Her eyes moved on, coming to rest on a red-flagged Admiralty note at the bottom of the record. Ah, I see why our brave captain has stayed in the shadows so long… He has been avoiding fate.
"He must be looking to refit with the battle group while the Flingers-of-Stone are in-system." Lachlan rubbed one of his eyes. The medical readout showed him close to complete exhaustion. "Or use the battle group tachyon relay to get recalled by Nineteenth Fleet. So…he's shot off every sprint missile in his stores. His beam weapon mounts must be caked solid with particle flux. Shipskin and armor are barely hanging to the hull. This ship desperately needs to recycle at a repair base."
The old woman pursed her lips. "This ship was placed under orders months ago to return to Toroson to be decommissioned. Commander Hadeishi is very tardy in returning from his patrol." She considered the message traffic passing between the Cornuelle and the battle group's tachyon relay. "He's reporting damage to the last message drone – how convenient…"
"That won't matter," Lachlan said, yawning again. "All the queued mail and orders are dumping to his main comp now – he'll have to make transit for the Fleet Base within a day or so."
Itzpalicue shook her head, decision crystallizing even as she considered the matter. "No. The Holy Mother is watching over our shoulders, Lachlan-tzin. This is one of our missing elements, cast down from heaven to serve our purpose."
"Mi'lady?" Lachlan was noticeably surprised.
"The Cornuelle will serve as Elder Warrior's sacrifice for the exercise about to commence on the planet. Pass my desire on to the Flower Priest handling such things. Have them cut Hadeishi new orders, delaying his return to Toroson until after our activities here are complete."
The young Йirishman stared at her in dismay for a moment, then shook himself, nodded and turned away to key up the appropriate comm channel. He said nothing about her decision, as was proper.
Itzpalicue tapped the public personnel jacket closed without a further thought. Her attention, as always, turned back to the banks of video feeds reflecting the spyeyes over Parus, or relaying local holocast and voice-only transmissions. Her room was close and still, filled with the birdlike cries of thousands of chattering voices. One sharp fingernail continued to tap slowly on the list of persons associated with the so-able Commander Hadeishi.
Huitziloxoctic. Green Hummingbird.
How fine to meet the friend of an old…acquaintance
The captain's launch from the Cornuelle drifted through an enormous airlock, the slow pulse of guide-lights illuminating the boat's ebon exterior. Inside the landing bay, every surface gleamed white and gray, sharply illuminated by banks of lights on the overhead. A boat bay unfolded in complete silence to engulf the smaller craft. Inside, Chu-sa Mitsuharu Hadeishi felt the clamps lock on and snug tight. Darkness fell across the forward windows as they were drawn into the cradle.
He was a little puzzled. The usual flood of orders, directives and paperwork from Fleet had included a general reassignment order for the Cornuelle, attaching the light cruiser to the Tecaltan battle group. There had been no sign of their original orders to report to Toroson. The promotions and other personnel assignment papers had not reappeared either.
Very odd, Hadeishi thought, but he was relieved enough not to question the Gods of the Fleet. Not right now at least.
Ship-to-ship chatter between the launch pilot and traffic control on the DN-120 Tehuia was quiet and professional, never rising above a soothing murmur. The launch trembled and then all vibration ceased as the maneuvering engines shut down. Hadeishi sat quietly, letting his crewmen do their jobs, savoring the idle moment. He was uncomfortably aware of burn marks around the boat airlock and panels patched back into place with a hand welder. The decking under his feet was badly discolored. Ah, he remembered, we must have used the launch at Argentosonae, when we ambushed the Megair attacking the mining station. Every man with a weapon was needed that day.
The memory was already tinged with melancholy.
The lock cycled open, environmental lights shining green, and Hadeishi unfastened his shock harness before kicking out into the tube leading onto the Fleet dreadnaught. Two Marines in shipside duty dress were waiting, arms presented. The men flanked a young, blonde Sho-i with fine-boned European features. She bowed gracefully as Hadeishi swung out into gravity, both feet landing solidly on the 'welcome mat' inside the reception bay.
"Commander Hadeishi? Welcome aboard the Stonesmasher. I am Ensign Huppert."
The Chu-sa bowed in return, taking care to keep his face expressionless. He was rather surprised for the Sho-i to greet him in Norman, rather than Admiralty Japanese. Despite the dissonance between expectation and reality, he showed no reaction.
"A pleasure, Ensign. I understand a Fleet general staff meeting is scheduled? I would like to report to my division commander and, if possible, tender my regards to Admiral Villeneuve."
"Of course, sir." Huppert bowed again. "There is a gathering of the battle group officers underway – though I must tell you it is not a staff meeting. You should be able to find Captain Jamison – he's senior cruiser division commander – there, as well as the Admiral."
The young woman gestured Hadeishi into a waiting tube-car. The Marines were already gone – a light cruiser commander did not rate an escort, not on a fast dreadnaught carrying a Fleet Admiral. Huppert sat opposite, hands clasped on her knees.
For a moment, Hadeishi considered starting a conversation. The ensign seemed personable enough to respond in kind, but something – a queer, itchy sensation along his spine – bade him sit quietly, staring without focus at the wall of the tube-car. Huppert did not seem to mind, her pleasant half-smile remaining in place during the ten-minute transit the length of the massive ship.
The ensign stood just before the car slid noiselessly to a halt. "Flag Officer's country, commander." Huppert was not smiling openly, but her grass-green eyes twinkled in anticipation. "The Admiral does not believe in stinting as a host, particularly not when his line commanders are aboard."
The tube-car door slid up and the sound of odd, lilting, music flooded into the car. Hadeishi stepped out onto the transit platform, one eyebrow rising uncontrollably. Music – live music; he could distinguish a slightly out-of-tune cello behind the most vibrant sound – was playing not too far away. The acoustic paneling in the ship corridors deadened most of the flowing music, but the piece was unmistakable.
"This is Berlioz's Messe Solennelle?"
Huppert nodded. "Very astute, commander. The Admiral believes shipboard service should not be…cheerless."
"Live musicians?" Hadeishi followed the ensign, though he nearly missed a step when he realized the floor was covered with rich, heavy carpets. The usually plain shipboard bulkheads were covered with thin, filmy patterned hangings. Actual oil paintings, if the unforgettable aroma of linseed, turpentine and canvas was not produced by a sensorium, were spaced every ten meters or so. The illustrations seemed garish and overdone to his eye, filled with fantastically overripe flowers, rosy-cheeked peasants and bucolic scenes drawn from a rural milieu centuries dead.