No Honor in Death (11 page)

"Have sufficient personnel and grav floats waiting at the cargo airlock at seven bells in the evening watch.  Dismissed."

At the appointed time, Siobhan, wearing tight-fitting coveralls with metal rank insignia gleaming on the collar points, met the work party under the orders of the Fourth Engineering Officer.  The Ensign, a petite woman no more than a year out of the Academy, looked distinctly uncomfortable with her orders.  The same could not be said about Chief Petty Officer Weekes, the engineering Chief, and the other ratings of the work party.  They seemed delighted at the idea of raiding base stores in the dead of night, as if this was the most fun they'd had in ages.  Which also said a lot about the
Stingray
's previous management.

Pushkin too was waiting at the airlock, as disapproving as ever, but he made no attempt to dissuade her.  Nor did he wish the party good luck.  As they filed out of the large airlock, he watched them leave, his lips in a thin line of worry.

Ezekiel Holt was right and the corridors of the base's dockyard levels were empty at this time of night.  The few people they met ignored them, as they would ignore any work party from one of the docked ships.  They reached the engineering stores depot without incident.

The duty Chief Petty Officer was watching a three-vee flick in a cubby to the left of the massive doors guarding the precious starship parts.  When Siobhan entered the small office, the Chief, a grizzling man in his late forties, with a paunch and a face lined with burst blood vessels, glanced at her in annoyance.  Then, his expression changed as he spotted her rank insignia and the hard, slender female body encased in tight coveralls.  She smiled at him.

"What, ah, can I do for you, sir," the Chief asked.  His name tape identified him as Moller, and he was clearly rattled by Siobhan sudden appearance.

"Commander Dunmoore, Chief.  I've come to pick up the spare parts I ordered." Siobhan's smile widened.

"Yes, sir.  Ah, what ship, sir?"  Moller picked-up a data pad and flicked it on.  If he thought it unusual that a ship's Captain was leading a work party herself, he didn’t dare comment.

"The
Stingray
, Mister Moller."

He looked at his data pad and frowned.  "I'm sorry, sir," finally said, "your request isn't on any manifest."  He sounded unhappy.

"Damn!"  Siobhan pouted, an expression she personally found ludicrous, but it seemed to have the required effect on Moller.  He looked even more miserable.  "My First Officer put in the request this morning.  Both of our reactor flux regulators blew during a static test, and I have to sail in less than three days.  It'll take me most of that just to put the new parts in, let alone test them."

"Well sir, maybe the paperwork didn't make it all the way down.  It happens, what with the bureaucracy upstation.  Let me see if the main computer has your request."  He turned towards his console and began searching.

"Ah, I see, sir," the Chief said, a wry grin on his face.  "The request got stuck in Commander Sones's office.  He hasn't had time to approve it yet."  His tone hinted that he did not hold the Supply Officer in very high regard.

Siobhan grimaced.  "By the time he gets to work tomorrow morning, I'll no longer have enough time before my sailing date."

"Don't worry, sir," the Chief grinned like a man about to bestow a favour.  "These things happen all the time.  Tell you what, I've got the list now and we've got everything in stock.  With your work party, it won't take long to fill your order and let you get your ship ready in time.  I'll just need your thumbprint for my pad, and it'll all be as per regulations."

"Thanks, Mister Moller.  You've saved my hide from Admiral Kaleri.  You won't get into trouble for this now, will you?"  She made a concerned face.

"Don't worry about Commander Sones, sir," the Chief grinned.  "Let's get going, then."

An hour later, grav floats loaded high with crates, Siobhan and her work party made their way back to the ship.  Dunmoore felt distinctly pleased with herself.

Pushkin was at the airlock when they arrived.  He made no comment and asked no questions about the raid.  After greeting his Captain, he simply issued orders for the unpacking and installation of the parts, as if this had been a routine matter.  But when Siobhan passed him to return to her cabin, she caught him glancing at her, and there was something different in his eyes.  It lasted only for a heartbeat, then he went back to work, his harsh voice driving the engineering crew to their tasks.

