All three of them saluted, and O'Cleary returned the courtesy. Then she looked back at Markiewicz.
"I suppose I should be handing you a sword or something, Major," she said tartly. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid the Solarian League Navy isn't very practiced at this sort of thing."
It could have come out with an edge of humor, but it didn't. Nor was there any humor in the cold smile which accompanied it.
"If I've discovered one thing over the last twenty years or so, Admiral," Markiewicz replied, meeting her eyes steadily, "it's that we don't get much of a chance to practice a lot of the more important things until it's too late."
O'Cleary's lips tightened, but then, visibly, she made herself stop and draw a deep breath.
"I imagine that's something we should all bear in mind," she said then. "In the meantime, however, how does your Admiral Gold Peak wish to handle this, Major?"
"Ma'am, as soon as I have formally received your surrender, and that of Captain Lister, I will so notify Admiral Gold Peak's staff. At that time, I will place one of my squads on the command deck, one in Central Engineering, and another in each of your boat bays to provide traffic control and security. As soon as that's been accomplished, a naval boarding party will come come aboard Leeuwenhoek and complete the task of securing the vessel. I am to extend Admiral Gold Peak's compliments to you, and invite you to return aboard Rigel , Admiral Oversteegen's flagship with Lieutenant Fariсas. My understanding is that Admiral Gold Peak will be arriving aboard Rigel shortly herself."
"I see."
O'Cleary gazed at him for several moments, her face expressionless, then nodded.
"Very well, Major. It would seem that I, like the rest of this task force, find myself in Admiral Gold Peak's hands at the moment. I will, of course, comply with her wishes."
"Thank you, Admiral."
"Would you prefer to receive Captain Lister's surrender here, or on his command deck?"
"Since my orders are to secure the bridge, as well, Ma'am, I think it would probably be more convenient for the Captain if he simply waited there for me."
Markowitz kept his voice as politely, militarily impersonal as he could, and O'Cleary nodded again. There might actually have been a trace of awareness of his efforts not to step any more heavily on her toes—or Lister's—than he had to.
Of course, there might not have, too.
"Kalidasa, please be good enough to inform the Captain that Major Markiewicz will meet him on his bridge," she said, without looking over her shoulder at Captain Omprakash.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Well, I suppose that concludes the formalities—here, at least," she said, and gave Sebastiбn Fariсas a thin smile. "Should the other members of my staff accompany us, Lieutenant?"
"If you so desire, Ma'am," Fariсas said, "I feel certain Rear Admiral Oversteegen would be pleased to offer them the hospitality of his ship. The decision, however, is yours."
"In that case, I'd like Vice Admiral Chamberlain to accompany us."
"Of course, Ma'am."
"Iwasaki," Lindsay said over the platoon net, and Corporal Dunston Iwasaki and his section of three stepped forward, arranging themselves as an honor guard around O'Cleary, Chamberlain, and Fariсas.
Well, the kid got that right , Markiewicz decided after glancing at Ingebrigtsen. From the captain's expression, it was obvious she hadn't set that up ahead of time. And that she was as as pleased to see it as Markiewicz was.
O'Cleary cocked her head, smiling slightly, as if she were trying to decide whether it was an honor guard or a security detail to keep her for making some kind of break for it. Then she snorted quietly, a bit less bitterly, somehow, and nodded to Markiewicz.
"If I don't see you again, Major," she said, "allow me to thank you for your courtesy in a difficult situation."
"Thank you, Ma'am," he acknowledged, and he and his officers saluted her again. She and Chamberlain returned the salute, then followed Fariсas out of the compartment.
* * *
"We've got a pair survivors, Ma'am."
Abigail stopped in midstride, raising one hand to stop the rest of her party, as Midshipman Corbett's voice came over the com. There was something about his tone . . . .
"Are you all right, Walt?" she asked quietly over her private link.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied over the same link. "It's just—" He paused, and she heard a distinct swallowing sound. "It's just . . . kind of bad in here."
Abigail looked down at her memo board and checked the icons representing Corbett and his party. Her own party had already encountered over seventy dead and only six survivors—all of whom had been in skinsuits and trapped in compartments they could not escape. They'd also counted twenty-three lifepod hatches which showed vacuum on the other side, which presumably meant whoever had been close enough to them had already escaped the ship. Her six survivors had been sent back to the pinnace, escorted by a single one of her spacers, and all of them had seemed too dazed by the scope of the disaster—and too grateful to be alive—to offer anything resembling resistance. Yet so far, Corbett hadn't located a single survivor and only a scattering of bodies.
But that, she realized as she punched up the scale on the board, had obviously just changed. He and his party were one passageway further in than her own, and he'd just entered the core hull. In fact, if the schematic was accurate, he was in one of the nodal damage control compartments.
Which , she thought coldly, is supposed to have upwards of forty people in it when the ship's at Action Stations. So if he's only got two survivors . . . .
"Do you need any more hands?" She kept her voice impersonal.
"No, Ma'am. Not yet, anyway." Corbett might have swallowed again, but his voice was a little stronger when he resumed speaking. "The Bosun and my sick berth attendant have them stabilized in life support stretchers. I'm detaching two of my people to take them back to the pinnace, then return here. Uh, if that's all right with you, I mean, Ma'am."
"Walt, it's your call," she told him. And, of course, you've got the Bosun there to make sure you don't step on your sword , she added silently.
"Thank you, Ma'am."
His voice was definitely stronger this time, and she smiled crookedly.
"You're welcome," she said. "Now, let's be about it."
Chapter Twenty-Five
"—afraid it's not quite so simple as all that, Admiral. The consensus of my House committee is quite firm on this point. Before the Administration could possibly get Congress to sign off on any formal treaty, especially one in which the Republic accepts some sort of 'war guilt' clause, the futures of these star systems have to be settled. That, after all, was the reason we voted to support the resumption of hostilities in the first place."
Honor Alexander-Harrington bit her tongue rather firmly. It was an exercise with which she'd had an unfortunate amount of experience over the last five or six weeks. In fact, she'd gotten to practice at it almost every time Gerald Younger opened his mouth.
She drew a deep, unobtrusive breath and thought longingly of public dueling grounds and ten-millimeter pistols as the representative sat back in his chair, jaw clenched with manly fortitude and brown eyes hard with steely determination. It wasn't so much that she was unwilling to believe his committee members felt—or could be brought to feel—exactly as he'd just said they did, although she doubted they were nearly so adamant (or united) as he was suggesting. No, the problem was that she could taste the real emotions behind his argument, which meant she knew he personally didn't give a single solitary damn about the future of the disputed star systems and never had. He'd been harping on this point for a full half-day now, but what he really wanted was something else entirely. It was unfortunate that she couldn't pluck exactly what that "something else" was out of his mind, but she'd come to the conclusion that he was probably after one of two things.