by David Drake
“Nothing like that, my good man,” said Daniel. “Quite a number of RCN personnel will be entering foreign service or trying to live on half pay very shortly if the peace holds.”
He’d slipped into the tone of a superior to a servant rather than speaking as peer to peer. Bailey had merely confirmed Daniel’s existing assumption: the fellow was a warrant officer with a commission from barbarians rather than an officer by birth and education.
“Are there many foreign officers in the Horde?” von Gleuck said. “I met a number of cutter captains below at the gala, and they were all Palmyrenes.”
“Specialist officers is all,” admitted Bailey. He’d apparently decided just to answer what he was asked rather than worry about what he should say. “Which means some of us aboard the Piri Reis and also the Turgut. And nobody from Cinnabar or Pleasaunce, either: I’m Kostroman, remember. The destroyer’s got a Palmyrene chief engineer, but Antoniani here on the Piri Reis is from Pantellaria.”
Daniel looked into the missile magazine without entering. All the cradles were filled, and everything was as precisely arranged as the interior of a mechanical timepiece.
The missiles were single-converter units, however. They had the same terminal velocity as the weapons in front-line service with Cinnabar and the Alliance, but they took twice as long to accelerate.
The units that turned reaction mass into the antimatter which was annihilated with ordinary matter in the High Drive were expensive. Otherwise a missile was a water tank which relied on kinetic energy to destroy its target. Navies which expected to use their missiles—and who could afford them—equipped their ships with dual-converter models, thereby gaining an advantage in combat.
“Is the Piri Reis having trouble with her own converters, Bailey?” Daniel asked as he turned away from the magazine.
That got through the commander’s cloak of resignation. He blurted defensively, “Why do you ask that?”
“Probably because every Pantellarian ship in the RCN has converter problems,” von Gleuck said. “Certainly that’s true in the Fleet, as I know to my cost. I was a midshipman on the Turbine. We counted ourselves lucky when we had seventy-five percent of our High Drive motors on line.”
Daniel laughed. “Yes, but they have such pretty lines, do they not?” he said, exchanging grins with von Gleuck.
He bowed to Lady Belisande and added, “Though not nearly so pretty as those of her ladyship here.”
“Captain,” she said with an arch lift of her slim nose, “I will slap you if you do not immediately begin referring to me as Posy. Lady Belisande died at my birth, as you might guess from my given name of Posthuma. I am alive.”
“And quite lively, in a ladylike fashion,” said von Gleuck with an affectionate grin.
“Sometimes ladylike,” Posy said. She covered her giggle behind her hand. They were obviously an affectionate couple, comfortable in one another’s presence.
The commo unit on Bailey’s shoulder gave three shrill beeps. That must have been more than merely an attention signal, for he cracked his heels together and stiffened before replying, “Bailey here, Excellency!”
“Bring Captain Leary to my suite, Bailey,” a woman’s voice directed. The Palmyrenes used external speakers rather than earbuds. While the tiny speaker might account for some of the harsh tone, Daniel suspected that it gave a fairly accurate impression of the Autocrator’s manner. “At once.”
“This way,” said Bailey, gesturing with his hands as though he were shooing his guests toward the companionways in the stern rotunda which widened the central corridor just beyond the missile magazine. “And don’t dawdle! The Admiral’s Suite, that’s where Her Excellency is, is just forward of the BDC.”
Daniel took the lead, which would allow von Gleuck to shepherd his lady at the speed they chose. He and the Alliance officer exchanged glances, but they both understood the situation without needing to speak. This way there wasn’t a risk that a spacer—well, a rated landsman; no spacer would behave that way—would barrel down the up companionway, nor that someone in a hurry would try to push by from below.
Posy couldn’t have a great deal of experience on helical metal staircases, but her steps pattered up quickly enough that Daniel didn’t feel a need to slow down for her sake. He grinned, remembering how easily Miranda Dorst took to companionways. In Miranda’s case, poverty after her father’s early death had meant the elevators of the apartment block where she and her mother lived were frequently out of order.
