by Grant, Peter
At last, as the closing credits rolled, Abha laid down her fork and sat back, replete. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Brooks,” she said, covering her mouth to stifle a soft burp of satisfaction. “You picked the best steaks in the shop. They were aged just right, tender enough to cut with a fork. What’s your secret to choosing them?”
“Simple. All the food stores offer the same pre-cut, pre-packaged steaks, despite the different labels. They come from just a few producers. Thing is, those producers compete for orders and shelf space. One of the ways they do that is to reserve some good cuts for store managers and buyers. I simply got hold of the most promising-looking employee, slipped him a twenty, and asked him to wrap me half a dozen choice filets from the management meat in the back. After yesterday’s publicity, he was happy to help. I paid for ’em, all legal and above-board, and he made a little extra for himself too.”
Steve grinned. “Aha! Bribery and corruption! That’s conduct unbecoming an officer, I’ll have you know!”
Abha gurgled with amusement. “Perhaps, but just look at the steak it got us!” she objected.
“Um. Yes. In that case, my son,” and Steve looked magisterially over his nose at Brooks, “all is forgiven.”
“I should damn well hope so! I’ve got to hand it to you, too. You’ve got a master’s touch with steak over coals. You sear the outside, but only lightly, and the inside’s perfect. I can never get mine to come out that well.”
Brooks was interrupted by the sharp buzz of his official comm unit. He frowned wrathfully. “Now what? I warned the Shore Patrol to steer clear of my boys and girls, and let ’em party! If they didn’t listen to me, I’ll…”
He put the unit to his ear. “Captain Shelby speaking.” His eyes opened wider, and he stiffened slightly as he listened. “Yes, Sir… Thank you, Sir… Yes, Sir, of course… Thank you, Sir… Aye aye, Sir. We’ll be waiting.”
He replaced the comm unit on the table. “That was Colonel Houmayoun. He’s just finished a meeting with the System Patrol Service and the Minister of Defense. He wants to tell us what’s been going on. He’ll be here in ten minutes, along with Admiral Methuen.”
“We’d better get cleaned up and changed, then,” Abha suggested, standing up. “We can’t meet him looking like refugees from a beach bum contest!”
“Well, he said this was an informal visit, so we’d better keep it that way. Smart casual civvies, everyone.”
By the time Colonel Houmayoun’s official car pulled up in their driveway, they’d cleared away the debris of supper and hastily donned civilian trousers and more suitable shirts. “It still feels odd to dress down for an Admiral’s visit, even if he’s retired,” Steve muttered darkly. “You sure this won’t backfire on us?”
“We’ll just blame the Colonel if it does,” Brooks assured him, grinning.
Steve needn’t have worried. Admiral Methuen and the Colonel refused refreshments, and sat down in the living-room with broad smiles on their faces. They were clearly very happy about something.
“We thought you’d like to know some of what happened tonight right away, as it’s going to affect all of you,” Colonel Houmayoun began. “Since the initial developments concern the Admiral more than I, I’ll let him tell you about them.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Methuen sat back, relaxed. “We spent an hour discussing orbital and system security with the Minister of Defense. He asked me to thank you all very much for such an outstanding demonstration of why Rolla needs new assault shuttles, and how capable they are. Apparently public support for their purchase was only a bare majority before yesterday’s events – then it zoomed, literally overnight. There’s now eighty-per-cent-plus public approval to buy more shuttles, and raise a second armored battalion as well. Needless to say, he’s going to put that in hand at once, to take advantage of popular support.
“The Minister was frustrated that Rolla currently lacks sufficient funds to do those things and also buy more warships to patrol its star system. It needs ships just as badly, as yesterday’s events highlighted. However, we pointed out that new funds were about to become available which, with a little friendly assistance from me, would solve the problem.”
Steve pricked up his ears. “New funds, Sir?”
“Yes. Had you forgotten the prize money for Mauritania?”
“D’you know, Sir, I had forgotten it. We’ve been so tied up with after-action formalities we haven’t even had time to think about it.”
