Commodore (25 page)

But was it too late?

50

The very first thing any military officer worth his salt does when confronted with a sudden change in his local situation is to guarantee the security of his flanks and rear areas. I achieved this first by digging into the bridge's wiring and exercising my long-dormant engineering skills, then calling an unofficial meeting on the bridge. A meeting to which Lieutenant Jeffries wasn't invited, of course. The upshot of it all was that our beloved host found himself suddenly awakened out of a sound sleep with my Sword at his throat. "Remember how I was wondering back when I first came on board if maybe you killed the former owner of this ship in his sleep?" I asked sweetly.

"I... Uh..." Jeffries sputtered, his eyes the size of softballs. "I mean—"

"You said I'd do the same under similar circumstances," I interrupted, not giving him the chance to get in a word edgewise. "And you know what? The more I thought about it, the smarter it seemed. You're right, Lieutenant. I always knew we had certain things in common. But actually, we're more alike than I'd have ever imagined."

Impossibly, his eyes grew wider still. "I... David, I mean.... You're not—"

"Don't worry," I interrupted again as I pulled the blade away from his throat. "I won't actually kill you—that's where the differences kick in. You'll even get your pardon, and probably a goodly sum in gold as well. But a little something's come up, you see. And it so happens that I need this ship rather urgently. So, I'm commandeering it in the name of His Majesty."

Jeffries's eyes narrowed and he glanced at his lamp. "Well, then! How about if I just sit up and—"

Suddenly my weapon was at his throat again. "You've run tripwires and placed hidden switches all over this damned ship," I replied. "It took me almost three hours just to disconnect everything leading to this room; I'll never get around to sanitizing the whole works. Presumably you've hidden weapons as well," I pointed out the lamp to Nestor, who stood behind me with an improvised quarterstaff. He nodded, set his weapon down, and sure enough found a palm-blaster in the lamp's shade. "I can't trust you anywhere aboard," I explained. "So I've created new quarters for you in the hold. You'll be as comfortable as circumstances allow, and my Rabbits will see that you have everything you need. In the meantime..." I gestured again, and Heinrich stepped forward with a hank of rope. "I fear you'll have to be restrained. Please, think of it as a sort of protective custody. I'd hate to see you try something that might get you killed when you're about to be rich and a truly free man at long last.."

Jeffries's upper lip formed a snarl as feral as that of any coyote. "This is
my
ship!" he snapped. "There's a bomb that I must reset every—"

I reached down under the side of the lieutenant's bunk and lifted the device up where he could see it.  "It was very clever of you, hiding it in the ship's solid waste system," I explained with another smile. "That was the second place I looked, actually. Once I realized it wasn't sitting nestled up against the control rods, which is where conventional-thinking people would've put it. Silly me; I should've saved myself the time and just straight-off looked where
I'd
have stashed the thing."

Jeffries's mouth opened one last time, then closed in resigned silence.

"Good," I replied, nodding. "You're
not
trying to claim a second bomb after all. Which is just as well, because I'm satisfied there isn't one. One daily reset is enough of a pain in the butt, eh? And what does two accomplish that one doesn't?" I shook my head and gestured Heinrich and his rope over. "Don't fight him, Lieutenant. Because if you do, I'll have to hurt you. And that might prove to be so pleasant that I'd find it difficult to stop."

Jeffries didn't say anything; instead he just sort of slumped back and relaxed to the inevitable. He didn't even protest when we deposited him into a nicely ventilated cargo container, onto which I'd added a pass-through lock for meals and such. "It should only be a few days," I predicted. "Then it'll be safe to let you out again. Or we'll all be dead, in which case it doesn't matter."

"But.... We're still weeks from anywhere!" he sputtered. "What... I mean."

I could've answered him, but decided it'd be safer if I didn't. So instead of speaking I flipped down my steel mask, fired up my torch and laid down four nice, straight welds that would certainly be proof against mere muscle and tendons. "There," I said when I was finished. "That ought to do the trick."

"Yes, sir!" Heinrich agreed. "I'd certainly say so."

Then Nestor came in with little tumblers full of something. "Try one," he encouraged us all.