Pantellarians wearing body armor and carrying mob guns—impellers whose short barrel fired clusters of aerofoils which spread widely when they left the muzzle—stood outside the open hatch just up the corridor. Two guards turned to cover Daniel and his companions, while the third kept his weapon aimed toward the bow.
If the Autocrator is really concerned for her safety . . . , Daniel thought, she had better consider how aerofoils would ricochet from steel bulkheads. He gave the guards an engaging smile.
A man in black Cinnabar formalwear with a white ruff stepped out of the compartment, followed by a young woman with a briefcase; she wore a beige suit with maroon piping, the dress uniform of members of External Affairs. She and her superior strode silently past Daniel and disappeared into a down companionway. The man—Governor Wenzel, by deduction—nodded warily to Daniel’s uniform.
The woman who followed the Cinnabar officials into the corridor wore a tiara. Golden robes concealed her body, but there was no fat in her cheeks or hands.
“You’re Captain Leary?” she said. “Come into my suite. I want to talk to you.”
The commo unit hadn’t misled Daniel about her voice, though in person the Autocrator had a resonance that commanded respect. He said, “Yes, I’m Daniel Leary, Your Excellency. May I introduce my friends, Lady Posthuma Belisande of Zenobia and Fregattenkapitan Otto von Gleuck of the Alliance Fleet?”
“A Zenobian?” Irene said on a rising note. “And you—”
Her eyes searched for Commander Bailey. He had stepped behind the visitors as soon as Daniel made his announcement.
“—have brought a Fleet officer here?”
“Your pardon, Leary,” von Gleuck said politely. He fluffed the sleeve of his “Zenobian” blouse and added, “Aboard this vessel, Your Excellency, I am the Honorable Otto von Gleuck, second son of Count Johann. We on Adlersbild continue the custom of hereditary nobility, foolish though it may seem to you sturdy republicans of Cinnabar.”
“I recall my father, Speaker Leary, commenting on that very thing,” said Daniel, grinning at von Gleuck.
They were baiting the Autocrator. That certainly hadn’t been Daniel’s intention when he jumped to obey Admiral Mainwaring’s summons, but he knew instinctively that it was the correct response—at least when he had a partner like von Gleuck to support him.
If he didn’t make clear the position of Cinnabar relative to that of Palmyra, the Autocrator would begin ordering him around like a puppy. That would force him, as an RCN officer in the middle of an RCN base, to react. She might become angry at being treated with gentle amusement, but that was less dangerous in the long run to the relations among the powers of the Qaboosh Region.
The Autocrator’s chiseled features went pale. It occurred to Daniel that it would not be beyond possibility that the ruler of a world so far out on the fringes might order her guards to shoot them all dead. After long moments of silence she smiled coldly and said, “Come into my suite, then, all of you. It is well that you should have seen the Piri Reis for yourselves.”
She swept back through the hatchway. Daniel exchanged glances with von Gleuck, then led the way. The Alliance officer followed Posy.
Bailey seemed to have disappeared. Goodness knew what this would mean for the gunnery officer, but Daniel couldn’t find much sympathy for someone who knew what civilization was but preferred to sell himself to barbarians.
The interior of the large compartment surprised Daniel, though he supposed it shouldn’t have.
Rugs covered the deck. Over them were piled cushions which must be fixed in place or acceleration and weightlessness would fling them about. The curved tables at two corners were low, and the very capable-looking console against the forward bulkhead was intended to be used by someone sitting cross-legged.
There were four male servants in uniforms like the Palmyrene spacers’ but with cloth-of-gold bands at wrists and ankles. The fifth man present was a burly fifty-year-old with a full beard. He wore robes similar to those of the Autocrator but in black silk; only the sash at his waist was gold.
“So, Polowitz,” she said. “The tall one is an Alliance officer come to spy on us.”
Von Gleuck stood very straight. “I assure you, Admiral Polowitz,” he said, “that I am not a spy but rather a naval officer like yourself. And—”
He turned and nodded toward Daniel.
“—like Captain Leary here. Your Excellency—”
Looking back toward the Autocrator.
“—if my presence disturbs you, I will of course take my leave.”
