“ Hai, kyo! ” Both men nodded in agreement, chewing noisily. De Molay leaned heavily on the Iroquois Joto-hei and took a moment to get the worst of her hair tucked back and the Bulldog stowed inside her jacket. “Your Thai-i and my new XO need us, Tadohao, before they both need the medbay!”
Meanwhile, Hadeishi had managed to chivvy Tocoztic and the marine up to the tiny bridge, where they stared around uneasily. The Nisei could tell they were put off by the ancient-seeming equipment, the cramped quarters, and the grime apparent on often-used surfaces. It takes time to see her noble heart, Mitsuharu thought to himself. For she is a willing steed, and does not complain of the load.
“This is a small ship,” he said aloud, drawing their attention back to him, “compared to your Falchion, but you will find her able. Do not underestimate the quality of the ship’s fittings. Though not much to look upon, she is neither antique nor decayed. All critical components are in first-rate condition. I will wager they are the equal of anything found in the Fleet. Thai-i.” Hadeishi pointed to the pilot’s chair with the muzzle of his shipgun. “Your duty station.”
Expressionless, the Mexica officer sat. Immediately he began wiggling around, trying to find a comfortable spot on the old, cracked leather.
“Marines?” Hadeishi tilted his head towards the little Nitto-hei, who-despite the Nisei’s paltry height-was still shorter, though nearly as wide as the doorframe. “Cajeme, I believe?”
“ Hai, kyo.” The marine clasped his hands behind his back for a moment, then-glancing sidelong at the lieutenant, who was grimacing at the Pilot’s controls-offered Hadeishi a proper salute.
Mitsuharu returned the gesture, trying to keep from bursting into a wide smile. The little man’s accent had confirmed his guess- Out of the Atoyaatl Mayo, if my ear is still good.
“What was your duty station, Nitto-hei Cajeme? Your badging reminds me of the engineers.”
“This and that- Chu-Sa.” The Yaqui shrugged.
“You can be specific. I’ve been below-decks of late, plugging boilers and shoveling coal.”
The marine drew himself up. “Repair hand first class, kyo.”
Hadeishi nodded smartly. “There is much to do, Nitto-hei. If one of your fellows is able-bodied, round him up on the way to Engineering. I’ve shut off environmentals in nearly all the compartments, but we’ll start flushing in atmosphere as you work. Khaiden dead go out the airlock-but strip their gear first, even z-suits if they are operable condition. We don’t want to give up anything which might be useful later-guns, ammunition, identity packets, even shoes. Secure what you find along the main shipcore until someone can do inventory. If we are fortunate, there will soon be other hands to help you.”
Mitsuharu tapped a printed map of the ship tacked up on the bridge hatch. “Medbay is one deck down from the roundabout outside, and to port-side.”
Cajeme nodded, checked the equipment belt on his z-suit, accepted a spare hand-lamp, and double-timed out the hatch.
His immediate concerns addressed, Hadeishi turned his attention back to Thai-i Tocoztic, who had swung his pilot’s chair around and was giving him a sullen, obstinate glare. The Nisei affected to ignore this, pointing with his chin at the navigational display. “Check the plot, Thai-i. There were twenty or thirty evac capsules within range of our sensors when last I looked. Route us to the nearest-but take care with our engine signature. We should be underway at the first opportunity, but we want no attention.”
“I won’t take your orders, civilian,” Tocoztic declared, eyeing the shipgun angrily. “Certainly not under duress. Never at gunpoint!”
“I am not a civilian,” Hadeishi said calmly, keying up the internal surveillance cameras on the captain’s console with his free hand. A mosaic of v-panes arranged themselves and he could see the wounded man was under care in the medbay. De Molay-and a helper-were on the move.
He then settled his grip on the shipgun and met the young Mexica officer’s eyes directly. “I am a Fleet reserve officer of superior rank,” Mitsuharu said patiently. “Commanding this ship in a theater of war. Now that you are aboard, Thai-i, you will take my orders or I will consider you mutinous.” He frowned at Tocoztic. “And I would be well within Regs to shoot you for a treacherous and disloyal dog if you continue to be obstinate.”
The youth’s face assumed a mulish expression. “You can’t be a reserve officer-”
Mitsuharu reached into the document pocket of his z-suit and then paused; realizing he’d discarded every trace of his old life while languishing in Shinedo. He laughed softly. “I am-”
“Hadeishi, Mitsuharu; captain of the Imperial Mexica Navy,” croaked De Molay from the hatchway. Both men turned. The old woman was leaning heavily on Joto-hei Tadohao, but still had both feet under her. “Late of the IMN CL-341 Henry R. Cornuelle, discharged from active duty four months ago. Service ID 9874662. Decorated three times for valor under fire, credited with eleven capital-ship kills against Khaid, Megair, pirate, and Kroomakh opponents.”
Wincing, De Molay slumped into the navigator’s chair next to the lieutenant. “Here”-she said, rather breathless from the effort, tossing Tocoztic an identicard packet-“are his papers.”
The Thai-i caught them, flinching as though from a water moccasin, and stared at the Fleet packet as though the snake itself were winding its coils around his hand. “A forgery-” he started to say.
“Read them!” De Molay growled, before leaning back in the chair with a relieved sigh. “I have-they are quite interesting. Particularly his duty jacket.”
Tocoztic made a sour face, but began paging through the packet, brows furrowed over dark eyes. While the youth convinced himself, Hadeishi studied the mosaic of v-panes from the cameras. Cajeme had made his way halfway down the shipcore, taking apparent delight in stripping the Khaid bodies, but he was alone. Mitsuharu looked up, catching the old woman’s eye.
“Another hand is needed with the cleanup. Can you spare your assistant, Captain?”
“Indeed. Thank you for your help, Nitto-hei.” She crooked a finger at Hadeishi. “There’s no point in wasting time making this gunner play pilot. I was a navigator in the old days; I can lay a plot for you better than he-with my own ship, no less!”
“He needs something to do, Captain, and he needs to be up here.” Where I can keep an eye on him, went unsaid.
“Second seat then,” sniffed De Molay. She made a puckered, terrible face, as though sucking on a salted tamarind. “You’ll be useless yourself unless you’ve my spot-I knew it from the first.”
“Well then,” Mitsuharu said, settling himself into the captain’s chair. “We are certainly overqualified on this watch, aren’t we?”
De Molay nodded, head held high. Her fingers were not as quick on the controls as they once had been, but in a few moments the navigational displays were reconfigured into a pattern closely approximating those used by the Fleet. Hadeishi clapped his hands, unexpectedly pleased to have all of the v-panes, slide controls, and other mechanisms in their familiar places.
“Thank you,” the old woman said, sketching a bow from her seat. “Now there’s one thing more you’re missing, I believe.” She tapped through a series of obscure panes, hunting for something, and then, after changing this and that, the air forward of the captain’s chair and behind the pilot and navigation stations shimmered with the distinctive heat-haze of a holocast projector. After several false starts, De Molay-frustrated by her inability to remember where the proper settings were-conjured up a threatwell. Not a large one, or as detailed as the data collection allowed by a warship, but a threatwell nonetheless.
“Excellent.” Hadeishi smiled in thanks. Then he leaned forward a bit, studying the display, while rolling a stylus between the fingers of his left hand.
“How about this one? Not too far away,” he said. “This heat signature implies a cooling plasma cloud, if the color coding is accurate.”