"Yech!" I declared, spitting the vile stuff all over the deck. So did all my fellow Rabbits, though Heinrich grinned wide and strong.

"Rum, by god!" he declared. "Good stuff, too!"

I turned and looked at Nestor. "What's this all about?"

His ears drooped. "Sorry, sir. But I thought a rum-drunk was sort of traditional after deposing a pirate captain and clapping him in irons. We're supposed to sing morbid sea chanties too, I think—the darker the better." He blinked. "You're not going to make me walk the plank over this, are you?" 

51

And just that easily, the universe was a sunny place again. Not literally, of course—we were headed almost directly out into the Big Dark, our course practically a straight line away from all the local brightness and warmth. Still, Nestor and I were smiling and having a good time with each other again. It'd been ages since we'd laughed and carried on so—for what seemed like a lifetime now I'd begun to wonder if we'd outgrown all forms of fun and games so that the future would be a somber and sober place forevermore. But all it took was the right chemistry and we were our old selves again. For Nestor, I suspected, the largest factor was having helped arrest his former master in such an undignified manner. By the time I'd arrived aboard
Beechwood
Nestor had long since been taken over entirely by the captain for his own dark purposes, but presumably there'd been a time prior to that when my small friend had been bullied and mistreated by Jeffries as well. Certainly the lieutenant was a terrible tyrant to the rest of the Rabbits—every single one of my furry charges had feared and loathed him. So there was certainly no reason to doubt that Nestor had a score to settle with him that if anything probably far exceeded my own. It was even possible that Jeffries had also forced Nestor to... Well, there wasn't any profit that I could see in going down
that
road. I had no proof beyond a strong gut feeling that the scenario fit the known personalities, facts and opportunities, and that was hardly enough to condemn even a man like Jeffries of an unspeakable crime that he just maybe hadn't actually committed. Nestor was the only surviving potential witness, and until he spoke up of his own free will I wasn't about to pry, especially with him suddenly so buoyant and joyful.

For my own part, I had plenty of reasons for feeling better myself. The first and most important was of course that the carnage I'd brought about on Wilkes Prime might yet turn out to be for good purpose after all. I still didn't know what was coming through Point Three; it could merely be
Javelin
reappearing for some unknown reason, for example, or a fast-moving Royal cruiser squadron sent out by some bonehead to verify my "outlandish" claims that the Imperial main battle line was about to move its primary base. But at least I felt hope in my heart now, instead the weight of ten thousand miserable and pointless graves. I hated getting men killed under any circumstances, but so long as it was for the greater good I could at least live with myself afterwards. And that's what I was again, alive and whole after far, far too long!

It didn't hurt any that I had a ship to command once again, and more than enough engineering work to keep me busy every minute of the few hours we had left before something Royal would be appearing in our space. We'd had plenty of room for luggage, so Heinrich brought along a Royal Navy beacon in order to avoid needless accidents. Since it now appeared we might need it a lot sooner than expected, I wired it into our ship's systems right away, so that when the proper moment arrived we'd be able to let the whole world know unmistakably who we were. I whistled as I worked, it was so pleasant to have something to do besides be in charge and worry for once, and even took the time to set up our running lights so that with the flip of a switch we could identify ourselves that way as well. Between me with my soldering iron and Nestor with his endless serving trays full of delicious food soon everyone was in good cheer, excepting of course poor Jeffries trapped down in his private cell.

"So, David," Heinrich asked me on one of my visits to the bridge to check out some new circuits.   He was monitoring the Imperial fleet as it gathered like angry bees into a single massive swarm. It was amazing how much he was learning that way—the battleship
Equalitie
, for example, was late into the formation and even now still had dozens of ship's boats and ferries lined up at her locks. Something was clearly amiss with her, though we couldn't be sure what. And her sister
Fraternitie
still hadn't even left parking orbit to join the Line. Soon she'd miss her chance entirely. "What's the plan?"

I smiled and unplugged my soldering tool. "There isn't any," I replied. "Unless you have a suggestion? There's still too many unknowns."

"Aye," Heinrich agreed reluctantly. "I decided the same, but was hoping that twisted mind of yours might've done better." Then he sighed. "Until we know exactly what's coming through, it's better to just play along and keep our options open."

