the Garlock Sector. It'll speed your prize money too. I suppose you've thought of that too, eh, Leary?"
"Yes sir," said Daniel, allowing himself to grin. The Admiral seemed both friendly and cheerful, and "prize money" was a term that made any RCN spacer smile. "Though that's more my sister's concern than mine."
"I met your sister," Jeffords said with a chuckle. "It's not before time that somebody sorted out the Prize Court here at Sinmary. Not at all."
He leaned torward his display, making it omni-directional. Images of the Scheer appeared: the cruiser as-built above and in her present condition below.
During the voyage to Nikitin Daniel's prize crew had fitted spare spars in the aftermost ring in place of the missing antennas. That'd provided a degree of directional stability, but all adjustments still had to be made by hand: the cables and hydraulic lines on the cruiser's stern had been swept away as completely as the antennas had.
"So, Lieutenant," Jeffords said, frowning at the holographic image. "What do you think of the Scheer? Is she worth repairing on Cinnabar or should we send her to Gascoigne or maybe Briarwood and see if they're up to the job? We need cruisers, but the yards at home are at capacity now."
