“Er . . . yes. And thank you, Captain Serrano.”
From there, Heris decided to begin opening contacts with other ships’ officers. Some of her former acquaintances in the R.S.S. would still speak to her, she thought, and the sooner she began networking again, the better.
Bryssum had always been a mixed bar, a place respectable officers of both Fleet and civilian ships could eat and drink in proximity if not friendship. Sometimes it was friendship, of sorts. She remembered, as a young officer, being treated to dinner by the captain of a great liner who had owed favors to Fleet. Now she was the civilian, finding a table on the civilian side, but not too near the windows. She didn’t recognize any of the Fleet officers. It didn’t matter. Her heart pounded, and she argued it back to a normal rhythm. It really did not matter. She had her ship; she had her place.
“Service, Captain?” Bryssum also had human service, unless you requested otherwise. She liked it.
“Yes,” she said. “Mainshift menu.” She glanced at the display, flinched inwardly at the prices, and chose a simple meal from among the day’s specials.
“Heris!” She looked across to the tables kept by tradition for Fleet officers. A woman a few years her junior waved at her; she had clearly just walked in. Constanza D’Altini, she remembered. The man with her gave Heris an uncertain look. Who would that be, she wondered. Constanza always had someone . . . Heris grinned and nodded, but didn’t rise. She couldn’t appear too eager. Besides, Constanza had curiosity enough for the whole Intelligence department. After a quick conversation with her table partner, she came over to Heris. The man sat down alone, looking grumpy.
“I hate it that you’re out,” Constanza said. Along with curiosity, she had the tact and directness of a toppling tree. “It had to be a frame-up; rumor says Admiral Lepescu. Was it?”
“I can’t talk about it,” Heris said. Constanza’s black eyes glinted.
“Not even to me?”
“Not even to you. But thanks for coming over.”
“Word is you got amnesty, you and all the rest—”
“That are alive,” Heris said. Until she said it, she had not expected to say it, or with that bitterness. But that was Constanza’s effect on most people.
“Ah.” A careful look. “So that’s why you’re not coming back?”
Heris made herself grin. “Connie, I’ve got a cushy job working for a very rich old lady in a beautiful yacht—why should I come back and get myself in more trouble?”
Constanza snorted. “You’ll get yourself in trouble, Heris, wherever you are. It’s your nature, perhaps the one thing you inherited from your family.” She leaned closer. “What do you think of him?” Him had to be the man at the table, now pointedly ignoring them.
“He’s handsome,” Heris said. “Not my type, though.”
“He’s exec on a heavy cruiser,” Constanza said. That was explanation enough; Heris could read her insignia and knew from experience what limited facilities escorts had . . . besides, cruiser duty helped more at promotion time than it was supposed to. Constanza still hadn’t made Sub-commander and had only one more Board to do it.
“Good luck, Connie,” Heris said. She meant it. Constanza was a good officer whose slow promotion had more to do with her tactlessness than anything that mattered. “Don’t queer your chances by hanging around with me.”
“I’m not. I’ll just tell him you’re involved in something you can’t talk about.” And she was gone, with a last grin and wave. Heris wanted to wring her neck, and felt a moment of compassion for those officers who had given her less than stellar fitness reports.
The rest of her meal passed without incident. She reviewed her personal finances with a link to her banker, and discovered that Cecelia had indeed transferred her salary to her account—a quarter’s worth. She called up her investment files, and allowed herself to order an expensive dessert in celebration. Her guesses had once more outperformed the market as a whole.
“This is Amalie,” Sirkin said with the unmistakable tone that meant my lover. Amalie looked nervous, and well she might. Heris had reviewed her records, and she was nowhere near as qualified as Brigdis Sirkin. Moreover, her credentials, such as they were, overlapped an area Heris had filled with her former crewmates. She didn’t really need a third-rate engineering technician.
But she did need a superb navigator, if she could keep her. “Amalie Yrilan,” she said. “And you’re considering small-ship work, too?”
“Since Brigdis found this . . . and she likes it.” Amalie, smaller and rounder than Sirkin, had a deeper voice. Heris knew that meant nothing. “But we quite understand if you don’t have an opening in engineering.”
“You have a minor in environmental systems—”
“Yes, ma’am, but I’m not really—” Her voice trailed away. She didn’t have to say that; her test scores showed it. She had barely made the lower limit of certification.
“You’ve applied to other places, of course,” Heris said, wishing that the scores would go up by themselves.
“I . . . talked to the same agency Brig used,” Amalie said. “They . . . said to talk to you.” They had said, no doubt, that someone with her scores could whistle for a job and she had better start doing it. Linked with Sirkin, she might get a job, but more likely they’d both fail. Heris sighed.
“You do understand that your scores aren’t very good.”
“Oh . . . yes, but I’m just not very good at tests. I know more than that, really. Brig can tell you.”
Sirkin flushed. In the months under Heris’s command, she had continued to develop in her field, and contact with other ships’ officers at Sirialis had shown her how much more was possible. Whatever she had thought of Amalie’s ability earlier, now she knew better. Heris noted the flush, and spoke first. No need to humiliate her in front of a friend.
“Sirkin has been aboard more than a standard year now; your scores are your best witness. Test anxiety, you say? Didn’t you ever take the Portland treatments?”
“Well, yes, ma’am, but they . . . but I was just so busy sometimes, you know. Working part-time . . .”
She had not worked part-time for the first two years, and her scores had been no better then. Sirkin, whose record also showed employment during school, had finished in fewer terms with top scores. Either ability or effort was missing here; Heris wasn’t sure which.
“Sirkin’s an outstanding junior officer, as I’m sure you know; if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be considering your application. I’ve got a full crew in engineering, and while I could use someone in environmental, I don’t want slackers. I won’t tolerate anything but excellence.”
The tension around the young woman’s eyes said it all, as far as Heris was concerned. This one didn’t want to work that hard, and would always find excuses for herself. Too bad for Sirkin; irresponsibility made for bad lovers as well as bad shipmates. But she would give it a try, for the time they’d be onstation, just in case.
“I can understand that, ma’am, but—”
Heris held up her hand. “Tell you what. According to the owner, we’re going to be here awhile, doing some work on the yacht. I’ll hire you as general labor—mostly environmental work, some powerplant engineering—on a thirty-day temp contract. You and Sirkin can job hunt together in your off-shift time. If you satisfy me, and don’t find something you like better, I may offer you a longer contract then. But I won’t promise anything. How’s that?”
That didn’t satisfy Amalie, though she forced a smile, but Sirkin was relieved. She had clearly expected refusal.
“We’ll be installing quite a bit of replacement electronics,” Heris went on. “And a new backup set of powerplant control systems. The environmental system was overhauled thoroughly only a few months ago, but given the state of the former system, I want a complete baseline calibration.”