"Right," I agreed. Then I yawned. "Tell you what, Heinrich. Once we
do
know, difficult choices will have to be made in a hurry. We'll need to be at our best to make them. I reckon that we probably have three, maybe four hours left before anything important happens. How about you grab yourself some rack time first, then I'll catch up later?" 

52

I slept a good bit longer than expected before Nestor woke me up by gently shaking my right foot. "Sir," he whispered. "Two Royal destroyers just came through the Point. Both were lost immediately to torpedo attack."

"Erf," I muttered, sitting up and grooming my whiskers back into shape. Then I looked at the clock. "Whoever's in command on our side is taking his lovely time, isn't he?"

"Sir?" Nestor asked.

"He's hesitating already," I explained. "Taking half-measures. First, he's dithered for at least two hours on the other side of the Point—for what purpose I can't possibly imagine." I met my friend's eye. "That's why you let me have the extra sleep; because nothing happened."

"Commander von Schtolen told me it was okay," he answered, looking away.

I nodded. "Don't worry; it was the right thing to do. But… To get back to my point, even the slowest battleships should've been here by now." I shook my head again. "And, why did the admiral throw away those destroyers with so many good men aboard them? He wouldn't be here in the first place unless he suspected the presence of the Imperial line of battle—otherwise from the Royal point of view a cruise out this way makes no sense. Yet if the enemy is indeed present in strength, what's the point of sacrificing ships like that? It's standard doctrine to send a destroyer or two ahead if you're not sure what's lurking on the other end of the Jump, but… When you have reason to suspect that the entire enemy line of battle is awaiting you, then why bother? The right answer in that case is to come barreling through full-bore just as quickly as possible, with minimal space between the ships. Yes, you take hits that way. Maybe even painful losses. But when it's over at least you're through to the other side where you need to be! Not sitting there sucking your thumb and still not knowing anything!"

"I see, sir," Nestor replied after thinking it over for a moment.

"You have to be able to ruin what you love in order to be a good officer," I continued, though a little less angrily.  "To be able to give orders that you know full well will lead to the destruction of magnificent ships and the deaths of multitudes without flinching. If you hesitate the outcome is usually something terribly indecisive. Then the war drags on and on, costing far more by all conceivable measures than a single short, sharp, sanguinary battle would've. But most flag officers don't want to take risks, you see. They've climbed so high both socially and professionally that they're more afraid of losing status—and ships—than they are desirous of victory. Professor Lambert would go on and on about it—it was his biggest pet peeve. A fleet doesn't exist to be preserved and cherished and have its brasswork polished. It exists to be risked and perhaps even destroyed whenever and wherever it can hurt the enemy more than its loss damages its own side." I shook my head and sighed, then began slipping into my uniform.

"Some admirals are real fire-eaters," I continued as I buttoned my pants. "Not many, though. Most are so terrified of defeat and the shame that goes with it that they spoil their chances for victory by refusing to take enough risks with their commands." I sighed. "The two sorts are notoriously difficult to tell apart until they actually make contact with the enemy; both talk equally good games ahead of time. If James sent us Mr. Milquetoast instead of Mr. Damn-The-Torpedoes-And-Full-Speed-Ahead, as I'm beginning to suspect, well… He wouldn't be the first sovereign to be fooled. Not by a long shot."  

Nestor nodded. "And if it is Admiral Milquetoast in command of the Royal Fleet? Or even just a cruiser squadron, like you said earlier?"

I shrugged again. "Then we'll have to work with what we've got instead of what we might wish for, Nestor. Just like we always do."

For almost another hour I sat and fumed and began to wonder if what we'd have to work with was nothing at all. It was the most frustrating experience of my life—I sat and alternately squirmed, paced and forced myself to sit perfectly still in 483's uncomfortable command chair. It was clear that there was still something big coming, because the Imperials were maneuvering to place their battle-line astride the jump-point in a manner that'd allow them to concentrate their firepower into an annihilating storm. "Look!" I finally expostulated, pointing at the computer screen. "Soon they'll be in position to blow up
three
Royal battle-lines; what gives here?"