Daniel clapped Mon on the shoulder. “Well, Mon,” he said, “the RCN has always stood by its commitments. But while the crew is being paid, why don’t you introduce me to the Count and his wife? Since you’re taking a knotty problem off my shoulders, it’s only right that I should solve a relatively minor one for you.”
* * *
There were seven people already on the bridge. Daniel ducked through the hatch and stepped aside so that Mon could enter to introduce him. The quarters weren’t exactly cramped, but when Daniel stood in this familiar space he was always mentally prepared to control a warship . . . which would be very difficult with so many supernumeraries crowding him.
The RCN personnel were a yard superintendent named Blaisdell with the rank of Lieutenant Commander—a red-faced man whom Daniel knew slightly; he was indifferently competent and must by now have given up all hope of promotion before he was forcibly retired—and four nattily-uniformed personnel from the Navy Office: a commander, two lieutenants (Daniel had expected one), and a senior clerk with warrant officer’s pips. All were strangers to him.
In addition there were the two civilians, a trim little man with a moustache and square-cut beard, both gray-speckled, and a tall woman who’d looked like a walking jumble sale when Daniel’d glimpsed her from the quay. Close up he could see that the swatches of bright-colored fabric had been donned with care and taste—albeit flamboyant taste. She’d fit in well with the spacers on the quay in their shore-going costumes and the civilians who’d battened onto them in more-or-less formal arrangements.
“Count Klimov,” said Mon, commencing the series of presentations, “allow me to present my colleague and former commanding officer, Lieutenant Daniel Leary.”
Klimov extended his right hand, palm down. Daniel wondered if the fellow expected him to kiss it. If so, he was due for a disappointment. . . .
Daniel touched fingertips with the Count, saying, “Your highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Mon and the crewmen I’ve spoken with describe you and your wife as gracious companions on the voyage from Strymon.”
“And we’ve been hearing about you from Lieutenant Wilsing and the others,” said the strikingly-dressed woman. “The Hero of Kostroma and the Hero of Strymon. And so young and handsome!”
She embraced Daniel, offering her cheek imperiously. Daniel gave her the peck she demanded and disengaged himself. Valentina Klimovna was younger than her husband but not young. To be sure, she was attractive enough to provide real competition for some of the professionals watching the pay parade.
Wilsing—the male lieutenant—nodded minusculely at the mention of his name. The fellow was still a total stranger to Daniel.
“Civilians are impressed by the sweep and color of battle, of course,” Wilsing said, offering his hand. “Though it’s your skill as an astrogator that particularly impresses me, Leary. An honor to meet you at last.”
Daniel shook the man’s hand, feeling a trifle dazed. Part of his mind was trying to remember sweep and color in any of the battles he’d participated in. All his memories of battle seemed to be in black and white, dots on a Plot Position Indicator and people without faces running across landscapes whose features remained schematic while the action was going on. There’d never been time for anything else.
“Mr. Wilsing . . . ,” Daniel said, returning the fellow’s firm handshake. He had a reputation in the RCN, he knew that well, but the most common effect of it on his peers—his rivals for promotion—was grudging respect when it wasn’t unconcealed envy. This was the sort of fulsome praise an ignorant civilian would offer.
Daniel faced the commander—his name tape read Queriman—and saluted as crisply as he could manage. It wouldn’t have done for an admiral’s aide, but drill and ceremony had never been Daniel’s strong suit. “Sir!” he said sharply.
The commander nodded, waving a negligent hand in an informally sufficient acknowledgement of the salute. “Pleased to meet the ship’s commander, Lieutenant,” he said. “For a foreign-built corvette, you managed to keep her in respectable order.”
Daniel gave Queriman a professional smile. The Sissie had faced an Alliance battleship at pistol range, so she wasn’t going to be hurt by casual insults from a bureaucrat in uniform. Biting off the several further comments that crossed his mind, he said, “I’m pleased that you think so, sir.”