It took him a long time to accept the grudging respect he felt for Dunmoore, and the nagging embarrassment at having let her do a job he should have done.  Consciously or not, the new Captain was making him feel inadequate as First Officer, and Pushkin hated the sensation, because he knew he wasn't.

The next morning, more by chance than design, Pushkin was with Dunmoore when Sones called.  Feeling mischievous, Siobhan connected the vidcom to the briefing screen in her ready room, so Pushkin could see the Supply Officer without the latter seeing him.

"Good morning, Commander Sones.  What can I do for you?"  Siobhan's tone was sweet and innocent, and Pushkin's eyes narrowed at her gall.

"Don't act like nothing happened, Dunmoore,"  Sones's puffy face was red with outrage, heavy jowls quivering as he spoke.  "First your Purser, now you suborning my people.  You had no right to those parts, and believe me, Admiral Kaleri will know of your pilfering as soon as I finish speaking with you.  I could bring you up on charges for this, you know, and you won't be able to weasel out of it like you did before."

Siobhan raised her eyebrows at the threat, and the implication that the
Shenzen
court-martial two years ago acquitted her on a technicality.  When she replied, her voice was hard.

"Can the threats, Sones.  You told my First Officer you didn't have the parts, yet I found the stores filled to the rafters.  That'll look real fine in front of a Disciplinary Board.  Battle-Group Purser hoards supplies desperately needed by beleaguered warship."

"I told him they weren't available, which is different," he protested, as outrage at being called Purser instead of high-and-mighty General Staff officer fought with the fear of her counter-threat.

"Bullshit, Sones.  I'll take my First Officer's word well before yours."  Siobhan had the satisfaction of seeing surprise in Pushkin's face.  "You complain to Admiral Kaleri if you want, but you'll have to explain why you weren't going to release critical parts and thereby cause my ship to miss its sailing date."

Sones's eyes took on a sly look.  "Maybe I don't have to explain myself to the Admiral.  She knows who she can trust, and an officer who routinely gets ships shot out from under her doesn't qualify."

Siobhan sighed theatrically, biting back an urge to reach down the comm link and choke him..  "Make an issue of it, Sones, if you like.  Just remember that this will all be recorded in the ship's logs, and they do get sent to Fleet Command through 3rd Fleet every few weeks.  Admiral Nagira has taken a special interest in the
Stingray
and will read them, that I can assure you.  Now I can either make a note that you've been most helpful or that you've been obstructive.  Your choice."

Sones suddenly became uncertain and hemmed and hawed for a few moments.  It was clear that word about her sponsor had made its way to his ears.  Not that Nagira had any time to review logs, but a man of Sones's limited intelligence probably still saw three star Admirals as demi-gods, not harassed and overworked creatures.  The
Stingray
was but one small frigate among 3rd Fleet's two hundred warships.  And then there was Ezekiel's comment that neither Sones nor Kaleri wished closer attention from 3rd Fleet right now.

"Very well," Sones wrapped himself in a cloak of wounded dignity.  "I will overlook your irregular actions this time.  However, I warn you.  Try this again, and you will pay dearly.  Sones, out."

Siobhan had no doubt Admiral Kaleri would hear of the incident, and would somehow make sure the Captain of the
Stingray
regretted it, sooner or later.  That was part of the price for playing devious games.  She who held the rank, held the power. Kaleri was known not only to carry a grudge, but to take subtle and deadly revenge.  Deadly for a career, that is.  No one had ever proven she had done anything worse.

Siobhan looked at Pushkin, and this time she was sure she saw a glimmer of respect in his dark eyes, even if the ever-present scowl was as deep as ever.

"There you are, Mister Pushkin.  Sometimes a Captain has to play distasteful games for her ship's welfare.  I don't like doing it any more than you like seeing me do it."  Siobhan smiled when she saw her comment hit home.  "I don't expect you to do this kind of stuff at every turn.  Just be aware that when events require, you and I have to work out some alternate means.  For the good of the ship."

