Ships of My Fathers (11 page)

Michael Schneider.

“Fuck!”

Elsa Watkins relaxed in her cabin aboard the
Blue Jaguar
. The name on the door was Jana Lewis, and that was fine with her. After sixteen years, it fit fairly well. The title of Captain fit even better. The
Jaguar
was not her first command, but she had held it longer than any other before.

Her security chief was waiting outside the door. She did not have to look at the security monitor to know it. He was due for a meeting in another minute, and his punctuality was notorious. She could have opened the door to let him in early, but she was enjoying making him wait. As the seconds counted down, she started to refill her wineglass.

He entered after she signaled the door and stood before her, watching her empty the bottle. There was no second glass laid out for him.

“You said you had news, Bishop,” she prompted.

“Nothing concrete,” he replied, “but I heard through a well-informed source that the organization is about to complete a long-running operation at Arvin.”

She raised an eyebrow. Normally she would have ignored such a vague report, but Robert Bishop had proven to be a prescient judge of information. “What kind of operation?”

“I believe it to be the acquisition of valuable property.”

She thought it over. Arvin was one of the larger trading hubs in the sector, but it also had the largest naval base for thirty or forty light years in any direction. “Military property?”

“That is what my source led me to believe.”

“Are we being tasked in this operation?”

Bishop shook his head. “My source would not have had that information. If we are going to transport the property, I would expect those orders to come through your channels.”

She eyed his tentative stance. “But?”

“But the source implied that this operation might have originated with a very high patron within the Yoshido organization.”

Father Chessman. Bishop was unlikely to say the name out loud even in the security of her cabin, but it was clear that was who he meant. She waved her hand for him to continue.

“If you wanted to be involved in the operation, particularly in the transport or use of that military property, it might be wise of us to stay within the Arvin operational area. The decision, of course, is yours.”

She weighed it. Good performance on one of Chessman’s missions is what earned her this command, as well as her elevated status within the Yoshido organization. Another critical success might vault her even further up the chain. On the other hand, she knew of a miserable few who had failed the mysterious Chessman. They simply were not around anymore.

“Anything else?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She started sipping at the wine. “It might work out to stay in this sector for a little while anyway. Have you ever heard of a man named Malcolm Fletcher?”

“I’m familiar with him, something of a fence and smuggler,” he replied. “I believe he died recently.”

She saluted him with her glass. “You are well informed.”

Bishop gave a single nod.

“You may or may not know, however, that Fletcher has been an irritant for certain parts of the organization.”

“I had heard rumors. I understand he was, shall we say, a collector of secrets.”

“Among other things,” she said. “I have an interest in his collection.”

“You intend to acquire it?”

“Perhaps. Failing that, I would like to see it destroyed.”

“I see. Is it nearby?”

“Taschin.”

“Do you intend to go yourself?”

She shook her head. “There appear to be some complications, and Fletcher’s son is involved. I encouraged Jimmy Anders to investigate it.”

Bishop scowled.

“You disapprove?”

He tried to hide his frown. “Captain Anders has been useful in the past, to be sure, but if Fletcher’s... collection... is as extensive as I have heard, I would prefer a more reliable agent to handle its extraction.”

“All the more reason for us to stay in this sector, don’t you think?”

Bishop nodded. “Is there anything else, my Lady?”

“One last thing,” she replied, setting the wineglass down on the table, careful to align it precisely with the empty bottle. “Your source for the Arvin operation...”

“Yes?”

“I don’t believe the organization appreciates the careless spread of information about its long-running operations, especially if those operations are being run by that particular patron.”

“No, my Lady, I don’t believe he would appreciate it at all.”

“Did you make that clear to your source?”

Bishop allowed a brief smile. “Rest assured, my Lady. This source will not be spreading any more information. Ever.”

She locked eyes with him and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bishop. Your initiative will be noted.”

Karen Larkin spun around in her chair as her shift wound down. Air quality was fine. Clean water tanks were down to eighty-two percent, but that was typical as the first shift went through its morning routines. The new pump on tank four was working as advertised, keeping the pressure up on deck two portside. It was another perfectly boring third shift.

Charlie Feldman came in through the pressure hatch forty minutes before shift change. “Morning, Karen. Everything flowing that’s supposed to be flowing?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Tank four?”

She nodded and punched up the readout on the big display. “Five point five four K-P and holding.”

“Good.”

She nodded. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, I wanted to chat a moment before the rest of the shift comes on. Have you met the new guy?”