“Well, to refresh your memory, the Courts of Admiralty take ten per cent off the top of any prize award, to fund their operations. The balance is divided in two. Half goes to those taking the prize – one-third to commissioned and warrant officers, two-thirds to enlisted personnel. The other half goes to the relevant armed force. In this case, since Rolla contracted for your services and owns the shuttles you used, it’ll receive that half rather than the Fleet; and since the attack took place in the sphere of responsibility of the System Patrol Service, which also authorized your operation, it’ll get the money. It’s a windfall, over and above its annual budget. Since it hasn’t been committed to any other purpose as yet, the SPS can use it to buy warships.”
“I didn’t think there’d be much prize money at all, Sir,” Brooks observed. “We stopped the pirates before they could capture Mauritania, so she doesn’t meet the definition of a prize; and Blanco’s so badly damaged she’s fit only for scrap. I can’t see her bringing much at a prize auction.”
“You’re right about Blanco. She can’t even move under her own power any longer, and there are no facilities here to repair damage that bad. She’ll have to be handed over to the SPS to be destroyed as a target, or dropped into Rolla’s star. However, Mauritania’s case will be judged by the Prize Court according to the salvage provisions of Commonwealth law. If a salvor recovers a ship before she’s too badly damaged, and restores her to her owners in repairable condition, he can claim a percentage of her value as compensation. That varies depending on the extent of her damage, and on how much more damage she would have suffered if they hadn’t intervened.”
Steve nodded thoughtfully. “I guess we rescued Mauritania from capture by pirates, which would have cost her insurers the same as a total loss for other reasons, so we’ll have a claim for proportional compensation.”
“You will indeed,” the Admiral agreed. “There are also the ransoms that would have been demanded for the members of the Group of 100 aboard her – we all carry our own insurance against that sort of thing, of course. The insurers will be liable for a proportion of the ransoms they would have had to pay if you hadn’t intervened. The Prize Court on Lancaster will have to sort it all out and make a ruling.”
“With so many insurers involved, Sir, won’t that take an awful long time?” Abha asked.
“Under normal circumstances, yes, it might take a couple of years; but we can shorten the process if all claimants agree to negotiate a settlement with all the insurers, rather than holding out for the maximum possible award the court might make. That also minimizes the risk that the court’s award might be less than they’d like. Commodore O’Fallon has asked Methuen Investments to represent the SPS at the Prize Court. We have a registered Prize Agency among our operating companies - a very good one, too, if I say so myself. If your Marines will all agree to use our services too, we can move things right along. A settlement may be possible in as little as a few months.”
Brooks’ eyes lit up. “What sort of percentage are we talking about, Sir?”
“Past awards have ranged from ten to fifty per cent of insured value. I’m afraid the very large sums involved in this case, and the relatively light damage to Mauritania, will probably reduce the award; but I think ten to fifteen per cent is entirely realistic and achievable.”
“Ten to fifteen per cent of how much, Sir?” Abha asked, voice trembling a little. Steve suddenly remembered her ambition to study medicine, and realized she was on tenterhooks at the thought that the prize award might make it p
ossible much sooner than she’d thought.
Methuen smiled. “Captain Packer informs me that Mauritania’s insured value, including all her equipment, fixtures and fittings but excluding cargo and consumables, is one-point-one billion Lancastrian Commonwealth credits.”
There was a stunned silence in the room. Steve felt as if he’d been sandbagged, and he could see that Brooks and Abha were in no better state. Eventually he asked, carefully, “Did I hear you correctly, Sir? Did you say one-point-one billion?”
“I did. Don’t forget, she and her sister ship, while relatively small by merchant spaceship standards, are the most luxurious liners in interstellar service. All those fittings and frills and fripperies add up to a great deal of money. For example, her works of art alone – paintings, sculptures and so on, most of them originals – are almost thirty per cent of her insured value.”
“I see, Sir. So ten per cent of that would be… a hundred and ten million credits?” He felt as if his mind was wading through molasses, it figured the percentage so slowly.
