“Who . . . are you?” The expletives deleted by caution left a pause in that.
“I’m Commander Heris Serrano,” she said. It was not an officer she had ever seen before, but he had to know that name. “I’m on special assignment.”
“But—” The major’s eyes shifted from her to Petris to the bodies and back to her. Recognition; that was good. For once Heris didn’t mind having the family face. “But you were—I heard—”
Heris smiled. “You heard correctly. I resigned my commission and took employment as a civilian . . . in anticipation of recent crises.”
“Oh.” The blank look cleared slowly. “You mean it was all—all faked?”
“Well . . . not uncovering Lepescu’s plot,” Heris said cheerfully. Everyone knew about Lepescu, she was sure. “That wasn’t faked at all.”
“But—what are you doing here?” This time his glance at the bodies had been longer. His first anger was leaving him, and she saw a twitch of fear, quickly controlled.
“Right now, I’m taking command of this ship, as ordered.”
“You—are?” The major’s gears were trying to mesh, but achieved only useless spinning; Heris could almost hear the loose rattle. “As ordered?”
“You’re aware that this system will shortly be under attack by the Benignity of the Compassionate Hand?” Giving it the full title added weight, Heris thought, to the claim.
“Uh . . . no . . . uh . . . Captain.” Victory. The major didn’t know it yet, perhaps, but he had accepted Heris in command.
“They scouted it, sent a fake raider in to check out the defenses—”
“That raider we heard about?”
“Yes. With a surveillance ship in the distance. This group was then dispatched . . . but not by the R.S.S. command.”
“But—but what are you saying?”
“That your former captain, Dekan Garrivay, was a traitor, in the pay of the Benignity. That certain of his officers were also traitors, that the purpose of this mission was to strip Xavier of any defenses, including me—since I had killed the raider—and open it to the Benignity.”
“But—but how do you—” Disbelief and avid curiosity warred in the major’s expression.
“You may recall that I have an Aunt Vida . . . Admiral Vida, that is.”
Comprehension swept across the major’s face, and he sagged. An aunt admiral, a secret mission . . . it was all right. Behind the major, Petris relaxed a fraction. Heris didn’t.
“Now,” Heris said, “my people need uniforms; they’ve had to wear those miserable civilian things too long.” She paused a moment, wondering if she dared promote her associates to officers. She needed all the loyal officers she could find . . . but instinct said that even the smallest additional lie could topple the major’s fragile belief in her story. If he stopped to think, if he doubted, she would become a common murderer again, not a legitimate officer who had been operating under cover. She gave them their original ranks instead, and watched the major’s response. He might not know it, but he could still be dead any moment. “And you’ll need to get someone up to tape the scene for forensics, put the bodies on ice, and clean up this office afterwards. We strongly suspect that one or more are carrying discreet CH ID markings. And the following personnel must be located and put under guard.” She handed him Koutsoudas’s list. Making it all up as she went along, she realized, was a lot more fun.
“Yes, sir.” A long pause. “Anything else, sir?”
“No,” Heris said. “I’ll be on the bridge, speaking to the crew.”
“But you’ve got Cydin on your list, and she’s on the bridge now,” the major said.
“Thank you,” Heris said, as if she hadn’t known that. “Then I’ll take Mr. Vissisuan with me—” Oblo was almost as well known in the Fleet as Koutsoudas. “Who’s bridge officer at this time?”
“Lieutenant Milcini,” Major Svatek said.
“And the M.P. watch commander?”
“Lieutenant Ginese—” Svatek looked at Arkady Ginese, startled. Ginese smiled.
“That’s probably my Uncle Slava’s oldest boy. I’d heard he’d been commissioned.” Another thin layer added to the skin of belief; Heris could see Svatek processing this. Not only the famous Serrano name, but someone related to the ship’s own security personnel.
“Mr. Ginese, you’ll accompany me as well,” Heris said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Fourteen
The corridors of Garrivay’s ship—no, her ship—were as familiar as the shapes of her own fingers. Command Deck, dockside corridor, aft of the captain’s office. A passing ensign saluted her insignia without appearing to notice anything; his eyes widened at her escort. She wished they’d been able to wait for uniforms, but the scanty tradition behind her acts emphasized the need for immediate action.
Ahead, the hatch leading to the bridge, just where she’d left it, as if she had walked back onto her own ship. This was her ship, she reminded herself. A marine pivot stood at ease by the hatch, snapping to attention at the sight of her insignia.
“Sir!” Then his expression wavered, as if he weren’t sure.
“Pivot.” She snapped a salute. “These personnel are with me.” Before he reacted, they were past; she came through into her own kingdom, home at last.
She took the three steps forward, paused while the bridge officer caught sight of her.
“Sir—uh . . . Commander . . . ?”
“Commander Heris Serrano, special assignment.” She pitched her voice to carry through the whole compartment. “As I’ve explained to Major Svatek, I have taken command of this vessel. You are Lieutenant Milcini, is that correct—?” She was aware of heads turning, the pressure of many startled looks. One of the officers on the bridge was Cydin. Heris didn’t worry about that; Ginese and Oblo would be watching for her. More important now was the reaction of the loyal crew. So far astonishment held them.
The lieutenant found his voice again. “Captain Garrivay—?”
“Commander Garrivay has been relieved.” Heris held up the command wand. “The computer has accepted my authorization code.”
“Liar!” There. Lieutenant Cydin, a rangy redhead who reminded her inexorably of Cecelia. “She’s a traitor—don’t listen to her! She was cashiered—she’s not Fleet!”
Heads turned back and forth, uneasy. Lieutenant Milcini started to reach out but froze in a parody of indecision when Heris looked at him.
“Lieutenant Cydin, you are hereby charged with treason,” Heris said steadily. “Evidence in possession of Fleet—” Koutsoudas, after all, was legitimately Fleet, even if presently on a yacht “—shows that you conspired with Commander Garrivay and others to yield Xavier to the Benignity of the Compassionate Hand.”
“What!” Cydin’s face went paper white.
“Recordings of conversations with Commander Garrivay . . .” Heris said. “You are hereby relieved of your duties and will be held in confinement until such time as a Board can be convened—” The familiar phrases rolled out of her mouth as if she herself had never felt their impact on her own life. Necessary, she knew; such formality, such familiarity with tradition, was another proof of her own legitimacy. “Mr. Ginese, Mr. Vissisuan—” She nodded, and they moved around her. Lieutenant Cydin looked around for support she did not get.
“No! I’m not a traitor—she is! Ask her what happened to our captain! It’s all lies!” But around her was a subtle withdrawing. “Look at her—that’s not a Fleet uniform! Those men—they’re in civvie shipsuits!”
“I know her,” someone said. Heris looked for the voice, and found a face she vaguely remembered from several ships back. Her mental name file revolved.