“The discharge certificate—”
“Well, yes, you have one, but it would still be a matter for a formal inquiry. If you’re reinstated as of this date, that means something has to explain the gap, besides the loss of time for pay and promotion consideration. And it’s messed up the assignment process. Someone else took over your slot; we can’t bump them out just because you showed up.” He shook his head. “We need you combat-experienced people, but we do not need a mess like this. And you need a friend in high places. You don’t happen to know Grand Admiral Savanche, do you?”
“No, sir,” Esmay said. “The only admiral I know is Admiral Serrano—Vida Serrano.”
“Ah. Her. Well, if the Serranos are behind you, that might help. But scuttlebutt has it they’re peeved with you.”
“Some of them,” Esmay said. She was not about to say more about her relationship to Barin unless she had to.
“You’d better hope she’s not one of the peeved ones,” the major said.
Fleet Headquarters planetside had access to Fleet ansible communications, but it took the combined efforts of Esmay, Brun, and General Suiza to convince someone to try to reach Admiral Vida Serrano, who had just taken over at Sector VII. When they finally did, her response was terse: “Reinstate her at once and get her out here where we need her. Mutineers attacking civilian ships . . .”
It took more than that one message, but by afternoon the next day, Major Tenerif was much more cheerful about the situation. “JAG’s dropped the desertion charge; apparently it’s been decided the discharge was a valid order when you got it, but a mistake at a higher level, and it didn’t get here because of the mess at Trinidad. Someone’s probably in a lot of trouble, but not—at this point—you. However, we do have some urgency in getting you back to duty. When can you be ready to travel?”
“Pay and allowances?” murmured General Suiza.
“Oh. Of course. I guess, if you haven’t been paid since—that would be before you went on leave, right?—and did your luggage catch up with you? No? Then you’ll need some things, I imagine. Well, we don’t issue pay here, but over in the Bursar’s division, you can get any monies owed. But can you be ready to travel in—let’s see, it’s already 1500—two days? That will put you aboard our next transport to Sector VII.”
“Yes, sir,” Esmay said. She would find a way, she told herself.
“Good. We already cut your orders—you’re going out to Sector VII to command Rascal, an upgraded patrol class.”
“Command a ship? Me?” Esmay’s voice almost squeaked.
“I don’t see why not,” Brun said.
The major shrugged. “We’re short-handed, Lieutenant. You’re the next qualified person on the list. And you are command track—”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s just—a surprise.”
“That’s all right.” The major allowed himself a small smile. “We’ve had similar reactions from some other younger officers who weren’t aware they now qualified for ship command.” He turned to the clerk. “Get those orders cut for shuttle transport day after tomorrow.” Then to Esmay. “You’ll want to get your credit updated before you leave. I’ve already told the Bursar’s office to expect you. . . .”
“Thank you, sir.”
On the way to that office, new orders in hand, Esmay couldn’t feel that this was real. From utter disgrace to ship command in one day?
“I still can’t believe they gave me a ship. I’m only a lieutenant—”
“Who has commanded ships in battle . . . What do you want, Es, an engraved invitation?” Brun asked. Then she mimed shock. “This is an engraved invitation.”
“Protocol . . . I don’t know all the protocol for it . . .” The memory of that hasty and scrambled assumption of command on Despite did not reassure her.
“That’s what fast-tapes are for. What about uniforms?”
“Right. Bursar’s office, then the tailor’s . . .”
Chapter Seventeen
Swainson & Triggett, Officers’ Outfitters (All Services), greeted the new captain of a patrol ship with suitably restrained delight, and the presence of a distinguished-looking father only increased the respectful hush in the room. Lieutenant Suiza, the hero of Xavier, yes of course. An honor. And newly made captain? Congratulations. Luggage lost in transit, in the confusion of the mutiny? What a shame. Complete set of uniforms, as quickly as possible, money no object? They purred over her, the younger Ser Swainson, and the elder Ser Triggett. The senior women’s fitter was summoned; she led Esmay away to a booth large enough to host a small party, where an entire team of fitters measured her from tip to toe, then had her move . . . sit, stand, walk, raise and lower her arms . . .
“We have items in stock, of course, which can be altered—that might do for everyday uniforms, since you’re in a hurry—” The old lady sent a young one off to the racks. “But your dress uniforms must of course be custom-fitted. You’re lucky; you have a nice shape for uniforms.”
Esmay assumed that was simple flattery, until the woman said, “Now you take Sera Meager—lovely woman she is, but if you tried to fit a uniform on her it would be quite difficult. She looks good in many kinds of clothes, and she knows how to dress, but it’s the ratios, you see. The ratio of upper to lower arm, of thigh to lower leg, of torso length to leg length.” Esmay was glad Brun had stayed out front and hadn’t heard this.
The girl came back with a uniform that fit better than any of her own ever had. Esmay said so, but the old lady sniffed as she began marking and pinning for alterations. “That may be, Lieutenant, but I daresay you didn’t order your wardrobe here.”
“No—this is my first time on Castle Rock.”
“Ah. Well, we have several branch offices. There are other good firms—Hatan Meior does quite nice work—but we do feel that we have a little something extra.”
“I’d agree,” said Esmay, watching her image in the mirror as the pins subtly changed what had already seemed like a smarter silhouette.
“Is that the way you usually wear your hair?” the old lady asked, with a swift glance at the mirrored image.
“No—I had to cut it off for a religious ceremony,” Esmay said. “I usually wear it short, but not this short. I was thinking of getting a wig or something.”
“It’s the cap, you see. If we size it to your head now, it may not fit when your hair grows out, depending on how you style it. A wig would certainly change the size, but if you don’t mind my advice—”
“Not at all.”
“It’s our experience that those officers who try wigs find them inconvenient aboard ship. We’ve had to replace quite a few caps for that reason. And they don’t work well with the command helmets, either.”
“Thank you,” Esmay said. “I’d only thought, because it’s so much shorter than usual—”