“Your crew took away all my masts,” Slayter said, following Daniel. Well, there hadn’t been much chance the Rohaskan would take the hint of a turned back and leave. “Not just a couple to replace your damage.”
Other people—though not many RCN officers, come to think—might have apologized to Slayter or defensively brought up the civilian’s promises during the council meeting. Daniel turned like a gun training and said, “We’ve replaced the six antennas that were lost at Tanais, Captain Slayter, and in addition we’ve replaced the spares we used to make good as much of the damage as we could at the time.”
An aircar overloaded with hogsheads of liquor flew across the field from the south. Its four fans were lugging in synchrony, so the vehicle’s progress toward Homeland was a bass thrum . . . thrum . . . thrum . . . A naked man danced on the cargo.
“My understanding was that the Pretty Mary was being refitted with spars from the stocks available on Falassa,” Daniel said. “They won’t be full length, but they’ll get you home. Slower, perhaps, but you’re short-handed so the lesser sail area is an advantage.”
Slayter had started to speak, but Daniel continued raising his voice to keep the floor. He took a step toward the civilian. Slayter held his ground momentarily, then stepped back.
“That’s my understanding, as I said,” Daniel continued, “but my only concern at this moment is to prepare my warship in the most expedient fashion for action against the enemies of the Republic. The loyal citizens protected by Cinnabar are obligated to help in any way possible to achieve that end. Now—”
Daniel placed his hands on his hips and glared at the civilian.
“—is there any aspect of your duties to the Republic that you fail to understand, Captain Slayter? Or is it your loyalty that’s in doubt?”
“I’m loyal!” said Slayter, who’d shrunk six inches during Daniel’s polemic. He knew the penalties for treason to the Republic, and he must have suspected that Daniel was willing to execute them—and him—out of hand. “Look, I’m just a loyal captain trying to have a friendly conversation with a fellow citizen!”
Daniel beamed. “I’m very glad to hear that, Captain,” he said, again a picture of friendliness. “It helps those of us in the fighting forces to know as we ready for battle that the civilians we leave behind in safety understand and appreciate us.”
Slayter quivered between relief and resentful anger. Above on the hull Woetjans bellowed, “Another inch, another inch—put your backs into it, you buggering women!”
Daniel glanced up. A team was stepping a new mast, the last of the six being mounted. They’d used the hydraulic winch to get the heavy tubing roughly into position, but the final adjustment had to be made by hand. Five riggers were hauling on a six-block tackle, while the bosun herself knelt holding the pivot pin in place with her left hand and a heavy maul short-gripped in her right.
“One—hold it!” The maul crashed down like the impact of a slug.
Woetjans stood. She saw Daniel watching and waved her maul in triumph. “Twenty more minutes, sir!” she called. “You can lift any time after that!”
Daniel waved back. That was only true, he suspected, if he lifted with crewmen on the hull reeving the last of the cables and mounting the sails. But if he gave those orders, neither Woetjans nor any of her riggers would complain about the danger.
Slayter had used the distraction to head for his freighter in the berth across the canal to the east. When Daniel moved the Princess Cecile from her blocking position by the river, he’d landed next to the Pretty Mary so that his crew wouldn’t have far to transport the masts and spars they were commandeering.
Daniel preened himself mentally. He was learning how to set down on dry land without bobbling dangerously on reflected thrust. It wasn’t a skill an RCN commander often needed, but someday it might be the difference between life and death.
Tovera stepped out of the main hatch. She looked oddly nondescript, even when carrying a submachine gun slung so that the butt was in her hand beside her right hip.