"Aye, aye, sir," he nodded.  Whether he agreed or not was open to debate.  "Was there anything else?"

"No.  I just hope those parts were the only critical supplies we needed, because I've shot my broadside."

"We're still short of a lot of stores, sir, but nothing that'll keep us from sailing."

Siobhan nodded and was about to dismiss her First Officer, when he surprised her with an unexpected question.

"Begging your pardon, sir, what's going to happen now?  I mean with Sones?"

"He'll tell Kaleri, and then wait for an opportunity to extract his revenge, with interest."  She shrugged.  "Nothing we can do about that, except keep our eyes open and make sure it doesn't hurt the crew."

"Aye, sir."  He saluted and left, his habitual bitterness struggling with respect, and a growing realization that she was getting on with the job a lot better than he could ever have done under the circumstances.

Alone once more, Siobhan decided to scan the list of shortages, not that she didn't trust Pushkin.  He had not taken a single wrong step since the department heads' meeting on the first day.  Which did not mean he shone as a First Officer, but he showed grudging promise.  That made her wonder even more why he had left the ship in such a desperate state after Forenza was relieved.

What the Captain really wanted to see was what, if anything, she could obtain by other means.  Though she'd told Pushkin she'd fired her broadside, there were always other scams she could pull.  And after speaking with Sones, it had become personal: Siobhan Dunmoore against the staff of 31st Battle-Group.

Pushkin had been right.  There were no critical shortages.  Ammunition, food and consumable parts were in sufficient supply.  But there were little, if any of the luxuries that made a long patrol bearable: no new entertainment chips, canteen supplies and the like.  It was not something she could complain about, yet it would affect the morale of the crew in a very direct manner.  And Sones knew it.  Siobhan frowned deeply when she spotted one shortfall she considered critical.

There wasn't enough coffee aboard to last a week.

On every ship in the Fleet, the big, shiny coffee urns were kept chugging watch after watch in each of the messes, and wherever enterprising spacers found room to install one.  Good Navy coffee was as vital to spacers as oxygen.  She would have a real morale problem if she sailed without coffee.
Damn Sones for being so bloody unfair!

She pressed the intercom.  "Captain to Purser."

Rossum's perspiring face appeared on the screen moments later.  He looked worried, like a man about to receive a tongue lashing.  Siobhan briefly wondered whether he had a bad conscience, or whether it was a normal response after two years of Helen Forenza's 'gentle' leadership.

"I note that the base is unable to provide us with sufficient coffee, Mister Rossum."

"Ah, yes, sir.  Sorry, sir but there's none to be had at Supply.  A general shortage, I understand."

"You did manage to get other supplies that were supposedly in short supply."

"Ah, you heard, sir."  Rossum pulled out his white handkerchief and patted his bald, shiny head.  "Yes.  I got enough of the basics to last, but when I returned for the coffee and other commissariat items, the doors had unfortunately closed.  Sorry, sir."

Siobhan shook her head.  "No matter, Mister Rossum.  At least you got more than Supply intended to give us.  Commander Sones's opinion of your methods matter little to me, especially after this morning.  Results are the only things that count."

Rossum looked distinctly relieved, though he never stopped sponging the sweat from his face.

"Now, I'm sure there is coffee to be had on the station," Siobhan continued, "just as I was sure the parts for the regulators were there."  The plump Purser nodded, grinning.  Evidently, the story about her liberating engineering stores had already made the rounds, and had met with approval.  "But we'll try a different approach for this.  What have we for barter, Mister Rossum?"

"Not much, I'm afraid, Captain.  Not for coffee."  He seemed genuinely apologetic.

Siobhan scrolled through the ship's inventory list.  A vague entry caught her attention.

"Mister Rossum, what does the manifest mean by 'Captain's stores?'"

"Ah, sir.  Those are Captain Forenza's private supplies.  She has not yet given us any instructions for sending them on."