Lt. Leary, Commanding (30 page)

"Sir, the Navy Office directed me to spare no effort to join the squadron at Sexburga despite our late start," Daniel said, his eyes unblinkingly focused on the center of the hatch instead of meeting the commodore's glaring fury. It wasn't much of a lie, and it seemed for a moment that it might just calm Pettin's anger. Then—

Oh
God
. Kira whatever-her-name-is was trotting primly down the gangplank. The skintight skirt didn't hobble her in the least.

"Danny, sweetheart?" she called in a voice so clear that nobody within fifty feet could mistake the words. "You didn't kiss me good-bye, darling."

The quartet from the
Winckelmann
turned. The marine's face showed momentary appreciation, then went professionally blank. Commodore Pettin looked at Daniel again.

"Lieutenant Leary," he said. "I was concerned when I detected signs of obvious inebriation in the tones of the duty officer when I queried your vessel from orbit."

His voice started gently enough but it quickly rose to be heard over the howl of another aircar landing. The vehicle was ornate, with enamel escutcheons on the doors and a fringed canopy.

"But I never, never in my worst nightmares, could have imagined the sort of debauchery that I saw taking place as we landed! I will not ask for your explanation, because there cannot possibly be an explanation!"

"Danny . . . ?" Kira peeped. Even she seemed to have come to the realization that something was wrong.

The
Princess Cecile
's crew—the bulk of the spacers who hadn't had time to scramble aboard before the commodore's aircar arrived—had formed in ranks on the quay as though for an inspection. Through them, moving with the stumping precision of a man who'd spent his time in a starship's rigging, came Admiral Torgis with civilian aides in his train.

"Do you have anything to say before I remove you from command and order your confinement for court-martial?" the commodore shouted.

"Sir!" said Daniel. It was reflex, drilled into him at the Academy and absolutely the only thing
to
say under these circumstances. "No excuse,
sir
."

"Who's that?" boomed Admiral Torgis. "Pettin, isn't it? I'm glad you finally got here, Captain. You can have a drink with me in honor of Lieutenant Leary, who's been posted to your command."

"Admiral?" Commodore Pettin said, half turning and forcing his face in the direction of a smile; not very far in that direction. "The condition of the crew . . . Have you noticed . . . ?"

He gestured toward the depot ship, a little flick of his hand as though trying to brush away a fly. His subordinates had stepped aside and stood at parade rest, studiously
not
looking at either the commodore or the admiral.

Kira vacillated on the gangplank. Torgis took the girl by the waist in both hands and swung her behind him, showing skill and balance that a rigger could appreciate.

"Quite a little party, isn't it?" he said with a chuckle. Daniel noted a hard glint in the admiral's eyes, though: he knew exactly what had been going on when he arrived here and what would have happened if he'd been a few minutes later. "Thought it was the least I could do. Paid for it myself, that is. Though I think I could've justified Commission funds for the crew that saved Kostroma from the Alliance."

"But Admiral," Pettin said, swaying slightly with the tension he held himself under. "The condition of the officers as well as the crew—"

"Well, for God's sake, Pettin," Torgis said. He stepped into the
Princess Cecile
's entryway, pressing the
Winckelmann
's personnel back by sheer force of personality. "What do you expect their condition to be after a run like they made? Seventeen days from Cinnabar to here.
I
never knew of a crew who pushed so hard. They'll be fit to fight as soon as yours are, though, I warrant."

A second ship was descending; one of the squadron's destroyers, Daniel assumed, though he couldn't see from where he stood within the corvette. The thruster pulses were audible, though it would be some minutes before the sound smothered normal conversation.

Though "normal conversation" didn't describe what was going on here.

"Sir, the duty officer was obviously drunk!" Pettin said.

"With respect, sir!" said Adele Mundy in a hard voice without a hint of respect in it. "I believe I was eating dinner at the time the
Winckelmann
announced its arrival, but I most certainly am not drunk."

Daniel blinked in surprise, then choked back a laugh when he realized that Adele's statement was literally true. She stood ramrod straight on the companionway from C Level. She'd changed into her utility uniform, and he knew without question that the ship's log now would indicate she'd been on duty all night.

