“Yeah, well, that’s for me to say, ain’t it?” the woman said. She touched the communicator clipped to her epaulette.
Before she could speak into it, one of the sections of lattice pivoted up and a familiar face peered down. “Adele, is that you already?” called Adrian Purvis. “Come up, come up! We’ve been discussing the situation ever since you called.”
And lest Adele wonder who her cousin meant by “we,” another section of lattice raised. She recognized that face also, from images she’d studied in preparation for the present mission. She hadn’t met Admiral O’Quinn before in the flesh.
* * *
Daniel had released the starboard watch, the riggers from the port watch, and all the officers save himself, Pasternak, and Vesey. Woetjans and the regular crewmen were gone, cutting a swathe through the nearest bars and brothels, but the other officers save Adele—on business of her own, nothing Daniel needed or wanted to know about—and the Purser, Stobart, watched solemnly from the outriggers as Daniel and the Chief Engineer inspected the thrusters. Even Stobart was gone only because he had to arrange for stores to replace those used up on the voyage out from Cinnabar.
Daniel sat in the inflatable raft which mechanics holding ropes on both outriggers steadied. Pasternak stood in front of Daniel with his head in a thruster nozzle.
After a moment he lowered the laser micrometer and said, “Down three millimeters is all, and the throat’s as smooth as a baby’s butt. Sir, I could turn these into a quartermaster’s store as unused if I waited for Monday morning and got a clerk with a hangover!”
“By God, didn’t I bloody tell you, Betts?” Sun said, clapping the Chief Missileer on the back. “There’s no jinx with Mr. Leary in command. Why, when he was captain before, not even Mr. Mon could bugger our luck!”
“Bridge watch to Six,” Vesey called. “Sir, there’s a crowd coming this way. Maybe it’s a parade, but there’s soldiers at the front and what looks like a little tank or something. Over.”
“Bridge, I’ll meet them on the dock,” Daniel said, frowning. “Killian, haul me over to your side; Pachey, loose your line. Lively now, we’ve got company coming!”
Sun got a hard expression and climbed the outrigger’s telescoping strut instead of bothering with the ladder to the main hatch. He’d been a motorman working on High Drives before his rating made him the Sissie’s acting gunner. Betts was older, heavier and probably never as active, but he mounted the ladder with similar grim haste.
“Don’t do anything obvious with the weapons!” Daniel shouted as the two warrant officers disappeared into the hull. He jumped to the outrigger himself. Instead of boarding, he trotted to the cable which moored the corvette to the quay. Over his shoulder he added, “Mr. Pasternak, check the High Drive on your own, if you will!”
Daniel hopped over the funnel-shaped rat-guard midway along the cable—they didn’t stop rats either, that he’d seen—and stepped to the stone quay. He was wearing utilities—a clean pair since he wasn’t going to be working on the drive units, just observing the inspection—and a billed cap. Apart from the single stars embroidered in black on his lapels, he could’ve passed for one of the common spacers. It wasn’t the outfit in which to greet an official delegation, and that was definitely what was coming along the quay toward the Princess Cecile.
There were soldiers, all right, but the six in the front rank were playing instruments of orange thermoplastic extruded into trumpet shapes. The amplified music was loud, stirring, and—except for crackles of static from one of the trumpetoids—perfectly in tune.
The troops behind were armed to the teeth, generally with laser packs rather than electromagnetic impellers, but this clearly wasn’t an attack. The vehicle—Vesey’s “little tank or something”—was a utility tractor with steel sides welded onto the rear bin. An automatic impeller was mounted on a pintle there, but for this event the gun was aimed skyward. Patterned fabrics draped the sides.
Maybe they’re coming for the Count, Daniel thought. A Novy Sverdlovsk flag, red and white silk blazoned with a red eagle, hung from the tip of the mast which was extended over the quay, but the Klimovs had gone into San Juan as soon as the slip cooled down enough for Daniel to open the hatches.