Lt. Leary, Commanding by David Drake

Daniel’s left hand clenched, released, and then clenched again. His expression remained calmly attentive, his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Well, he won’t find a ship to report to if he does,” the commodore said, his tone suddenly cheerful. “Lieutenant Mon, I’m making your appointment to command of the Princess Cecile permanent in the absence of Leary. A captain who can’t keep in touch with his ship has no business in the RCN. Your command will lift in six minutes, according to the schedule of operations. Hold in orbit for the remainder of the squadron to join you. Squadron Six out.”

“Sir!” said Lt. Mon. “I’m very sorry, but the Princess Cecile is not ready to lift. While under my temporary command, the cooling system for her Tokamak went out of order. I haven’t been able to repair the problem yet. Over.”

“By God, Mon,” Pettin said. He didn’t sound angry, just amazed. “By God. I suggest you get your little problem solved in the next five minutes. Because if your foreign-built so-called corvette doesn’t lift with the squadron, you will have no career at all. None!”

The transmission ended in the hiss of an open line; Adele broke the contact. No one in the cab spoke for a moment.

Adele looked out the side window. The aircar was over land again; North Land, she supposed, but geography didn’t greatly interest her. Most of the continent was as barren as its wholly uninhabited sister.

“I very much regret Lieutenant Mon’s decision,” Daniel said quietly. “But I’m not one to second-guess the man on the ground.”

He gave first Woetjans, then Adele a smile with something of steel in it. “And a great deal can happen before Commodore Pettin returns to Cinnabar and files his report with the Navy Office. We’ll see what we can do in the interim to change his mind.”

* * *

As the aircar dropped in tight spirals into the harbor, Daniel noted that the Princess Cecile was ready to lift off as soon as the gangplank came in. The turret would have to be lowered and two hatches were for the moment being used as gunports, but in an emergency all that could be taken care of while the corvette was bound for orbit.

Daniel nodded in approval. That was what he’d expected, of course, from Mon or any competent RCN officer, but it was still a pleasure and relief to see that his confidence had been justified.

They landed just short of the gangplank. A curtain of spray flashed up from the quay: wheeled traffic had worn the stone enough that it filled when vessels maneuvering in nearby slips sloshed the harbor’s surface. Liebig cursed because he hadn’t noticed the puddle in the twilight, but Daniel wouldn’t have cared if he’d been standing in the middle of the splash. He couldn’t be much more bedraggled than the past few days marching in the desert had left him.

“Move it, move it!” Woetjans bellowed. The passenger compartment had double doors to ease the passage of the wealthy and corpulent. The spacers were neither, but they disembarked as hastily as they ran to action stations; the wide openings eased the process.

Woetjans was out before the car was fully at rest. Liebig followed an instant later after he’d shut off the power. Adele, on the other hand, was looking puzzled about what she should do next.

Rather than wait for her to open the door beside her, Daniel slid out past the steering yoke. “Woetjans, two men to help the signals officer!” he called as he trotted to the gangplank past the crewmen waiting tautly for their captain to lead them aboard.

Daniel felt thoroughly alive. The Princess Cecile had missed the squadron’s liftoff, a difficult situation but not necessarily a career-ending one. He’d have to play his hand as well as ever an officer did to save himself, however.

“Captain, I’m in the Battle Direction Center,” said Mon’s voice on the helmet earphones. “I have a course to Strymon loaded, based on Commander Bergen’s logs. I know you’ll be able to refine it, but I thought we could get under weigh now and save a couple hours computation time over a cold start. Mon over.”

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