“Permission to come aboard to join the ship’s company, Ma’am!” she said, and the sandy-haired ensign gave her a cool, considering look, then acknowledged the salute. She brought her hand down from her beret’s brim and extended it wordlessly, and Honor produced the chip of her orders once more. The BOD performed the same ritual as the Marine sentry, then nodded, popped the chip from her board, and handed it back.
“Permission granted, Ms. Harrington,” she said, much less crisply than Honor but with a certain world-weary maturity. She was, after all, at least a T-year older than Honor, with her own middy cruise safely behind her. The ensign glanced at Shelton, and Honor noticed the way the other young woman’s shoulders came back ever so slightly and the way her voice crisped up as she nodded to the SCPO. “Carry on, Senior Chief,” she said.
“Aye, aye, Ma’am,” Shelton replied, and beckoned respectfully for Honor to follow him once more as he led her towards the lifts.
Lieutenant Commander Abner Layson sat in the chair behind his desk and made an obviously careful study of his newest potential headache’s orders. Midshipwoman Harrington sat very upright in her own chair, hands folded in her lap, feet positioned at precisely the right angle, and watched the bulkhead fifteen centimeters above his head with apparent composure. She’d seemed on the edge of flustered when he’d directed her to sit rather than remain at stand-easy while he perused her paperwork, but there was little sign of that in her present demeanor. Unless, of course, the steady flicking of the very tip of her treecat’s tail indicated more uneasiness in the ’cat’s adopted person than she cared to admit. Interesting that she could conceal the outward signs so readily, though, if that were the case.
He let his eyes return to his reader’s display, scanning the official, tersely worded contents of her personnel jacket, while he wondered what had possessed Captain Bachfisch to specifically request such an… unlikely prize when the snotty cruise assignments were being handed out.
A bit young, he thought. Although her third-gen prolong made her look even younger than her calendar age, she was only twenty. The Academy was flexible about admission ages, but most midshipmen entered at around eighteen or nineteen T-years of age; Harrington had been barely seventeen when she was admitted. Which was all the more surprising given what seemed to be a total lack of aristocratic connections, patronage, or interest from on high to account for it. On the other hand, her overall grades at Saganami Island had been excellent—aside from some abysmal math scores, at least—and she’d received an unbroken string of “Excellent” and “Superior” ratings from her tactical and command simulation instructors. That was worth noting. Still, he reminded himself, many an Academy overachiever had proven a sad disappointment in actual Fleet service. Scored remarkably high on the kinesthesia tests, too, although that particular requirement was becoming less and less relevant these days. Very high marks in the flight training curriculum as well, including—his eyebrows rose ever so slightly—a new Academy sailplane record. But she might be a bit on the headstrong side, maybe even the careless one, given the official reprimand noted on her Form 107FT for ignoring her flight instruments. And that stack of black marks for lack of air discipline didn’t look very promising. On the other hand, they all seemed to come from a single instance.…
He accessed the relevant portion of her record, and something suspiciously like a snort escaped before he could throttle it. He turned it into a reasonably convincing coughing fit, but his mouth quivered as he scanned the appended note. Buzzed the Commandant’s boat during the Regatta, had she? No wonder Hartley had lowered the boom on her! Still, he must have thought well of her to stop there, although the identity of her partner in crime might also have had a bit to do with it. Couldn’t exactly go tossing the King’s niece out, now could they? Well, not for anything short of premeditated murder, at any rate.…
He sighed and tipped back his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, and glanced at her under cover of his hand. The treecat worried him. He knew it wasn’t supposed to, for regulations were uncompromising on that particular subject and had been ever since the reign of Queen Adrienne. She could not legally be separated from the creature, and she’d obviously gotten through the Academy with it without creating any major waves. But a starship was a much smaller world than Saganami Island, and she wasn’t the only middy aboard.
Small jealousies and envies could get out of hand on a long deployment, and she would be the only person on board authorized to take a pet with her. Oh, Layson knew the ’cats weren’t really pets. It wasn’t a subject he’d ever taken much personal interest in, but the creatures’ sentience was well-established, as was the fact that once they empathically bonded to a human, they literally could not be separated without serious consequences for both partners. But they looked like pets, and most of the Star Kingdom’s citizens knew even less about them than Layson did, which offered fertile ground for misunderstandings and resentment. And the fact that the Bureau of Personnel had seen fit to assign War Maiden a brand new assistant tac officer, and that the ATO in any ship was traditionally assigned responsibility for the training and discipline of any midshipmen assigned to her, only deepened his worries about the possible repercussions of the ’cat’s presence. The exec hadn’t yet had time to learn much about the ATO, but what he had learned so far did not inspire him with a lively confidence in the man’s ability.
Yet even the presence of the ’cat was secondary to Layson’s true concern. There had to be some reason the Captain had requested Harrington, and try though he might, the exec simply couldn’t figure out what that reason might be. Such requests usually represented tokens in the patronage game the Navy’s senior officers played so assiduously. They were either a way to gain the support of some well-placed potential patron by standing sponsor to a son or daughter or younger relative, or else a way to pay back a similar favor. But Harrington was a yeoman’s daughter, whose only apparent aristocratic association was the highly tenuous one of having roomed with the Earl of Gold Peak’s younger offspring for a bit over two T-years. That was a fairly lofty connection, or would have been if it actually existed, but Layson couldn’t see any way the Captain could have capitalized on it even if it had. So what could the reason be? Layson didn’t know, and that bothered him, because it was a good executive officer’s job to keep himself informed of anything which might affect the smooth functioning of the ship he ran for his captain.
“Everything seems to be in order, Ms. Harrington,” he told her after a moment, lowering his hand and letting his chair come back upright. “Lieutenant Santino is our assistant tac officer, which makes him your OCT officer, as well. I’ll have Senior Chief Shelton deliver you to Snotty Row when we’re done here, and you can report to him once you’ve stowed your gear. In the meantime, however, I make it a policy to spend a few minutes with new middies when they first come aboard. It gives me a chance to get to know them and to get a feel for how they’ll fit in here in War Maiden.”
He paused, and she nodded respectfully.
“Perhaps you can start off then by telling me—briefly, of course—just why you joined the Service,” he invited.
“For several reasons, Sir,” she said after only the briefest of pauses. “My father was a Navy doctor before he retired and went into private practice, so I was a ‘Navy brat’ until I was about eleven. And I’ve always been interested in naval history, clear back to pre-Diaspora Earth. But I suppose the most important reason was the People’s Republic, Sir.”