Pettin looked as though he'd been sandbagged. Admiral Torgis proved he understood as well as Woetjans did that the first rule of brawling is that you
always
kick your opponent when he's down.

"And if she isn't, that's a violation of my instructions to Lieutenant Leary, Captain," the admiral said. "I made it as clear as I knew how that
every
member of his crew should have a good time at my expense tonight. I may be retired, but there's still people in the Navy Office who'd listen if I told them the RCN doesn't need Goody Two-shoes for commanding officers. There'll be no Alliance attack here with the satellite defenses in place."

"Thank you, Admiral," Adele said in ringingly aristocratic tones, "but my sobriety is entirely a personal choice. I would be unsuitable as a commanding officer for other reasons as well."

"I see," said Commodore Pettin. He shuddered like a man lifted from freezing water. His tongue touched his lips. "Lieutenant Leary, report to me at ten hundred hours tomorrow."

He looked at Torgis and added in a voice that would have been venomous if it had more life, "If that meets with your approval, Admiral?"

The destroyer was within three thousand feet, slowing to a near hover as the captain steadied her for landing. Admiral Torgis, raising his voice to be heard over the throb of plasma, said, "I'm retired, remember, Captain. In any case, I wouldn't interfere with another officer giving proper commands to his subordinates."

Daniel had been standing at attention from the moment of the commodore's arrival. "Sir!" he said, throwing another salute. It wasn't nearly as crisp as the first; maybe despair was what he needed to perform drill and ceremony properly. "Ten hundred hours tomorrow,
sir
!"

Commodore Pettin turned and stalked off across the gangplank without returning the salute or further acknowledging the Resident Commissioner. His subordinates followed, each with a surreptitious salute to the former admiral.

The
Princess Cecile
's crew must have heard the entire exchange; now they began to cheer. They were so loud that Daniel could hear them until the destroyer licked the harbor into a roar of steam.

The cheering wasn't going to help matters tomorrow morning; but even before there hadn't been much doubt about how Daniel's formal interview would go.

_"E
nter!" Commodore Pettin called through the open hatchway
to his office.

Daniel took two strides and halted before Pettin's desk. He was well aware of the three clerks in the outer office, staring at his back, but Pettin continued working at the holographic display between him and the lieutenant he'd summoned.

Daniel took an Academy brace and saluted. "Lieutenant Leary, reporting as ordered, sir!" he said.

Pettin thumbed the display to lower intensity and looked through it sourly. He touched his forehead in a perfunctory salute and said, "At ease, Leary. Pretending you were an honor graduate isn't going to fool me. The only respect you're owed is for your uniform, however much you may disgrace it."

Daniel stepped sideways to parade rest, keeping his eye on the corner of the holoprint of a vaulted cloister behind the commodore. It was the only portion of the compartment's furnishings that wasn't RCN issue. Granting that Pettin wasn't a wealthy man, this was still an unusual degree of asceticism in an officer of his seniority.

"I've met your sort before, Leary," the commodore continued. "Well-born wastrels whose political connections put them on a fast track to honors despite their manifest incapacity for command. Professional officers soon learn to work around them."

Pettin was wearing a utility uniform, technically acceptable since he was aboard a warship on active duty but a studied insult when welcoming the captain of a vessel recently posted to his command. Daniel had finally settled on his grays for the interview, knowing that whatever choice he made would be grounds to damn him—for a popinjay in a dress uniform or because his utilities lacked respect for his superior officer—if Pettin chose to take it that way.

As Pettin certainly was going to do.

"Any comment to make, Lieutenant?" Pettin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, sir," Daniel said to the cloisters.

With the exception of astrogation—and there because of his skill in practice rather than on theory—Daniel's Academy scores had been toward the lower limit of adequate. Even that degree of success probably owed less to Daniel's efforts than to the fact that a naval career didn't appeal to many grinding intellectuals. Still, there
was
more to being an RCN officer than your academic record.

But to protest to Pettin now? Daniel Leary had made a fool out of himself many times, and not always over a woman; but he'd never been so great a fool as that.

