Against the Tide tcw-3

by John Ringo

  “That’s what the XO is for,” Herzer pointed out. “Actually, that’s what the leading PO is for. Which is why I’m going to have a Talk with PO Riebech after this. I’ve been concentrating so much on the riders that I haven’t had time to make sure everything on the ground crew side was functional.”

  “Not quite correct,” Joanna said. “You’ve been focusing on the riders. What you needed to do was ensure that everything else was functional at the same time. If that meant the riders had to do some training on their own, that meant they had to do some training on their own.”

  “Too controlling?” Herzer asked.

  “Maybe,” Joanna admitted. “What do you think?”

  Herzer considered it for a moment and shrugged.

  “I’m being chewed out for micromanaging, aren’t I?”

  “By me?” Joanna replied. “Everyone knows that when I chew someone out you can hear it in the next fleet.”

  “Unless you think there’s a better way,” Herzer said. “Okay, take a light brush with the whole crew for a while? I really want to land with both heels on the ground side.”

  “No, I’d say that ground side needs a shaking up,” Joanna admitted. “My weyr has been a pigsty. I was just waiting for you to notice it.”

  “Because that’s my job,” Herzer said. “Sorry.”

  “Just don’t let it happen again,” Joanna replied, mildly.

  “You’re good at this,” Herzer chuckled.

  “Son, you got any idea how old I am?” Joanna said with a snort. “Everybody is always aghast at how old your girlfriend is. Nobody bothers to ask how old I am.”

  “How old are you?” Herzer asked.

  “None of your business, sonny,” Joanna replied with a chuckle. “How are we otherwise, for the inspection I mean?”

  “Pretty shipshape,” Herzer said. “We’ve got three more hours. Should be up to snuff by then.”

  “Do another round,” Joanna said. “Go do the evil XO thing. I’ll just take another snooze.”

  * * *

  It was Saturday and damned if Edmund was going to kill his ass on paperwork on a Saturday. So after getting up and making sure everyone knew he was awake, he lay back down for a light snooze.

  Which was broken by a tap on the door.

  Edmund considered acting like he’d been at his desk and then decided to just blow it off. Admirals were supposed to have their perks. He rolled onto the side of the bed and said: “Come.”

  “Mer message, sir,” the signal midshipman said. Usually a runner brought the information so it had to be something special.

  Edmund took the parchment and looked at it and then nodded. He consulted his calendar and frowned.

  “Pass the word to Admiral Shar,” Edmund said, lying back down. “Initiate Operation Front Royal.”

  “Front Royal, sir?” the midshipman squeaked.

  “Front Royal.”

  * * *

  “Major Herrick,” the skipper said as she walked down Broadway. She opened up one of the wyvern stalls and stepped in, tapping the wyvern on the nose when it nuzzled at her and checked in the corners.

  “Clean as a whistle,” she said, walking down to where Joanna was curled. “Commander.”

  “Skipper,” Joanna said, nodding her head and lifting one claw in what might be considered a salute.

  The skipper walked around the dragon and looked at her area, then spoke to Major Sassan who wrote something in his notebook.

  “Not bad,” she said, stepping to the aft corridor hatch. “But either Commander Gramlich is going to have to stop shedding so much or you’re going to have to get on your leading PO.”

  “We’ll take care of it, ma’am,” Joanna growled.

  * * *

  “Make signal to all units of the Fleet,” Shar said, coming on deck. “Immediately open sealed packet marked ‘Stonewall.’ Open sealed packet marked ‘Front Royal.’ Open no other packets. Report when all captains have completed their first reading.”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer of the deck said.

  “Where’s the skipper?”

  “Conducting the Saturday inspection, sir.”

  “I’m sure the crew will be delighted that it’s now cancelled. Go get him.”

  * * *

  “Skipper,” the signal messenger said, skidding to a halt and pausing to catch his breath. The skipper had made it as far as the kitchens and had just informed the mess officer that he was a disgrace to the uniform. “Ma’am, mer message. Open packet Stonewall. Open packet Front Royal.”

  “Well, XO,” Skipper Karcher said. “Looks like we’re done.”

  * * *

  An hour later the skipper came on deck and looked at the telltale on the mast and then at the compass.

  “Officer of the deck,” she said. “Prepare to come about, heading one-three-five. Call all hands.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” the lieutenant called as the bosun pipes shrilled.

  “Can I ask what’s happening?” Major Sassan said.

  “You can ask,” the skipper replied with a growl. “But it doesn’t mean I know the answer.”

  * * *

  “Do you know what is happening?” Destrang asked Van Krief as the ship heeled over and headed south.

  “Yes,” she answered, shortly. Since boarding the ships they hadn’t had much to do and she had had too much time to think about the messages she had written for the fleet.

  “So tell,” Destrang said.

  “Can’t,” she said. “I will say this; if anything goes wrong we’re all screwed.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “This is so screwed.”

