Fear God and Dread Naught (13 page)

Silly girl
, Susan thought. 
And what about your friend, Mr. Potter?

The file was not particularly illuminating.  Potter’s career had been standard, thoroughly standard; he’d left the Academy two years ago and posted to HMS
Firebrand
as a junior middy.  There were no major comments on his file, but she couldn't help feeling - reading his efficiency reports - that something had been left out.  His reports neither recommended him for immediate promotion, on the grounds he could walk on water, or counselled against it.  It suggested, to her, that his superiors hadn't known what to make of him.

We’ll just have to see what happens
, Susan thought. 
And then we can decide what to do
.

But she couldn't escape the feeling, as she closed the terminal and headed to her bunk, that by the time something happened it would be too late to escape the worst.

***

“I think I’m a little drunk,” Doctor Song said.  The midshipman standing beside her put out an arm to hold her steady as she swayed.  “I think I drank a little too much.”

“It certainly seems that way,” Henry said.  For someone who claimed not to drink, Doctor Song had definitely drunk enough to make her more than a little tipsy.  “I think you’d better come with me, doctor.”

The midshipman looked surprised.  “I can walk her back to her cabin, Your Excellency,” he said.  “It’s my duty as her dinner partner.”

Henry was tempted, but he shook his head.  Doctor Song was already drunk enough to make a whole series of foolish decisions - and he doubted a young man could be trusted not to take advantage of them.  Henry knew just what sort of arsehole he’d been at twenty - or however old the midshipman was - and his behaviour hadn't always been the best.  Part of it had been the certain knowledge that the media would see to it that everything he did would be looked at in the worst possible way, but the rest of it - if he had been forced to be honest - had been youthful hormones mixed with alcohol.

“I’ll take her,” he said.  He frowned in disapproval as Doctor Song kissed the midshipman on the cheek.  “Dismissed, Midshipman.”

Technically, he had no authority to dismiss anyone, but the midshipman merely bowed and retreated back to his fellows.  Henry watched him go - there was something a little
too
smooth about the young man for his peace of mind - and then took Doctor Song’s arm, helping her to walk through the hatch.  She giggled and swayed against him as he led her down the corridor, his body sending pointed signals reminding him that he wasn't exactly an old man
just
yet.  He reminded himself, savagely, that he was a married man.  And even if he hadn't been, taking advantage of a drunk woman was beneath him.

“It was a hell of a party,” Doctor Song pronounced, as they finally reached her cabin.  “What do we do now?”

“You go to bed,” Henry said, firmly.  There would be a sober-up pill in the medicine cabinet, unless he missed his guess, but she’d probably be better sleeping it off naturally.  “I think you had
far
too much to drink.”

Doctor Song winked at him.  “Are you going to undress me and put me to bed?”

“No,” Henry said.  Perhaps he
should
give her the pill after all.  Only the memories of spending far too long throwing up everything he’d eaten after drinking himself silly convinced him otherwise.  “You’re going to stay in your cabin and sleep it off.”

He closed the hatch, then keyed his wristcom.  It wouldn't be hard to ask one of the research staff to keep an eye on her, even though she was technically their superior.  She'd be dreadfully embarrassed in the morning, but at least she’d be alive.  And she hadn't spent the night dancing naked on a table.  The memory of the party his comrades had thrown, after they’d graduated as starfighter pilots, still made him smile.  They’d assumed that they wouldn't survive the war ...

... And far too many of them had been right.

The thought sobered him, although he hadn't really drunk enough to feel more than a pleasant buzz.  He’d thought of himself as immortal, as a young man, but he’d come far too close to death before the war had come to an end.  And now, as an older man with children of his own, he was going back to war.  His life could come to an end in the twinkling of an eye.

And the brunt will be borne by the young, once again
, he thought, as he headed back to his cabin. 
And how many of the officers we dined with will survive
?

Chapter Thirteen

George had often, far too often, felt a strange sinking feeling as a teenager when she’d been called to the headmistress’s office.  She'd known she was in trouble, she’d often known
why
she was in trouble, but it hadn't quite felt
real
until she’d been standing in front of the headmistress’s desk, listening to her describing George’s latest atrocity against all that was good and decent.  Whatever else could be said about Mrs. Blackthorn, a sour-faced old prune if ever there was one, she was
good
at making an illicit midnight feast sound like a crime worthy of good old-fashioned hanging.

And now, looking at the efficiency report, she had the same sinking feeling.

Clayton Henderson was lazy.  It was the only word she could think of to describe him, after looking at his reports.  The ship had been away from Earth for a week, yet he’d been late to his duty stations five times and some of his maintenance work had been delayed.  And even though she’d assigned punishment duty, he’d skimped on that too.  The toilets hadn't been cleaned anything like as often as she would have preferred.

She rubbed her forehead, miserably.  The XO should have noticed by now.  Hell, she was surprised that some of the department heads hadn't already brought the matter to his attention, given how badly it impinged on them.  They'd certainly not hesitated to chew
George
out over it, pointing out that - as his immediate superior - it was her job to make sure that Henderson reached his duty assignments on time.  And if Felicity hadn't been double-checking his maintenance work, George would have had her concerns about that too.

Fuck
, she thought.  Maybe she
could
just ask to be beached ... but that would be nothing more than surrender.  She had no doubt that Potter would pile all the shit duties on her, just to make it clear that he - not she - ruled the roost.  And yet, with the way things were going, she doubted she could stave off disaster indefinitely. 
Once the XO takes a good hard look at our stats, I’m fucked
.