She sat up a bit more. “Briefly. I saw him in the hall last night. Looked like he was having a bad day.”

“Yeah, well, let me tell you—”

“About the blowup with the captain? I already heard.”

He frowned. “From who?”

She shrugged. “I’ve got my sources. You know how it goes. Brown water isn’t the only thing that finds its way down here.”

“Well, it was bad.”

“Is he going to work out?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s up to us to help him out, because it doesn’t look like the captain is exactly smoothing the path. I was talking with the other shift leads, and unless we get orders otherwise, he gets full new-guy privileges, hand-holding, drilling, the whole thing.”

She thought about it. The
Heavy Heinrich
was something of an elite crew. She had had to work two other posts at S&W before she could get it. Even then, it had been a bumpy transition, and she could remember some others who had had an even harder time. “I hear you. For how long?”

“As long as it takes. He’ll either make it, or he’ll wash out, but I think it’s a point of
Heinrich
honor to see to it he makes it. The Old Man can shit family politics all day, but we’re going to welcome this kid. Got it?”

She nodded.

“Good. You’ll pass the word?”

“Aye, sir, I’ll pass the word.”

Michael woke to the sound of a chime. The screen by his desk was flashing. He poked at it and the screen switched to a login prompt. A keyboard rose from the desk. He thumbed the scanner, and the screen read, “Michael W. Schneider recognized. Messages: 2”

He resisted the urge to scream again. His throat was pretty raw from the last night, not so much the screaming as the crying. He had not wept for Malcolm like that since his first night at Annie’s.

He went to the sink for a drink and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit, he realized. His hair was all askew, and he had slept in his unlabeled utility uniform, giving it all manner of wrinkles. He was desperate for the bathroom, but the screen started flashing at him again.

He went back and stabbed at the screen again. Red text flashed, “Appointment in five minutes.”

He pulled up the interface and looked at the messages. The first was from Harry late last night. “Please come by for environmental fitting. You’ve got some funky shins.”

The second was from the XO, Felicia Corazon. “Report to my ready room, 09:30.”

He looked at the clock in the corner of the screen: 09:26.

Crap, and he desperately needed to use the bathroom. He thought it over for all of two seconds and dashed down the hall. He finished up as fast as he could and got back to his room. 09:28.

He washed his face and slicked back his hair. This uniform absolutely would not do. In addition to the wrinkles, he had sweated through it during the night. He looked back at his new utilities scattered across the floor from the night before, all with their damned name tags. No, it was time to make the point. He stripped off his dirty utilities and grabbed his old
Sophie
utility uniform out of the closet. He put it on with practiced ease and pulled on his boots. 09:32.

He headed out the door, back to the ladders and started climbing. He had to switch to a different ladder to get from deck two up to deck one, but at least now he knew he had been portside and knew the other ladder would be more central. He came up on deck one and bounded into Gabrielle.

She caught him and steadied him. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m late. Where’s the XO?”

She pointed forward. “Through there and right. Find me later.”

He waved and kept going. He stepped through the pressure door into another short corridor that led forward and onto the bridge. The door to his right read “XO Corazon.” The door to his left was “Captain Schneider.”

He signaled the door on his right, and it opened.

“Come in,” she said from behind her desk.

He stepped forward and stood at something like attention. “You asked to see me.”

She came out from behind her desk and faced him. “You’re late, Mr. Schneider.”

“My name isn’t Schneider.”

She looked him up and down. “You’re also out of uniform. Ms. Throckmorton’s shift report indicated that she had delivered your new utilities last night.”

He shook his head. “They weren’t mine.”

“Oh? Then whose were they?”

“I don’t know. Some guy named Schneider.”

She shook her head. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Schneider?”

“No.”

She stepped closer. “Then do you have some kind of attitude problem, Mr. Schneider?”

“No.”

She got right in his face. “Or are you just too stupid to know the difference, Mis-ter Schnei-der?” she asked, drawing it out.

“My name’s not fucking Schneider!”

She stepped back and looked him over again.

“So, is this the kind of discipline Captain Fletcher instilled in you?”

He fumed, but even the mention of Malcolm stiffened him into the kind of attention he held during the worst of his dressing downs. “No, it is not.”

“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you are. You’re even making a fist.”

Michael’s eyes went wide when he realized she was right. He tried to relax his hands, but they would not.

“You’d like to take a swing at me, wouldn’t you, Mr. Schneider?”

“Yes, sir, I would like that very much.”

“But you’re not going to hit a superior officer, are you?”

As soon as she had said it, he knew it was true. “No, I’m not.”