  The trip to Balmoran had been, if anything, more uncomfortable than the trip from Raven’s Mill, and that was no picnic. And as she rattled through the evening streets of Balmoran Old Town and watched the crowds moving among the shops and taverns Rachel had a hard time envisioning her upcoming duties. She knew that her mother had pounded in some medical training over the last few years. Being honest, she admitted that, for the period, she was a fair doctor. But this was something different, what used to be called “medical administration.” The reports that she had received on the way up indicated that the planners of the base had included only a small infirmary. Given the purpose of the base, to support combat fleets in the northern Atlantis, that made no sense at all. She knew that her first job was going to be straightening out that little logic flaw.

  She reached down and petted Azure, stroking him on his head until he rolled over on the floor of the coach and purred. House lions were a very old genetic mod, a house cat the size of a puma with a personality more like that of a dog. She had had Azure, a particularly long-bodied house lion with bright blue eyes and white fur and orange highlights, for longer than she could recall. The house lion had traveled with them to Newfell Base and now he came with her to Balmoran. She had considered leaving him to keep Charles company, but in the end Azure had looked so crestfallen at her packing that she had taken him with her. Now she was glad she had; she wasn’t going to know anyone at the new posting and the house lion was at least a friend.

  She looked out the window again as they passed out of the main part of town and beyond the range of street lamps. The buildings in this area were apparently warehouses and she saw fewer figures among them, these much more furtive than the boisterous crowds downtown. She laid her hand on Azure’s shoulder as one of a group of figures started to step out of shadow, then relaxed as they decided, apparently, that the coach, with its heavily armed driver and assistant driver, was more trouble than it might be worth. She sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be forced to travel through this area as part of her job.

  The coach passed through an oak forest, down a surprisingly well-made road, and then debouched into a large open area. There was light ahead and Rachel craned her head for a glimpse of the base.

  The open area stretched along the river for what seemed like klicks. On the near side a large number of buildings were under construction
, the work going on even at this hour under the light of torches and lamps. She could see boats and barges tied up to docks along the river but they were half obscured by the dozens of buildings that had already been constructed. The smell of freshly cut pine and oak for a moment reminded her of Raven’s Mill in the days just after the Fall and the base had that same sense of barely organized chaos.

  The post coach pulled up before a large building that clearly predated the current construction. It was partially stone and partially wood of several styles and clearly built over several generations, probably in Norau preindustrial times. She wondered, idly, how it had survived the growth of the Boswash megalopolis. But however it had survived it was there and as she descended from the coach a tall, angular man with a shock of white hair on one temple approached from the lamp-lit foyer.

  “Doctor Ghorbani?” the man said, holding out his hand. “I’m Basilia Zahar, the hospital administrator.”

  “You didn’t have to come down here for me, Mr. Zahar,” Rachel said. “And ‘Doctor’ Ghorbani is my mother. I don’t feel I have the credentials to append doctor to my name.”

  “Well your reputation precedes you, Miss Ghorbani,” the man said, with a tired smile. “And we’re glad to have you. I’ve set up quarters for you in the residence wing of the hospital. I’ll have your bags taken over there,” he continued with a wave. A young man followed him down from the portico and took her bags from the coach as Azure finally stretched and jumped down to the ground.

  “Azure, my house lion,” Rachel said, to Zahar’s widened eyes. “I hope that won’t be a problem?”

  “Not at all,” the administrator said, smoothly. “Not many of those around anymore; I’d missed them.”

  “I’ve had Azure since I was a girl,” Rachel said as the administrator led the way down the street. “He’s taken to traveling with me wherever I go. I hope it won’t cause problems with the other staff.”

  “Madame, the staff will be so delighted to have someone who knows what they are doing that I don’t think they would care if you turned up with a tame orc on a chain,” Zahar admitted, darkly.

  Rachel was left to ponder that as they made their way, in fits and jumps, to the hospital.

  The main street of the base was freshly covered in crushed gravel but it was already muddy and pitted. A wooden walkway had been established to one side but it was broken by occasional cross-streets and the trio had to dodge wagon traffic and potholes on their way to the hospital facilities. Between splashing wagons and mud holes, Rachel knew she was a sight when they got to the hospital. The structure, which was still under construction, was located on a slight prominence well away from the river and the swamps that surrounded the base. Transportation to it might be problematic but it would avoid the unhealthy airs, not to mention insects, to be found in the lower-lying areas. It consisted of one two-story structure, more or less complete, and several wings connected by fly-ways. Some of those buildings were complete, others were not. And there was far less in the way of energy, not to mention workers, in the area than at the main base.

  She was led into the main doors of the two-story structure and nodded at what she saw. The floors were tile, easier by far than wood to keep clean, and the walls were plastered.

  “I hope the operating suites are as well apportioned,” she said, gesturing at the walls.

  “The ones that are complete are,” Zahar said with a sigh. “We only have two set up at this point and a triage area. I’ve come to some conclusions about the way that the local procurement works, but we can discuss that when you’ve had some rest.”

  “What’s that?” Rachel said. “Everyone else is working night and day.”

  “We’re not permitted to take more than twelve-hour shifts,” Zahar pointed out. “By orders of the base commander. There were too many accidents when they worked longer than that.”