Colonel Houmayoun was grinning fit to beat the band. “Yes, and if the award’s fifteen per cent, it’ll be a hundred and sixty-five million. Add to that the twenty-five-million-credit reward on Johann de Bouff’s head, plus whatever the Prize Court orders the Group of 100’s members’ insurers to contribute in lieu of ransoms.”
Steve was dumbstruck as his mind tried to grasp the numbers involved. The officers’ share will be fifteen per cent of the total prize money… that could be twenty million credits or more! And there’s only four of us, including Warrant Officer Labuschagne, to divide it!
“Even the most junior of your Marines, Rolla’s NCO’s, and the System Patrol Service people who took part in the assault, is going to be very well off indeed,” the Colonel continued. His smile showed more clearly than words that he wasn’t in the least dissatisfied at not sharing in the award – but he’d be compensated in other ways, Steve suddenly realized. He’d arranged for the instructors to come to Rolla, and helped set up the shuttle swap deal. Without both elements, yesterday’s events could not have ended so happily, so they’d reflect very positively upon him. That would probably help to ensure Houmayoun’s first star as a Brigadier-General in the not too distant future.
“And the SPS will use its share of the prize money to buy ships, Sir?” he asked.
“Yes,” the Admiral replied. “I’ve offered to negotiate on its behalf with the Board of Admiralty. There are still some Songbird class heavy patrol craft in the Reserve Fleet. Thanks to changes in the Fleet’s operating doctrine and structure we no longer use that class, so they’re listed for disposal. I think a word in the right ears at Admiralty House will allow Rolla to buy up to a dozen of them at their nominal, depreciated book value – probably a couple of million apiece. Ten to fifteen million more will buy an old depot ship to provide base facilities for them. The balance will pay for the Fleet dockyard to de-mothball and overhaul all of them, update their software and systems, outfit the depot ship to handle their ongoing maintenance, and buy a stock of spare parts. They use the same type of missiles as Rolla’s corvettes, which will simplify things for the planet’s Ordnance people. The Songbirds have at least twenty to thirty years of useful life left in them, more if they’re upgraded. They’re just what Rolla needs.”
Steve nodded, still trying to control his amazement over the potential size of the prize award. “I think that’s an excellent plan, Sir. I know the Songbirds – I served a tour aboard LCS Grasswren on the Radetski peacekeeping mission back in ’42. They’re ideal ships for a system patrol service.”
“You did? That’s excellent news! It makes another idea even more practicable.”
“It certainly does!” The Colonel sat forward eagerly. “Something else we discussed tonight was accelerating the recruitment and training of personnel for the PSDF’s second armored battalion, and for the SPS, to crew their new ships. The Minister’s asked me to arrange for the Marine training mission to be extended for an additional six months, through the first half of next year. We can’t do that directly, of course, because according to Fleet Regulations a temporary detachment can only last for six months at most. However, I think I can arrange to return you all to Lancaster for a couple of weeks leave at the end of the year, followed by a second six-month TDY to Rolla. I’m sure Marine Corps HQ will approve such an arrangement under the circumstances. D’you think any of your team would have a problem with that, Captain?”
Brooks shook his head. “I doubt it, Sir. In fact, I think they’ll enjoy it. They like it here. If a few of them have prior commitments, I’m sure we can find replacements for them, and those we lost yesterday.”
“Good. The Minister was particularly insistent that we use as many of the same instructors as possible, because you’ve all established enormous credibility in the eyes of the entire planet through your actions yesterday. He’d like to capitalize on that.” He transferred his gaze to Steve. “That applies to you, too, Lieutenant, although you’ll no longer work with the instructor unit.”
Steve had suddenly realized that the new arrangement would mean that he and Abha would be apart for an additional six months – almost a year, in total. He’d begun to be depressed at the thought, but suddenly felt more hopeful.
