"Understood, sir." Helsdon had his own copy of the list, but he was being very polite. "All that will take some time – we're low on virtually every kind of material, machine part, and friable tool. When should we meet back here?"
Smith looked at his chrono, frowned, then looked out the hangar doors at the coppery afternoon sky.
"Local time is thirteen-hundred, sir." Felix had already adjusted her chrono to show both shiptime and groundtime.
"We'll be making more than one trip…" Smith sniffed the air, then shook his head mournfully. "But until we know the lay of the land, we'll bunk on the ship. We meet back here at nineteen-hundred, gentlemen. Heicho, send two of your men with Helsdon, the rest will come with us."
"Aye, aye." Felix motioned at two of the Marines in her fireteam. "Tyrell, Cuizmoc; keep the engineers from having their shoes stolen."
"Right." Smith thumbed through his list – direct from the Chu-sa – and grimaced. "Where the devil are we going to get all of these things? Five thousand kilo-liters of purified water, four hundred kilos of wheat flour (or equivalent), twelve hundred square meters of cotton sheeting, sixty kilos of chile powder, three hundred square meters of nonskid decking, a hundred twenty kilos of chocolatl powder, a ton of potatoes…"
Felix was waiting patiently, a slight smile on her elfin face, when the midshipman glared at her in a rather plaintive way.
"Why do you look so smug, Heicho?"
"Why, sir, haven't you ever been shopping before?"
Smith made a face and ignored her while scanning through the rest of the list. By the time he was done, his foul mood had evaporated. "Good, we can divide up the rest of this. You take the dry goods and mess supplies, while I see about arrangements for shore leave for the crew."
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly. Of course you'd be glad to arrange for the hotels – fresh sheets, convenient brothels, home-cooked food, hot water – for the crew. And make sure to see they're of proper quality…men!
"I'm sorry kyo, but you're the officer on mission and you have the Fleet scrip to pay for all the things we need. I'm not authorized to sign for purchases, just here to make sure brigands don't cosh you on the head and drag you off to toil in a salt mine. Sir."
Smith gave her a fulminating look for a long moment, then shrugged in defeat. "Fine. Let's go. You lead, bam-bam."
"Aye, kyo!" Felix gestured for her two remaining Marines to take point and tail, then plucked her own handpad out of the other holster slot in her gunrig. Humming tunelessly to herself, the Marine thumbed up a map of the spaceport and surrounds. She had already marked a number of locations on the holodisplay. "If it pleases you, kyo, we will want to hire a ground truck first…"
Hadeishi handed off his jacket, replete with service ribbons, two small medals and what seemed – now – to be a very paltry amount of gold braid, to old Yejin, his steward, as the door chimed.
"Enter." The Chu-sa was exhausted, but he managed a tiny smile for Sho-sa Susan Kosho when she stepped into the outer room of his office. The slim, perfectly coiffed executive officer's nostrils flared slightly to find her commander in shirtsleeves, but then she caught sight of his face and stiffened like a sword blade drawn ringing from the sheath.
"Ship's status?" Hadeishi unsealed the collar of his shirt and sat down on one of the low cushions lining the wall of his stateroom.
"Nominal." Kosho gave him a sharp look. "Circumpolar orbit, as directed by squadron traffic control. Crew is on stand-down and there are two shuttles groundside, arranging for resupply."
"Yejin-san, bring us something to drink. Sake, I think. If there is any Nadaizumi left."
The steward's face crumpled like an apple left out in the sun for several weeks. He bowed very deeply. "I beg your forgiveness, mi'lord…" His voice was raspy and thin.
Hadeishi sighed openly. "What do we have to drink?"
"A little rice beer, mi'lord." The steward had the look of a man forced to strangle his own child. "There is tea…"
"There is always tea," the Chu-sa said dryly. "The beer will do. Sho-sa, sit."
Kosho knelt, somehow managing to suggest gracefulness even in a Fleet duty uniform. Hadeishi watched her with leaden eyes, finding himself nearly overcome with weariness. The ringing sound of crystal and china was still echoing in his ears. The steward returned and placed drinking bowls and two hand-sized ceramic jars on a low table between them.
Showing admirable restraint, Kosho said nothing while the old man filled their cups and then disappeared through the doors into the main part of the captain's cabin. The battle-steel doors were painted with a traditional scene of mountains and cloud, but the gritty whine of track motors in need of replacement spoiled the illusion of rice-paper shoji sliding closed.
"I was not able to meet with Admiral Villeneuve," Hadeishi said, after clearing his throat with a long cold swallow. He set the cup down very carefully, then clasped his hands. "I did make the acquaintance of Fleet Captain Jean-Martel Plamondon, operations officer of battle group Tecaltan. I requested reassignment for Cornuelle so we could continue on to the advanced fleet base at Toroson for a complete refit."
Susan waited, her sharp black eyes intent.
"My request was refused." Hadeishi let out a breath. "I then requested access to the Fleet mobile repair dock traveling with the battle group, as well as emergency resupply for our munitions and stores directly from 88's magazine ships."
Kosho's smooth, unmarked forehead developed a slight, but noticeable, line – no more than the shadow of a samisen string running up from the bridge of her nose.
"Flag Captain Plamondon also declined this request. He felt…" Hadeishi closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were glittering with repressed anger. "He felt such a small ship as the Cornuelle – 'really no more than an over-weight destroyer' – could be provided for by local sources of resupply and provision."
"What -" Kosho fell silent. Her porcelain skin flattened to china white. "Your pardon, Chu-sa. I was not aware the industrial base of Jagan was advanced enough to replenish our ship-to-ship missiles, beam capacitors, shuttle engine cores, shipskin…"
Hadeishi nodded, lifting and dropping one hand in an admission of defeat. "I know."
"Was there an…e xplanation for these…rejections?" Kosho's voice was brittle. Like her captain, the executive officer of the Cornuelle was bone tired in a way no wakemeup could relieve.
"Yes. Battle group Tecaltan will only be in-system for a few more days. There is some situation on Keshewan that requires their presence. Villeneuve has decided to break orbit with all due speed. Given this operational situation, the Fleet tender cannot remain, nor the magazine ships…"
"We could cross-deck -" Kosho forced herself to silence, a brief expression of horror flitting across her face. Hadeishi felt his humor revive slightly. The number of times the Sho-sa had interrupted him in the last three years could be counted on one hand, perhaps on one finger.
"I know. A hold-to-hold transfer from one of the Verdun-class magazine ships would take less than a day to resupply our entire manifest. It's not like we require a dreadnaught's loadout of shipkillers! Plamondon dismissed the suggestion. He implied they were on a tight schedule."