Lt. Leary, Commanding by David Drake

Tredegar’s cheeks flushed bright red. Blood spurted from his nose and ears; his limbs went slack and he fell, all but the arm still tethered to the policeman’s harness. The Militia officer jumped back, but blood still splashed his trouser legs and his right boot.

“I figured he’d do that, so I kept him tied up,” Hogg said to the officer in a conversational voice. “It’s a real education to watch a city professional like you work, Captain.”

More sirens were approaching. Adele sat on the ground and brought up her data unit again. She didn’t want to waste more time here, and Daniel almost certainly had things he should be doing instead of discussing with a series of officious bureaucrats a matter that was already closed. The message she was sending to Admiral Anston’s office might bring a quick end to the irritation.

And if it didn’t, the copy to a site Mistress Sand used for confidential dispatches certainly would.

Chapter Eight

Lt. Daniel Leary sat at the command console in the middle of the Princess Cecile’s bridge. In Kostroman service the console had been fixed facing the bow; now it would rotate 360 degrees in accordance with the most modern RCN practice, so that the captain could watch what was happening down the axis of C Level by dimming his holographic display to a fifty-percent mask.

Pasternak, the chief engineer—new to the corvette, but a man with an excellent record both on paper and in the opinion of Sissies who’d served under him on other hulls—came up from A Level. The smile he wore on the companionway faded as he turned toward the bridge, facing Daniel at last with an expression of gray concern.

“Captain,” he called across the bustle of the bridge, “I’ve a full crew and the stores are catalogued, but I don’t vouch for the quality of either till we’ve had time to work up properly.”

“Very good, Mr. Pasternak,” Daniel said. “As it chances, all but three of your crew have served with me before so I think I with honesty can vouch for them to you. As for the sealed stores, we’ll trust the warehouse inspection system till we have reason to doubt it—and we’ll raise holy Hell if there is reason, right?”

Pasternak grinned. “They’re a prime lot, sir,” he said. “I’m honored you wanted me aboard to run things hull-side. But I didn’t want to sound, you know, too confident before you’d seen me in action.”

“Understood, Pasternak,” Daniel said. “I expect we’ll both be pleased with the relationship when the Sissie pays off the next time.”

Daniel’s display was running a crew list, an equipment status report, and a schematic of the Princess Cecile which highlighted mechanical changes in a red that faded through shades of orange with time. This last showed that a dorsal airlock had just cycled. Through the hologram Daniel could see Ellie Woetjans, timing the return from topside of a section of the port watch wearing rigger’s suits.

“Lamsoe!” the bosun bellowed. “Lock that Goddamned helmet down or you can see how you like being derated for the tour!”

“I’m going to check the alignment of Number Three thruster, sir,” Pasternak said, already backing toward the companionway. “We may have to readjust it after the shakedown run, though.”

Betts, the chief missileer, was new to the Princess Cecile also. He turned from the attack console and said, “As ordered, sir, we’re carrying the tubes loaded and a full twenty reloads. There’s no guarantees short of launching them, of course, but I’d bet my life that all twenty-two’ll function clean as a simulation.”

“It’s quite possible we’ll all be betting our lives on that, Mr. Betts,” Daniel said, with a smile to draw the sting from the reminder. “I’ll expect to test your readiness with some target practice if luck doesn’t send us real targets on this voyage.”

The Princess Cecile was carrying two more missiles than her Table of Equipment. They would be expended before she returned to Harbor Three, of that Daniel was determined.

He’d noticed in the past that missileers tended not to think of their charges as being weapons for real use. Missiles were expensive and so big that relatively few could be carried on even a large warship. Missile practice was rarely carried out live, and even during wartime the chance of a missile engagement with a hostile vessel was slight.

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