It was his way of asking, very professionally, if the emergency was over.
“Yes, it’s real, Domenico,” Daniel said. “Mind, let’s not have a bulkhead blow out now that we think we’re safe. We’ll pick up Ms. Mundy’s detachment, then see what shape the ship’s in and—”
Domenico’s face went stiff. “Sir, check your display!” he said.
Daniel turned. There were three new dots just within the present fifteen-light-second boundary of the PPI. As he watched, two more dots appeared. They were starships dropping out of sponge space and proceeding the remainder of the way toward Kostroma at maximum braking effort.
Daniel touched the attention signal and called, “General quarters!”
Four more dots joined the five recently added to the display. The nine ships couldn’t be said to be in tight formation, but for vessels which had just left sponge space they were in remarkably good order. The admiral in charge must be pleased with her subordinates.
Because there was no question at all that this was a naval squadron, not some sort of merchant argosy returning to Kostroma.
The repair crews were back at work; apart from them, there was a hush over the Princess Cecile. Domenico leaned over Daniel’s shoulder to peer more closely at the display. “Does that read Tee-Ay-En One-Four-One-Eight?” he asked.
The Princess Cecile’s PPI would assign an all-numerical designator to an icon if the object didn’t provide one. Starships normally broadcast an alpha-numerical identification signal, however, the pennant number for naval vessels and a similar designator for merchantmen.
Daniel nodded. “Yes,” he said. TAN1418 didn’t mean anything to him.
“That’s the Rene Descartes!” the bosun cried. “By Vishnu’s dong, sir, I served on the old bitch for three years, I did! She was guardship over Harbor Three when we left Cinnabar, I swear to God!”
Daniel started to say, “Are you sure?” but caught the words just before they made him sound like a fool. He didn’t know what else to say. Except—
He chimed for attention and announced, “All hands. I believe the vessels inbound are an RCN squadron, which will be very welcome. Continue repair work until further notice, but don’t forget where your action stations are.”
Daniel almost rang off, but a further thought struck him. “And fellow citizens?” he said. “Thank you. Your performance has been to the highest standards of the Republic of Cinnabar Navy.”
There were cheers all over the ship. Daniel was choking. He knew he’d be replaced on the Princess Cecile as soon as the regular navy arrived, and he might never command another ship. But no captain, ever, would have a better crew than he did!
The icons on the PPI continued to reform as the newcomers approached Kostroma. The last four were probably transports: they remained two light-seconds behind the leaders. The five warships were arrayed flower-fashion with the battleship in the center.
They’d noticed the Princess Cecile as well. Because Dorfman still had a gunnery display on his console, the interrogatory was routed to Daniel: “RCS Vessel Rene Descartes, Captain Lairden commanding, carrying the flag of Rear Admiral Ingreit. Vessel signaling Are-Em Six-Nine-Three, please identify yourself. Over.”
It took Daniel an instant to realize that he was RM693. He’d never had occasion to check the Princess Cecile’s pennant number.
He took a deep breath, then hit the general communicator switch as well as the intership hailing channel. What he was about to do was worthless braggadocio that was bound to irritate the senior officers on the other end of the line.
But he was going to do it anyway. He was a Leary of Bantry; and the crew, still for the moment his crew, would appreciate it.
“This is RCS Princess Cecile,” he said, “Lieutenant Daniel Leary commanding. You are authorized to orbit within our automatic defense array.”
He cleared his throat and went on, “Allow me to say that your squadron is a welcome addition to the RCN forces on station here. You’ll be very useful in helping mop up the remaining unpleasantness on the ground. Princess Cecile out.”
There was as much laughter as cheering in the corvette’s compartments this time. “By Vishnu!” the bosun said in delight. “By Vishnu, sir!”
Daniel smiled faintly. He could imagine what Admiral Ingreit would say when he heard the message. On the other hand, he could imagine what Speaker Corder Leary might have said in similar circumstances. In that, at least, father and son were more alike than different.