"The Admiral approves of the men's hobbies. He supports those with talent – talent beyond simple duty, of course. The flagship maintains an orchestra for the men's entertainment."
The itchy feeling grew worse. Huppert paced into a doorway and the music was drowned by the clatter and chime of crystal, people talking carelessly and the rustling of hundreds of men and women in freshly starched dress uniforms. Hadeishi slowed half a step, one hand automatically adjusting his collar and the line of his jacket. His first thought, seeing so many officers in one place, was to wonder how deep in the Tehuia they were. Would a Khaid antimatter cluster be stopped by ship's armor before incinerating every line captain in this room? Are their executive officers here too? Who is standing watch on their ships? Ensigns and midshipmen?
"Commander?" Huppert turned and beckoned him through the doorway. Mustering himself, Hadeishi stepped into the officer's mess, slightly narrowed eyes taking in the field of battle. I will never begrudge my uniform allowance again, he thought, stricken morose by the gaudy sight before him. And I will listen to my dear Kosho and buy a very, very nice, custom-tailored dress uniform. As soon as I can.
The flag officer's ward room of the Stonesmasher was very large – probably the size of one of the assault shuttle bays on the Cornuelle – and besides an elevated stage holding nearly an entire orchestra, more than a hundred officers mingled in the open space. Long rows of tables, positively glowing with silver, crystal and porcelain, were waiting for the dinner gong to sound. A vaulted roof seemed to soar overhead, filled with chandeliers and a gilded, rococo ceiling. Clouds of tabac smoke coiled up, vanishing into hidden vents.
I do hope that ceiling is a holocast, Hadeishi thought, coming to a numb halt beside Huppert.
Huppert was speaking quietly into his ear, trying to point out who was who, but one singular fact had already impressed itself on the Chu-sa.
He was the only Nisei officer – the only non-European face – he could see in the entire room. No one seemed to have noticed his arrival, for which he was now unaccountably grateful.
"An interesting staff meeting…" he started to say.
"As I said, Commander…" Huppert's fingertips pressed against his arm. "Not so much a staff meeting, but the Admiral's Dinner. Once a week the Admiral likes to have all of his ship commanders over to dine, have a few drinks, get to know each other. Very convivial."
"I see." Hadeishi tried not to move his head, but his eyes flitted along the walls, searching for the quiet, unassuming presence of security officers from the Mirror, or a nauallis or anything which might make this loud, cheerful gathering look less like the kind of treason which gave loyal Fleet captains ulcer-ridden, sleepless nights. I must already be on camera, too.
A ringing tone cut through the murmur, and everyone turned towards the tables.
"But after the meal, you must make yourself known to Flag Captain Plamondon. He's the Fleet operations officer and the Admiral's exec." The pretty ensign took him by the elbow and began to guide Hadeishi towards his seat. Her hand was very firm.
A Fleet cargo shuttle, solar-flare blazon of the Cornuelle visible on the side doors, steam hissing up from triangular wings, rolled to a halt in the cavernous space of a groundside hangar. Ground crew jogged out, heads down, to slide chocks fore and aft of the wheels. A gangway levered down, and the hatchway swung up.
Shoi-i Daniel Smith swung down the ladder, sweat springing out across his grinning pale face, and he went immediately down on one knee and kissed oil-stained concrete. "Terra firma," he declared, wiping his mouth and standing up. "Almost one g, too!"
"Aren't you supposed to be our commanding officer?" Marine Heicho Felix slid down the ladder and took a careful look around the hanger, one hand on the stock of her assault rifle, before relaxing a little. Satisfied the immediate area was clear of danger – the hangar looked like every other Fleet maintenance facility she'd ever seen – she gestured Helsdon and his technicians down out of the aircraft. "Take a little care, kyo."
"Here?" Smith waved a negligent hand around, indicating the fuel gurney being wheeled out by two Fleet crewmen, the mammoth shape of an assault shuttle filling most of the hangar, and the exposed wooden ribs of the huge building. "We can breathe the air, we're in the middle of a Fleet base with three brigades of combat troops around us, I have my medband on…" He held up a skinny, fish-belly-pale wrist to show her. "…and…Lord of Hosts, what is that divine smell?"
Felix turned slowly, brown eyes narrowed, and tucked thick, black hair behind her ear. There was a smell – pungent, oily, sharp as a knife, tart with something familiar…
"Oh. Oh oh." Smith moved spasmodically forward, a glazed look in his eyes. "I smell roasting meat, Heicho. I smell…barbacoa! With chГles and onions! Real, fresh onions. Are those tripas? Someone's cooking real food!"
Felix took hold of his collar, dragging the midshipman back. Smith was easily a head taller than Felix, but he didn't work out in the Cornuelle's gymnasium every single day, without fail. On a small ship like the Henry R., a great deal of work was done in low or zero-g conditions. Fleet didn't bother to lay in grav-decking in every crew space, only in primary crew quarters, the mess and exercise spaces. The Marine had no trouble keeping her officer from charging across the flight line.
"I see the barbecue pit, kyo." Felix pointed with the flash-suppressing muzzle of her assault rifle. Unlike the lightweight shockrifle the Marines toted shipside, the Heicho was now sporting an ugly, black-finished 'top-deck'-style Macana 8mm assault rifle. Groundside, Felix didn't have to worry about punching a hole in the ship and letting her air out. The Macana was slung under her right arm on a shortened strap, one long clip in the magazine and another taped reversed to the first. A Nambu automatic was tucked under her other arm, held close by the gunrig strapped over her body armor. "Do you see what's between here and there?"
"Nothing!" Smith made a face, trying to brush off the Marine's hand.
At that moment, a thundering, earth-shaking roar split the air. Hot wind rushed past the hangar doors and a huge shape swept past, throwing a split-second shadow on the runway. Heat from the afterburners of another Fleet shuttle washed over them, making Smith turn away.
Felix pushed up her combat goggles and gave the midshipman an arch look. "Nothing. Of course."
"Sir?" Chief Machinist's Mate Helsdon, hands clasped behind his back, caught Smith's eye. "Would you like me to see about the replacement parts we need?"
Smith sighed, gave Felix an apologetic shrug and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."
Turning his back on the open hangar door and the shimmering, miragelike vista of the officer's recreational complex squatting between the two runways, Smith flipped open a handpad from his duty jacket. "All right, Sho-sa Kosho would like us to tick off two priorities while we're groundside." He nodded to Helsdon. "You've got chief engineer Isoroku's list of replacement parts for the ship. I doubt local industry is up to fabricating most of this stuff, but maybe you can cadge some from the base supply officer. Or…there's a note here from the commander saying a near-space development effort is underway at the port. A coalition of local kujenates – whatever those are – and the Imperial Development Board are working on deploying a series of communications satellites in orbit. Sho-sa Kosho says they're behind schedule, so hopefully you can swindle them out of whatever we need."