“I will,” Cecelia said, sorting rapidly through the little she had heard or read about covert operations and Fleet procedures. If Heris had been fooling her, then what would this youngster think she was? All that came to mind was the explanation for the officer’s misuse of “sir”—in the military, officers of both sexes were called sir. Which meant that for some reason he thought she was an officer. Odd: surely he would have some sort of list which proved she wasn’t. But his mistake could be useful. “For one thing, I can tell you that Commander Serrano found Brigdis Sirkin a most accomplished navigator. She said often that Sirkin should’ve been Fleet.”
“Yes, sir; she told us. Says Sirkin has special knowledge of this ship’s capabilities.”
“So does Brun,” Cecelia added. Should she mention that Brun was Thornbuckle’s daughter? Probably not. It wouldn’t add anything to the mix at this point. “She’s been working with Meharry, I believe it is, and Oblo.”
The bald man turned to face her. “That civilian kid has been working with Methlin Meharry? And Ginese? And Oblo?”
What was that about? She had expected them to know Heris’s name, but the others, as far as she knew, had been enlisted. Enlightenment came just before she made a fool of herself. Foxhunters knew foxhunters, and stud grooms knew stud grooms—of course Heris’s top people would have their own fame.
“Meharry,” said Cecelia, as if pondering. “Tallish woman, blonde, green eyes? Yes. Brun, didn’t you tell me she’d . . . er . . . prodded you through some level of weapons certification?”
“Yes, Lady Cecelia,” Brun said. Her eyes sparkled; whatever else happened, Brun was having a marvelous time.
“What level?” growled the bald man to Brun.
“Spec third,” Brun said promptly. Cecelia had no idea what that meant.
“And what did Oblo have you doing?”
“Well . . . we only got up to second, on account of Captain Serrano asked me to spend more time with Arkady.”
A short nod, and a glance at Jig Faroe, who was almost prancing from foot to foot.
The communications board lit, and the bald man touched the controls, then moved back to clear the pickups for the captain. Koutsoudas appeared on screen, with Oblo behind him. “Let me speak to Sirkin and Brun, please, Captain Faroe.”
“Right away.” He sidled along the arc of the bridge, making room for Sirkin and Brun to squeeze past, into range of the pickups.
“We need to enable the alternate beacon IDs,” Oblo began. “Brun, you remember how I showed you the lockout sequences?”
“Yes—you—”
“You’ll want them all in readiness; you’ll be switching them at your captain’s order. Is Cesar there?”
“Yo, Oblo!” That was the bald man, leaning toward the pickups now.
“She doesn’t know how to set up that kind of switching, so give her a hand. Quick learner, and she does know the lockouts cold.”
Cesar nodded. “Right. Priority?”
“Yesterday. Now—Sirkin—”
“Yes?”
Koutsoudas took over. “Brigdis, Serrano wants you as primary nav for the yacht, because you know the . . . uh . . . special capabilities for FTL insertions and exits. As well, do you remember that little packet I gave you to take downside?”
“Yes, I have it.”
“Good. Set it beside your main nav board, right under the shift control. It is not—repeat NOT—to be activated by anyone but yourself, and that is Commander Serrano’s direct order. Is that clear?” A chorus of sirs, of which Sirkin’s was the weakest. Koutsoudas glared out of the screen. “It’s keyed to you anyway, but just in case one of those others gets too curious, it can blow the entire navigation board if you upset it. Hands off.” A long pause. “You do remember the activation code, don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s—”
“Don’t repeat it—just use it when it’s time.”
Cecelia could see that this mysteriousness gave Brun and Sirkin more prestige with the military, but why? Then Koutsoudas appeared to see her for the first time. “Oh! Sorry, sir—didn’t recognize you for a moment.” As if anyone else would be wearing a silk pullover shirt; as if anyone else could be mistaken for her, with that red hair and plain face. And he knew perfectly well she wasn’t a “sir”—she was the civilian who hadn’t even wanted him aboard. “Lady Cecelia . . . I believe Commander Serrano would like to speak to you.”
Again? But Heris was there now, looking at her with an expression half-concerned and half-gleeful. Damn the woman, she was looking forward to this battle. “Lady Cecelia.” She said the name in audible quotes, implying that it was a pseudonym. “Captain Faroe has been instructed to give you every consideration. You have my authorization for the necessary decisions.”
What necessary decisions, Cecelia wanted to ask, but she could tell that this was not the time. If she was a Fleet officer who had been pretending to be a civilian, she should know that already.
“Thank you, Captain Serrano,” she said with what she hoped was appropriate military formality. Then she ventured further. “I presume that our primary objective remains . . . ?”
“As it was,” Heris said, with a look that refused any more inquiries. “When the time comes for you to jump out of the system, don’t hesitate.” Cecelia blinked. Was Heris telling them to run away and leave her stranded? Not a chance.
“Should that be necessary,” Cecelia said, stressing the unlikelihood, “I’ll have a word with your aunt.”
“You do that,” Heris said. “Now I need to speak with Captain Faroe.
“Let Sirkin show you the critical jump distances,” Heris told Faroe. “We’ve put her into jump much closer than the usuaclass="underline" it’s part of the nonstandard equipment aboard. You’ve got the information from Ginese and Meharry on weapons capability?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Remember to change beacon IDs based on your determination of the situation, once the CH splits up. Give them as many different vectors as you can—”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Cecelia could tell that Heris wished she had her own hands on the controls. She herself wished she could see Heris on the bridge of the cruiser—it must, she thought, be a sight. But the woman couldn’t ride two horses at once; she had to let go the reins of this one. She moved back into pickup range.
“We’ll do fine, Captain Serrano. I have every confidence in Captain Faroe.” For some reason, that made Heris look bug-eyed for a moment. Then she regained her calm.
“Well, then. I’ll expect acknowledgment when the last orders go out.” And the beam cut off.
“Do you have any idea what Heris is up to?” Brun whispered a few minutes later. Captain Faroe had insisted that they were off duty for the next six hours, and they’d gone back to Cecelia’s suite to relax.
“Aside from fighting off an invading fleet, not a clue in this world.” Cecelia rubbed her temples. “I’m so far behind I can’t even hear the hounds. I didn’t even know that an R.S.S. battle group was here, let alone that she’d taken command of it. I was down there touring breeding farms and getting into a row with Marcia and Poots—paid no attention to the news, except when the financial ansible went pfft and convinced Marcia that I’d gone broke. Idiot fools. I told her to check her own balances, and she had the gall to tell me she didn’t need to, she knew her standing, and that’s when I stormed out and came back.”
Brun was trembling, but with suppressed giggles. “Lady Cecelia, you’re incredible! Didn’t they tell you at the shuttle port?”
“I suppose the man tried. He kept talking about no round-trip tickets, but of course I didn’t want a round-trip ticket. I kept telling him I had a ship here, and would be leaving the system. Would you please explain?”