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“You were originally scheduled to be here until the end of next month, right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Admiral Methuen will return to Lancaster next week. He’ll visit Admiralty House as soon as he gets back. If he plays his cards right, we expect Rolla’s purchase of the Songbirds and a depot ship from the Reserve Fleet will be approved very quickly. The SPS wants to receive one patrol craft as soon as possible. If it’s given top priority for overhaul, it can be ready by the end of the year. They’d like a Fleet Commanding Officer and key NCO’s aboard her for the first six months, to supervise the training of their first patrol craft crews – and Commodore O’Fallon’s asked for you by name. Heavy patrol craft are normally commanded by Senior Lieutenants, so you already have the rank for the job. You’ve never served as a department head or Executive Officer, as you normally would before getting your first command, but your performance yesterday suggests you’ll be able to cope.”
“Yes,” the Admiral agreed, “and your prior experience aboard a Songbird class ship means you’ll have a lot less to learn about them.”
Steve felt a rush of excitement. He hadn’t dared hope for command for at least another couple of years, and even then it had seemed a vanishingly small possibility so early in his career. The only warships Senior Lieutenants were eligible to command during peacetime were intra-system patrol vessels, which could not hyper-jump, but secured the star system at which they were based. The Fleet had twelve eight-ship squadrons of Serpent class patrol craft in service, for a total of just ninety-six command slots; but there were many thousands of O-3 grade officers eager to fill them. Therefore, any Senior Lieutenant commanding a patrol craft automatically stood out among his peers. If Steve were selected for command, even of an older, smaller Songbird class patrol craft, it would do his career nothing but good. Furthermore, to have an allied armed force ask for his services by name was a significant professional compliment. It would not escape the Fleet’s notice.
“I presume I’ll have to pass the command course first, Sir?” he asked.
“Yes, you will. If the Board of Admiralty agrees to appoint you in command of Rolla’s first Songbird, you’ll have to return to Lancaster at once. You’ll need to brush up your knowledge of patrol craft before the Crusher begins. It’s going to be a tough course for you. The other candidates will almost certainly have more time in grade than you will – some much more. They’ll have been department heads or XO’s, and some may be of higher rank. Your relative inexperience compared to them may – no, let’s be honest, it will – put you at a disadvantage. Are you up for the challenge?”
Steve couldn’t help a sudden, nervous thought of,
What if I fail? My career would be over! He ruthlessly suppressed it with an instant mental riposte. You’ll just have to make sure you don’t fail, won’t you? Grab the opportunity with both hands, dammit! Who knows if it’ll ever come your way again?
He looked Admiral Methuen squarely in the eye. “Sir, one of the Benedictine brothers at the orphanage where I was raised was fond of a toast by James Graham, the first Marquis of Montrose. It went: ‘He either fears his fate too much, or his desserts are small, who dares not put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.’ I guess he’d say that about the Crusher, too. If the Fleet decides I’m ready to tackle that course, I’ll ‘put it to the touch’, Sir.”
Methuen grinned approvingly at him. “That’s the spirit! Based on your performance yesterday morning, I daresay you’ll be able to cope.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Even as he spoke, Steve wondered what might have happened to his career if he’d hesitated. Admiral Methuen, the hard-charging victor of the Battle of Corunna more than two decades before, had been well-known during his career for demanding that his subordinates demonstrate the same ability, drive and performance that he displayed himself. He’d put his weight behind the careers of those who did… and firmly blocked those who did not. Even in retirement, his influence was strong enough to potentially mean a great deal for an officer’s career. If Steve had shown any hesitation or reluctance, his goodwill might have been suddenly conspicuous by its absence.
“The Crusher lasts twelve weeks,” Methuen continued. “If we can get you onto the next course in September, you can be qualified by early December. The training detachment will get back to Lancaster shortly thereafter for a few weeks’ leave. You can take some leave yourself – you’ll need it by then! – while your ship is being prepared for transport, then return to Rolla with the detachment. You’ll spend the next six months here, training patrol craft crews. When the other Songbirds and the depot ship arrive, you’ll hand over your vessel to a Rolla officer and return to Lancaster.”
