“I served with Pettin at Wixallia Base,” Mon said, frowning as though he’d just been told his legs had to be amputated. Mon had more experience than most with getting bad news, and he’d perfected a suitable expression. “Most Godforsaken place anybody thought to plant a Cinnabar flag. I started drinking.”
The lieutenant glared down the length of the table as if daring anyone to contradict him. There was small chance of that: Mon drank on Kostroma, on Cinnabar, and on shipboard, though Adele had never seen him unable to carry out his duties.
Mon grinned sourly. “Pettin prayed. Believe me, I’d rather have served under a drunk than a pulpit-pounder. And it didn’t help him with the Navy Office. He was promoted captain, all right, but he retired on half-pay four years ago. He’d still be retired if it wasn’t the war’s on again.”
He raised his glass, just refilled by Hogg. “God bless the war!” he said.
“God bless!” echoed other officers, the midshipmen the loudest. Daniel quirked a smile but didn’t drink that toast; Adele set the personal data unit before her on the table and picked up its wands.
“You say ‘squadron,’ ” Taley said. “Being we’re going to the back of beyond, all the way into the Sack, I suppose that means a couple crocks that should’ve been broken up thirty years back, does it?”
“The heavy cruiser Winckelmann,” Daniel answered mildly. “The Archaeologist Class was an innovative design, though she’s not new, of course. With the destroyers Petty and Active.”
“The Active?” Betts said. “She was broken up, I heard. Two thrusters blew out while she was landing and she hit a pier with her bow.”
“They cut the forward section off and mated her to what was left of the Plump when her Tokamak failed,” Pasternak said. “They kept the Active’s name, I guess because she hadn’t killed quite so many of her crew as the Plump did.”
Daniel glanced at Adele. “Mundy, do you have information on the complements of Commodore Pettin’s ships?” he said.
Adele hadn’t been expecting the question, but she’d absently brought up data on the three vessels as Daniel spoke their names. She increased the display’s saturation for easier reading, then said, “The destroyers are crewed at seventy percent of their organizational standard. The cruiser is at sixty-five percent.”
There were seventeen messages from Captain Pettin—Commodore when the squadron lifted off, under his command as senior captain in lieu of an admiral—demanding that the Bureau of Personnel provide him with more spacers. The only response he’d gotten was the message received notation that the bureau’s computer created without the intervention even of a junior clerk.
“Hide our complement records, Ms. Mundy,” Woetjans said, looking across the table at Adele. “Pettin’ll take forty of our people if he learns we’re fully staffed, and with real spacers instead of the landsmen he’ll have in half his berths.”
“She can’t,” Mon said sadly. “The pay record can’t be changed till we reach home port again and link to Navy Office database. When our system handshakes with the Winckelmann, it’ll all be there for Pettin to see.”
“Of course I can change it,” Adele said. “Should I, or was that a joke, Woetjans?”
“Actually, that would be rather helpful,” Daniel said, pursing his lips in careful consideration. “That is, if it can be done without risking the pay or widow’s pension of any of the personnel, that is?”
“Of course,” Adele repeated. She didn’t see why the officers thought it was that complicated a procedure. Any navigational computer had sufficient power to defeat a payroll encryption, and the Princess Cecile—because of Adele’s secret assignment—had specialized software besides.
Daniel smiled like the sun rising. “Woetjans and Pasternak, after the meeting please give Officer Mundy a list of the personnel you’d like formally off the record.”
He put his left hand on Adele’s right and added, “I have a warrant from the Navy Office authorizing me to accept volunteers from RCN vessels. That might very well cover the situation, but it isn’t an argument a junior lieutenant cares to make to a senior captain.”
“Captain?” Lt. Mon said. “You’ll have us at weapons training throughout the cruise, we all know that who came from Kostroma with you. But is there a chance, do you think, of real action?”