“Nothing the Alliance does disturbs me,” she said, “except its pretensions and its very existence. Isn’t that so, Captain Leary?”
“Quite the contrary, Your Excellency,” Daniel said, smiling easily. “The Alliance, and particularly its Fleet, have often done things that disturbed me.”
He grinned at von Gleuck and added, “For example, an Alliance missile struck the ship I was commanding less than six months ago and left it a constructive loss. I was lucky to escape that with only a headache, but it was a very bad headache.”
“I heard reports of the Battle of Cacique,” von Gleuck said, “though I was not present. Fortunately I was not present, I may say. I believe that since our nations are now at peace, it is proper for me to congratulate you on your victory, Captain; even if it cost you your flagship.”
“I have heard you fancy yourself as an astrogator, Leary,” said Polowitz. Von Gleuck had been the first to mention the admiral’s rank, but it didn’t surprise Daniel that the Fleet officer had done his homework. “Perhaps you will come with me on one of our cutters and I will show you what real astrogation is.”
“I’ve heard remarkable things about Palmyrene abilities, sir,” said Daniel. He kept his lips smiling and his voice pleasant, but he felt his back stiffen despite willing himself to relax. Who cares what a barbarian thinks? “And having seen the external controls on the cutters in the basin when I arrived, it’s clear to me that the stories were not exaggerated.”
“What do you think of the Piri Reis, Lieutenant Commander?” the Autocrator said to von Gleuck, showing that she had been not only been listening but was able to convert Fleet ranks to their RCN equivalent. “Now that you’ve had an opportunity to view her.”
“She’s a trim ship and well found in all respects that I was able to see,” said von Gleuck, neatly finessing the subject of the antimatter converters. They appeared to be absorbing the efforts of both Power Room watches, save for spacers who had been on some other fatigue and exempted. Bailey hadn’t taken the visitors through the converter bay. “You and your officers—”
He nodded precisely to Polowitz.
“—must be rightly proud of her.”
The Autocrator gave von Gleuck a guarded expression, perhaps because she either thought he was mocking her or because she had expected some form of condemnation. Tsk! Adele thought. He’s a gentleman, not a barbarian who picks his teeth with a knife.
Instead of replying, however, she turned to Daniel and said, “And you, Captain? What is your view of our flagship?”
That I’d be happy to take her on with any light cruiser in the RCN, thought Daniel. Missiles and gunnery would decide a battle between heavy ships, and there the Palmyrenes didn’t have the experience an RCN crew would. Though I suspect she could give me points in dodging her way through the Matrix.
Aloud he said, “I’ve never seen a crew as tightly disciplined, Your Excellency, or a ship as well maintained.”
He coughed. “Some cables that struck me as worn. But we’ll be loading rigging from the base stores here to replace some of ours, also. After we’ve delivered our passengers to Zenobia, that is.”
The Autocrator’s head snapped around. “Polowitz!” she said. “Is that true?”
“Your Excellency, cables of the length required for a cruiser’s rigging are not standard on Palmyra,” the Admiral said. He wasn’t pleading, but his voice had lost the bluster of moments before. “We have more on order—”
“It will be ready when we return home!” the Autocrator said. “Or there will be executions, you understand? Perhaps starting with the admiral who failed to see to it that the cables were available when they were needed!”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Polowitz whispered.
The Autocrator’s eyes swivelled back to Daniel and von Gleuck. “Well then, Captain,” she said, her voice still trembling with fury. “You have criticized my cruiser, well and good. But—”
Daniel would have protested, but he knew that would make the situation worse. The Piri Reis was perfectly safe to operate, and her rig was in better condition than that of almost any merchant vessel in Cinnabar registry. The RCN—or the Fleet—would by now have replaced some of the cables on vessels in frontline service, that was all he’d meant.
“—perhaps you will be good enough to show me your ship in turn?”
“Yes, of course, Your Excellency,” Daniel said. “When would you like to visit the Princess Cecile?”
“Now!” said the Autocrator. “And these others—”
She nodded to von Gleuck and Posy.
“—can come too. If her brother will allow her, that is.”