Pettin continued, looking vaguely displeased at Daniel's lack of reaction, "The portion of the squadron that accompanied me from Cinnabar will require three days to refit. No doubt the
Princess Cecile
will be ready long before that since you'll have taken advantage of your early arrival."

Pettin raised his eyebrow again. It was hard to distinguish the expression from a scowl, but Daniel decided a response was the better choice. "Yes, sir," he said.

He'd wrung the
Princess Cecile
out, no question about that, but she'd come through the test with flying colors. Parts of the rigging needed replacement, and one of the triply-redundant pumps feeding the antimatter converters had lost its impeller in spectacular fashion, but all this would be classed as normal wear and tear for a run of such length.

With the exception of a turnbuckle that wasn't in store on Sexburga, the repairs were already complete. Tally and her assistant were machining that last part out of bar stock; they'd have it in place by mid-afternoon.

"Fine," Pettin said with heavy irony. "Then that frees you to undertake a survey of ruins on the south continent here. I understand they've never been properly catalogued. A local resident, the Captal da Lund, has kindly offered the use of his aircar and a guide. They'll be ready by ten hours thirty local time, and I expect you and your support personnel to be ready also."

He paused with an expectant smirk.

"Yes, sir," Daniel said. The aircar he'd seen in the Captal's compound would hold twenty people, but there'd be gear to carry as well. He'd take ten crewmen plus Hogg—a worthy scion of generations of poachers and outsdoorsmen—and Adele if she wanted to go.

Disappointed again, Pettin continued, "You'll turn over command of the
Princess Cecile
to your first lieutenant and report back in seventy-two hours for liftoff with the rest of the squadron. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Daniel said. In the RCN, carrying out a superior's order always took precedence to wondering why the sanctimonious jackass had chosen to give the order in the first place.

"Leary . . ." the commodore said, leaning back in his chair as his fingers writhed on the desk before him. "I don't imagine that removing you from the high life of Spires is going to make an RCN officer of you—I doubt anything could do that—but it's as much as I can do at present. Do you have any comment to make?"

"Yes sir," Daniel said to the hologram. "Am I dismissed to prepare for the expedition, sir?"

"Dismissed!" Commodore Pettin said.

Daniel saluted, turned, and strode out of the office as smartly as he could manage. To his back Pettin shouted, "And I only wish I could dismiss you from the service as well!"

He could have saved his breath. Daniel hadn't been in the least doubt about the commodore's opinion.

The bustle around Adele on the
Princess Cecile
's bridge hadn't penetrated her concentration, but when Daniel appeared, still shouting orders back down the companionway, she looked up from her console. Daniel already had the jacket of his 2nd Class uniform off and was unsealing the fly of his trousers to drop them also.

"Adele!" he said. "Are you interested in seeing South Land? Frankly, I'd just as soon have you here to handle communications, but you're welcome to come if you'd like. I've told Woetjans that I've got Hogg to shepherd me so she's not going to tag along. Mon may need a bosun in the event the good commodore gets another harebrained idea."

A sidebar showed that Lt. Mon was in the Battle Direction Center, alerting the crewmen who'd be accompanying Daniel to the middle of nowhere. A few of them might start out with a hangover, but they were all present and accounted for. Daniel hadn't known what was going to happen when he formally reported to Commodore Pettin, but he'd made sure he and his whole complement would be prepared for it.

"I'd go if you wanted me," Adele said. "I've slept many a night on a cot in the Academic Collections. A tent in a rocky desert isn't going to be worse. But if you really want me here, there are ways I can be more useful."

With Tovera's help, Hogg had finished packing duffle bags for himself and Daniel. Unasked he traded Daniel a utility jacket for the grays. As he did so, the kneeling Tovera slid Daniel's trousers down and tapped his ankle for him to raise his right foot. She gave Adele a sidelong smile.

"I'll tell you one way right now," Daniel said. "See if you can find out how Pettin decided to send me off to the South Land. I'm surprised he even knows about the ruins. He certainly doesn't have the reputation of being an archaeologist!"