  “We’ll see,” Rachel said. “Excuse me,” she said, turning to the young man carrying the baggage, “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Keith, ma’am,” the boy said, nodding.

  “Keith, if you don’t mind could you drop those off at my quarters while Administrator Zahar and I have a word?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy nodded, heading down a corridor.

  “If you don’t mind?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” Zahar said with a lopsided smile. “If you’d like to examine your office?”

  The office was as good as anything in Raven’s Mill: plastered walls, carpets on the floor, a nice, if obviously new, desk, even paintings on the wall.

  “Very nice,” Rachel said, grabbing a chair. “But only two surgery suites complete?”

  “I just got here, also,” Zahar said by way of apology. “The way that the base procurement works is to come up with elaborate plans that they know they can’t get funding for. Take this building; it’s entirely for administration.”

  “And it’s complete?” Rachel asked.

  “Nearly. But it wasn’t fully budgeted. So they built it first and now they’re asking for funds to build the rest of the hospital, the functional part, if you take my meaning.”

  “Blast.”

  “We have the two operating suites and we’re working, out of budget, on one more. We also have two wards complete. We have the equipment for three wards, several semiprivate rooms, three more suites, etc. And, thank God, we’ve gotten our full supply of materials; there’s enough morphine here to kill several elephants, bandages enough for a legion, etc. But the construction budget is shot.”

  “They probably can get a supplementary spending bill passed,” Rachel mused. “But, damnit, we should have the important facilities in place first!”

  “Agreed, but there’s nothing I could do about it by the time I got here,” Zahar said.

  “Well, we can damned well turn some of the office areas into wards at the very least,” Rachel said. “What about staff?”

  “That, too, is a problem,” Zahar admitted. “We have no trained physicians; you’re it.”

  “What?” Rachel snapped. “I can’t handle a hospital this size!”

  “There aren’t that many trained physicians,” Zahar pointed out. “The Second Legion is moving into the area and they have two. We also have a fair staff of… well let’s call them half-trained support staff. Some people who are alleged to be nurses, two people who are supposed to be physicians assistants, what have you.”

  “What about patients?”

  “So far we have ten, all injuries from construction,” the administrator said. “Only one of them was extremely serious, he had a pile of wood fall on him. I don’t think he’s going to survive; internal injuries.”

  “Well,” Rachel said, rubbing a hand on her face. “Let me get with the duty nurse and do rounds.”

  “Now?” Zahar asked.

  “Now,” Rachel replied. “I’ll get a coat to cover up the majority of the mud. Hopefully I won’t have to operate, though; my hands are too shaky. Right now I’d be more likely to kill than cure.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Megan picked up the glass and tilted Paul’s head back as he leaned forward for a sip.

  “Ah, ah,” she said. “Let me pour.”

  Paul smiled and tipped his head back, opening his mouth.

  “Paul?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you,” she said, miserably, and poured the acid down his throat.

  The pain was excruciating and half the acid poured back out in an explosion as he rolled over on his side. She had expected it, though, and only a few drops fell on her arm as she rolled to the side. She snap-kicked his shoulder, rolling him onto his face as he grabbed his throat, which was rapidly dissolving. The acid had burned through his cheeks and she could see a cheekbone as she hammered him down onto his stomach and raised the bottle of red wine. Two blows on the back of his neck sufficed to sever his spinal cord but she continued to pound until she’d opened up the back of his skull, blood spurting in a cloud, then poured t
he remnants of the jug of acid, which fortunately hadn’t spilled, onto his skull. She waited until it had burned into the skull and burned into the cerebellum. When she was sure he was dead she fumbled in his naked crotch until she managed to pull the Key from the flap just under his scrotum.

  She held it in her hands and panted, the pain of her arm -forgotten as she just looked at it for a moment. This was the moment of truth. If it didn’t work she might as well drink the rest of the acid herself. Actually, she had a vial of concentrated poison waiting in the lab. She took a deep breath and held up the Key.

  “Mother?”

  “Yes?” a voice answered out of the air.

  She felt abilities she thought lost forever blossom. The pain in her arm washed away as her nannites reactivated and began healing the damage from the acid and a Net link formed in her mind.

  “Paul is dead then?” Megan asked, shaking in reaction.

  “Paul Bowman is most assuredly dead,” Mother said with just a hint of satisfaction.

  “And I hold his Key,” Megan said. “That means I hold his power?”

  “You are the new Key-holder for Key nine,” Mother confirmed. “Power, however, is restricted.” A green bar-graph appeared in the lower right-hand corner of Megan’s vision. It was partially down from maximum extent. “This represents current available power to a non-aligned Key-holder. It is a bare minimum power transfer that is a hard protocol.”

  “I need to port out all the girls,” Megan replied. “And find the ones that are in pregnancy confinement.”

  A map appeared in her vision. It was apparently a map of the local area of the castle. As Megan concentrated it zoomed out so that she could see the surrounding area. She zoomed it back in so that she could find her location and the girls as well. There were blue dots in the harem and others not far away. The map was also liberally sprinkled with red and green dots.