“We on Zenobia are civilized, Irene,” Posy said with her nose lifted again. “Hergo does not direct my movements, nor I his.”
“Master von Gleuck,” Daniel said, standing formally straight, “Lady Belisande. Will you do me the honor of touring the Princess Cecile with the Autocrator and me?”
He broke into an honest smile. “I’m quite proud of her, you know,” he said.
Von Gleuck clasped Daniel’s hand. “The honor would be ours, sir,” he said. “And I hope in the future you will call me Otto. There need be no formality between two professionals, need there?”
They laughed together while Autocrator Irene watched in stony silence.
CHAPTER 9
Raphael Harbor on Stahl’s World
“Irene has three guards with her,” Tovera said, watching a feed from the Sissie’s external camera. “My goodness, they have mob guns.”
She giggled, then added, “It always seemed to me to be simpler to learn to shoot accurately; but then, I’m not from Palmyra.”
Both valves of the forward airlock were fixed open while the corvette was in harbor. Lieutenant Cory, wearing utilities, entered the rotunda from the hull and stepped onto the bridge.
Glancing over his shoulder to see that he hadn’t been followed, he said, “Captain Leary and four civilians are coming up the ramp. They’ve got guards with them.”
“The Captain is bringing the Autocrator Irene of Palmyra with her admiral, and the captain of the Z 46 with the sister of the Founder of Zenobia,” Adele said. She hadn’t been formally told who the guests would be—Daniel had just reported that he would be arriving in half an hour with four visitors—but Adele had of course been watching the proceedings aboard the Piri Reis. That was her job, after all.
“The Palmyrenes who came on ahead know what they’re doing,” Cory said uncomfortably. “Woetjans is watching them run up and down the rigging, and I checked with Pasternak too. He says the ones in the Power Room are sticking their noses everywhere. There were even a couple crawling up the throats of the thrusters.”
“Is there enough room to do that?” Adele said, looking up from her display.
“Some of them don’t look older than twelve,” Cory said with a shrug. “Maybe they’re just small.”
He grimaced. “Mistress, d
o you know what they’re doing?” he said.
“Captain Leary reported that he would be bringing a party to view the Princess Cecile,” Adele said carefully. “He then added that a number of Palmyrene spacers would be preceding them, and that they were to be given full facilities to see whatever they wished.”
She pursed her lips and, because it was Cory, added, “I don’t know what their purpose is either. It may simply be that Captain Leary has a reputation as a skilled spacer, and the Palmyrenes are curious because they fancy themselves in that area as well.”
“They’re coming up the forward companionway,” Tovera said. The echo of footsteps was warning enough.
Vesey was in the Battle Direction Center and most of the crew was on liberty—the Sissie was moored in an RCN base, after all. Pasternak and Woetjans had rushed back to take charge of their anchor watches. Both senior warrant officers were in their liberty suits and the bosun was staggeringly drunk as well, but she wasn’t too drunk to carry out her duties if they didn’t involve fancy footwork.
Daniel came up in the lead. Hogg was immediately behind him, wearing a scowl. The servant hadn’t been allowed to join Daniel at the gala, which he had accepted; but he had become thoroughly irritated when he learned that the young master had then gone into the midst of a gang of armed wogs without him.
Hogg would have been carrying a sub-machine gun openly if Adele hadn’t told him to return it to the armory before he met Daniel at the entrance to the Naval Basin. He hadn’t needed the shoulder weapon for any practical reason, but it would have shown how displeased he was to be excluded from possible danger.
“He had no business going off and leaving me like that!” Hogg had muttered. “Anything could’ve happened!”
Adele smiled faintly. Based on past experience, nobody in Daniel’s company had to worry about being kept out of danger. There would be plenty to go around—perhaps not on a mission to Zenobia, but soon enough.
Posy Belisande and her escort, von Gleuck of the Z 46, were next up the companionway. Adele had checked the Alliance captain’s record as a matter of course. He not only commanded the naval detachment on Zenobia, but the imagery from the gala made it immediately obvious that he was more than a casual factor in the life of Adele’s target.
