Lt. Leary, Commanding by David Drake

The galley was on B Level opposite the entryway. Between mealtimes when the Princess Cecile was under weigh it served as a lounge, but usually when the corvette was on the ground the personnel spent their free time in facilities ashore.

Not here on Dalbriggan. When Daniel entered with Adele—the two midshipmen trailed behind like nervous pets—thirty-odd spacers rose to their feet in greeting. Most of them were armed: many with weapons from the arms locker and bandoliers of ammunition, but the others displayed less formal clubs, knives, and in one case a wire garotte.

“Sir, can you tell us what they’re planning to do?” asked Liebig with a nod of greeting to Adele as well. “These bloody pirates, I mean. Are we going to attack?”

“A Number Four breakfast for Officer Mundy, if you please, Wharnock!” Daniel called to the spacer who was getting a mug of hot cacao from the mess dispenser. He settled Adele into a table vacated for them and said, “The free citizens of Dalbriggan are our friends and allies, Liebig. They’re going to help us find necessary supplies to repair the Sissie. And just incidentally we’ll clean out a nest of real pirates at the same time.”

Wharnock brought over the meal packet. He stripped the top off with a gush of steam as he set it on the table before Adele. She stared in sudden horror at the bacon, eggs, and grits—and as suddenly felt another rush of hunger. She picked up the spoon attached to the container and began eating.

“Sir, d’ye trust these bastards?” a spacer asked. Adele didn’t notice who spoke; she was balancing the spoonful of egg at the edge of her lips, blowing softly to cool the contents.

“Trust ’em to cut our throats if we turn our backs,” another said. “They say they only go after Alliance shipping now, but you know they don’t want us nosing around to see what loot they really got hidden away here.”

Through the chorus of “Yeah,” and “That’s God’s truth,” Daniel—who wasn’t eating, as Adele had suspected—said, “As a matter of fact, I do trust the Dalbriggans to help us, Swade. The leaders, that’s most of the captains, not just Kelburney, don’t want to be ruled from Falassa, but they know that’s what’s going to happen unless they do something fast. Our coming here gives them a chance to strike before so much support drains away to the Falassans that one of Kelburney’s friends will have to shoot him.”

Adele started on the grits; to the best of her knowledge she’d never eaten bacon, so she was leaving that for last, if at all.

Daniel’s outline of politics in the Selma Cluster mirrored Adele’s reading of the cluster’s history. She smiled wryly. There was a great deal of similarity between Selma and Cinnabar, if it came to that. Her parents would certainly have agreed with that at the end.

“Officer Mundy?” Daniel asked. “How do you assess the situation from your specialist viewpoint?”

Daniel wasn’t asking for a real analysis. At another time, in private, he’d certainly be interested in what Adele in all her different guises thought, but what the two of them were doing now was an exercise in theater to keep the crew’s morale high. Though—Adele’s private opinion would be precisely the same as the one she offered now.

“Speaking as a scholar who’s studied politics and the history of the Selma Cluster,” she said, “I agree with your outline. And speaking as a Mundy of Chatsworth—”

She tried to scoop up a strip of bacon but decided it must be finger food instead.

“—I must say that I’m pleased to have Speaker Leary’s son on my side this time.”

There was general laughter, some of it amazed. Every member of the crew knew who Daniel’s father was, and by now rumor at least must have identified Adele with the leaders of the Three Circles Conspiracy. In this case by rare exception, rumor was perfectly correct.

Vesey put a steaming mug of cacao beside Adele’s meal packet. Adele sipped. She’d have preferred water, but this bitter, stimulant-rich drink was the RCN’s on-duty staple; she supposed she’d have to get used to it.

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