“What the devil happened to you? It looks like your portside loading bay - “
“Was breached. Yes, but it’s tight now. Looks pretty bad, I know - “
“And you’re short at least two portside pods… you’re either lucky or crazy, Commander, and I’m not sure which.”
“Lucky, I hope,” said Sassinak, not displeased with his reaction. “By the way, is Lieutenant Commander Huron attached to your command, now, or are you bringing him back to me?”
Verstan smiled, and waved Huron forward. “We weren’t sure you were here, after all - but if you’re in need I’m sure he’ll be willing to transfer over.” Huron had aged in those few weeks, a stern expression replacing the amiable (but competent) one he had usually worn. Sassinak wondered if he felt the same about her - would he even want to come back? She shook herself mentally - he was telling her about his trip with the slaver transport, the horrible conditions they’d found, the impossibility of comforting all those helpless children, orphaned and torn from their homes. Her eyes filled with tears, as much anger and frustration at not having been able to stop it as grief from her own past. His ship had been short of rations - since it had been inbound, at the end of a planned voyage - and to the other miseries of the passengers hunger and thirst had been added. Now he wanted to be in the assault team; as he had no regular assignment on the flagship, he had requested permission to land with the marines.
“I’ll come back, of course, if you need me,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. Sassinak sighed. Clearly his experience haunted him; he would not be content until he’d had slavers in his gunsight… or gotten himself killed, she thought irritably. He wasn’t a marine; he wasn’t trained in ground assault; he ought to have more sense. In the long run he’d be better off if she ordered him back to theZaid-Dayan, and kept him safe.
“Huron - “ She stopped when he looked straight at her. Captain to captain, that gaze went - he was no longer the compliant lover, the competent executive officer whose loyalty was first to her. She could order him back, and he would come - but without the self-respect, the pride, that she had learned to love. She could order him to her bed, no doubt, and he would come - but it would not be the Huron she wanted. He would have to fight his own battles awhile first, and later - if they had a later - they could discover each other again. She felt an almost physical pain in her chest, a wave of longing and apprehension combined. If something happened to him - if he were killed - she would have to bear the knowledge that she could have kept him out of it. But if she forced him to safety now, she’d have to bear the knowledge that he resented her.
“Be careful,” she said at last. “And get some of the bastards for me.”
His eyes brightened, and he gave her a genuine smile. “Thank you. Commander Sassinak. I’m glad you understand.”
Whatever she did, the battle would be over by the time she got back to Fleet Sector Headquarters for refitting. Sassinak hoped her answering smile was as open and honest as his: she felt none of his elation.
In fact, the trip back to Sector Headquarters was one of the most depressing of her life. She, like Huron, had itched to blow away some pirates and slavers… and yet she’d had to run along home, like an incompetent civilian. She found herself grumbling at Hollister - and it wasn’t his fault.
Her new executive officer seemed even less capable after that short conversation with Huron… she knew she criticized him too sharply, but she couldn’t help it. She kept seeing Huron’s face, kept imagining how it would have been to have him there. For distraction, such as it was, she kept digging at the personnel records, looking over every single one which could possibly have had access to the right area of the ship when the missile was fired. After Kelly came Kelland, and from there she plowed through another dozen, all the way to Prosser. Prosser’s ID in his records had an expression she didn’t like, a thin-lipped, self-righteous sort of smirk, and she found herself glaring at it. Too much of this, and she’d come to hate every member of the crew. They couldn’t all be guilty. Prosser didn’t look that bad in person (she made a reason to check casually); it was just the general depression she felt. And she knew she’d face a Board of Inquiry, if not a court martial, back at Sector.
Sector Headquarters meant long sessions with administrative officers who wanted to know exactly how each bit of damage to the ship had occurred, exactly why she’d chosen to do each thing she’d done, why she hadn’t done something else instead. As the senior engineers shook their heads and tut-tutted over the damage, critiquing Hollister’s emergency repairs, Sassinak found herself increasingly tart with her inquisitors. She had, after all, come back with a whole ship and relatively few casualties, and rescued a shipload of youngsters, when she might have been blown into fragments if she’d followed a rigid interpretation of the Rules of Engagement. But the desk-bound investigators could not believe that a cruiser like theZaid-Dayan might be out-gunned by a “tacky little pirate ship” as one of them put it. Sassinak handed over the data cubes detailing the escort’s profile, and they sniffed and put them aside. Was she sure that the data were accurate?
Furthermore, there was the matter of practically inviting a hostile force to breach her ship and board. “Absolutely irresponsible!” sniffed one commander, whom Sassinak knew from the Directory hadn’t been on a ship in years, and never on one in combat. “Could have been disastrous,” said another. Only one of the Board, a one-legged commander who’d been marooned in coldsleep in a survival pod on his first voyage, asked the kinds of questions Sassinak herself would have asked. The chair of the Board of Inquiry, a two-star admiral, said nothing one way or the other, merely taking notes.
She came out of one session ready to feed them all to the recycling bins, and found Arly waiting for her.
“Now what?” asked Sass.
Arly took her arm. “You need a drink - I can tell. Let’s go to Gino’s before the evening rush.”
“I feel trouble in the air,” said Sass, giving her a hard look. “If you’ve got more bad news, just tell me.”
“Not here - those paperhangers don’t deserve to hear things first. Come on.”
Sassinak followed her, frowning. Arly was rarely pushy, and as far as Sassinak knew avoided dockside bars. Whatever had come unstuck had bothered her, too. Gino’s was the favorite casual place for senior ship officers that season. For a moment, Sassinak considered the change in her taste in bar decor. Ensigns liked tough exotic places that let them feel adventurous and mature; Jigs and ‘Tenants were much the same, although some of them preferred a touch of elegance, a preference that increased with rank. Until, Sassinak had discovered, the senior Lieutenant Commanders and Commanders felt secure enough in their rank to choose more casual, even shabby, places to meet. Such as Gino’s, which had the worn but scrubbed look of the traditional diner. Gino’s also had live, human help to bring drinks and food to the tables, and rumor suggested a live, human cook in the kitchen.
Arly led her to a comer table in the back. Sassinak settled herself with a sigh, and prodded the service pad until its light came on. After they’d ordered, she gave Arly a sidelong look.
“Well?”
“An IFTL message. For you.” Arly handed her the hardcopy slip. Sassinak knew instantly, before she opened it, what it had to be. An IFTL for a captain in refitting? That could only be an official death notice, and she knew only one person who might… she unfolded the slip, and glanced at it, trying to read it without really looking at it, as if this magic might protect her from the pain. Official language left the facts bald and clear: