Admiral Serrano shrugged. “I can order her—” She turned to Heris, “And you had better go, if I do.”
“If? Why if? Why not just do it?” Cecelia looked ready to leap out of her seat. Admiral Serrano turned to Heris.
“Captain—what would your orders be, if you were the admiral?”
“I wouldn’t send R.S.S. warships to Patchcock,” Heris said promptly. “It’s likely to make things worse.”
“So?”
“So . . . if I could insert a small, nonthreatening civilian ship, with some specialists to . . . find out what’s happened, rescue personnel if necessary—” If they weren’t already dead.
“Good choices. I was going to relieve you as captain of the Vigilance anyway—you don’t need to waste your time shepherding her to a repair dock. Despite is too big for this job, and too small for anything else. You’re not officially on the List, even if you are . . . mmm . . . tucked away in a corner of the database. I don’t have to notify anyone at Personnel about your transfer. Whom do you want on that yacht?”
“You want me to go on Sweet Delight?”
“It’s the right ship—small, fast, civilian, and full of specialists—or it will be when you select the right crew for this. Covert, remember.”
“Yes . . . sir.” Was this really an order? Would she really have the authority to pull out the crew she wanted?
“Actually this will simplify things for me,” the admiral went on. “I have some loose ends to tidy before you come back in the Regs—assuming that’s what you want—?” She looked at Heris, and nodded before Heris could get the words out. “Yes—I thought so. It’s almost time—this little chore will fit in nicely.”
“I’m coming,” Cecelia said, with a touch of defiance, as if she expected to be refused.
“Of course,” the admiral said. “It’s your ship and your nephew. Now about that girl—”
“She stays,” Lady Cecelia and Heris said together. The admiral raised her brows.
“That’s what her father said. What’s your reason?”
“She’s stretched her luck well past its elastic limit,” Heris said. “And she’s too valuable as a hostage. She’ll be happy enough here if you let her soak up practical matters from your specialists.”
“She already is,” Admiral Serrano said. “When her father wanted to speak to her, she was down in Environmental, learning to tear down a scrubber and fascinating the Chief at the same time. This afternoon, she was deep in the hull specifications for minesweepers. I hope I’ll still be in command of this wave when you’ve finished on Patchcock.” She didn’t sound worried. Heris suspected that she’d enjoy Brun as much as the young woman would enjoy a few weeks aboard the flagship.
“Well, then,” Cecelia said. “If that’s decided, I’ll go back to Sweet Delight. . . . I expect you two have a lot to talk about.” She nodded to Admiral Serrano; Heris called someone to escort her back to the other ship.
“We do need to talk,” Admiral Serrano said. “But this isn’t the best time. I’ll see you after Patchcock.”
“There’ll have to be a Board,” Heris murmured. The thought—the word—sent shivers down her spine.
“Of course.” Her aunt looked at her. “It worries you? It shouldn’t. There’s ample evidence—just in what you’ve sent me so far, and in what Suiza sent from Despite—to support your actions. Not even counting the battle itself. You’re in no danger, Heris, not this time. You’ve done well.” She paused, then went on. “You’re coming home, Heris. Back where you belong, back with those who love you.”
But did they? She could not doubt her aunt, not faced with the warmth in those eyes. But others . . . she would have to know why they had ignored her before. She kept herself busy the rest of that day, visiting the sickbay, arranging the change of command, choosing the crew to go with her in the yacht.
She was choosing the crew for Patchcock—the same familiar faces: Oblo, Meharry, Ginese, Koutsoudas, Petris. Petris. She looked at him with no less affection than before, yet it was different. How many days had it been . . . and she hadn’t missed that part, not really.
When all the transfers had been done, when she was back on the familiar (but tiny!) bridge of Sweet Delight, with the familiar crew around her and Lady Cecelia simmering in her suite like a kettle on the hearth, she realized that the trip to Patchcock would not be peaceful for one person at least.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, slipping into bed beside her. He was warm and smooth, the shape her hands had wanted without knowing it. And yet—even before Xavier, neither of them had taken up the many opportunities. She thought she knew what it meant for her; what did it mean for him?
“I’m just not comfortable aboard ship,” Heris said. She rolled her head sideways, facing what must be faced, but Petris merely looked thoughtful.
“I’m not either, if you want the truth of it. I love you; I loved you for years, and getting to be with you was wonderful. But—it doesn’t feel right aboard ship, and it’s not just the memory of those damnable cockroaches.” Heris began to chuckle helplessly, and in a moment his mouth quirked. “Really. I swear.”
“I know.” Her chuckles subsided. “But we do have a dilemma, especially if you feel the same way. I love you; I want to be around you. And I love being in space—”
“Me, too,” Petris said.
“But not in bed in space.” She frowned, hardly realizing it until his finger began smoothing her forehead.
“We are grown-ups,” Petris said. “We can take our pleasures serially instead of binging. It’s fine with me if we put this part of our life aside when we’re aboard. For one thing, we won’t be waiting for some crisis to interrupt.”
“Thank you,” Heris said. She sighed.
“I almost wish—” Petris stopped that with a sudden lurch. “Sorry. Nothing.”
“Wish what?” Heris pushed herself up on one elbow to look at him. The sight of his brows, pulled together in a knot of concentration, almost undid the previous agreement.
“Nothing we can change. Not about you, is what I mean.”
“Petris!”
“It’s just—we don’t have anything to do. This little ship is a beauty, and it was fun fitting her out with some decent equipment and weaponry, but—we don’t get to do anything with it. Vigilance, now—while I was scared out of my skull shift—and-shift, I felt needed. Competent.”
“I know.” Heris rolled all the way over and buried her chin in the mat of black hair on his chest. “And that’s why I’m going back in, Petris. And I want you to come back too.”
“I thought so.” He took a deep breath that lifted her head to an uncomfortable angle. “Then we can’t—”
“Yes. We can. We’re not going to waste what we do have. Either you’ll end up with a commission from all this, or we’ll simply use common sense—confine it to times we aren’t aboard.”
“Is that an order, ma’am?” he asked.
“Sir,” she corrected, and set about undoing the pact they had just made.
Later, before they were quite asleep, Petris said, “Lady Cecelia would have made a good admiral.”
“Mmm. I’m not sure. She might have been booted out down the line; she’s got a difficult streak.”
“And you don’t?” He tickled her extensively, but nothing came of it then but giggles. Finally Heris batted his hand away.
“I admit it; I’m difficult too. But my difficultness is the kind Fleet recognizes and knows how to deal with. And so’s yours. And we will work it out—for all of us—and that’s a promise.”
“Fine with me,” Petris said. “I trust you.” She lay awake longer than he, stricken again by the weight of all those who trusted her.