She glanced at her terminal, checking the duty assignments.   Henderson should have been back by now, but it was quite possible - if he’d been late again - that he’d been kept back, just like a naughty schoolboy.  George pursed her lips at the thought, irritated.  Henderson was twenty-two years old and had four years at the Academy under his belt.  Any laziness should have been driven out of him by the end of his first year.  God knew the tutors hadn't gone easy on a senior admiral’s niece.  George had worked off so many demerits in her first year that she’d half-feared she would be permanently trapped on punishment duty.

They wanted to knock the arrogance out of me
, she recalled.  The tutors had made it clear that an aristocratic name was no protection against the cold equations. 
And yet I had no arrogance
.

The hatch opened.  She looked up, just in time to see Henderson stride into the cabin and head straight for his bunk.  Felicity followed him, looking as tired as George felt.  She hadn't had an easy time of it, after the captain’s dinner.  Potter had hammered the correct way to offer a toast into her head and George, to her shame, had just let it happen.  It hadn't seemed worth fighting over, not at the time.  But now ...

She stood.  “With me,” she snapped.  She fixed Henderson with her stare as Felicity started, then wisely hurried to her bunk.  “Now!”

“But I need to ...”

“With me,” George snarled.  She gave him a look that cut off whatever pathetic excuse he’d meant to offer.  “
Now
!”

She turned and led the way out of the hatch, stepping into the wardroom.  Potter was sitting there, reading a datapad; she ordered him out of the compartment, hoping he’d have the sense to leave Middy Country entirely.  God knew he’d spent entirely too much time mooning after the pretty researcher, although at least it
did
keep him out of her hair.

“Sit,” she ordered, as she closed and locked the hatch.  “What the hell are you thinking?”

Henderson looked up at her, indolently.  “About what?”

George pulled the datapad from her belt and threw it onto the table.  “You have been late for duty at least five times since we left Earth,” she said.  Her voice rose until she was almost shouting.  “And it has been reported.  What the hell are you thinking?”

“I do my duty,” Henderson said.

“You are not ... you are not a writer, someone who can pick his job up or put it down whenever he wishes,” George snapped.  She wondered, with a savagery that surprised her, just how much trouble she could get into if she slammed his head into the metal table.  “You are
expected
to arrive at your duty station on time and do your fucking job!  You do
not
get any fucking kudos for doing your job when it suits you!  You do it when I tell you to do it!”

She closed her eyes for a long moment, fighting to keep her voice calm.  “How many times are we going to have this discussion?”

Henderson opened his mouth, but George spoke over him.  “Let me tell you,” she snarled, clenching her fists in rage.  She didn't even try to hide her anger.  “We’re not - because the next fucking time you screw up like this, word will get to the XO.  And you know what that will do to you?”

She gripped the table to keep herself from lashing out at him.  “I know what you’re thinking,” she insisted.  She allowed her voice to become mocking.  “You’re thinking that the dumb bitch who lucked her way into becoming First Middy won’t
dare
to take the matter to the XO.  You’re thinking that tattling on you will ruin her career.  And you know what - you might be
right
!  It
could
cost me my career.”

Her eyes met Henderson’s, daring him to speak.  “I’ll go to the XO anyway,” she added.  She wanted him - needed him - to believe her.  “I can't win, not now.  There’s no way to come out of this without looking very bad, so I’ll do the right damned thing and report you.  Because there’s nothing else I can do.”

Henderson started.  “But ...”

“But nothing,” George said.  If she had to scream at him, she’d scream at him.  “I don’t understand why you’re so fucking lazy.  And I don’t understand how you managed to get through the Academy while being so lazy.  And I don’t care what bullshit excuses you have to justify your failings!  All I care about is whipping this damned department into shape!”

She fought hard to control her temper.  “If you are late for your next duty station, I will go straight to the XO,” she said.  “And yes, it may cost me my position.  I don’t fucking care any longer.  You're going to blow my career out of the water anyway.”

Her voice hardened.  “And after we have both lost our careers,” she added, “I’m going to make sure that you never have a career again.”

Henderson’s eyes went wide.  “But ...”

“I have connections,” George hissed.  She felt dirty for even saying it, as if she’d crossed a line she knew she shouldn't even
approach
, but there was no choice.  “You’ve looked up my record, haven't you?  Or were you too lazy to even do that?”

She went on before he could muster a response.  “I could get you fired and blacklisted right across the Human Sphere,” she added.  “You won’t even be able to get a job flipping vat-grown algae burgers in a McDonald-Wimpy grease pit!  Your prospective employers will take one look at your record and tell you to fuck off.  And don’t you
dare
think I wouldn't do it!  You’ll end your days on a work gang for non-payment of debts because you
certainly
won’t be able to claim government support!”

Henderson swallowed.  “I ...”

“Shut up,” George said.  She allowed her voice to turn deadly cold.  “There won’t be any second chances, not now, not ever.  Fuck up one final time and you’ll be fucked up for good, understand?  Now get the fuck out of my sight!”

She sat back on the chair as Henderson stumbled to his feet and hurried out of the compartment, his face ashen.  George stared down at her hands, wondering if she’d
definitely
crossed a line.  She’d never threatened
Fraser
with her powerful relatives, even when he was bullying her savagely.  But then, she’d never threatened his career.  A First Middy couldn't really get in trouble for being over-zealous.  And it would have been hard to blame him for being furious if she hadn't handled her duties properly.

Damn it
, she thought.

There was no escaping it.  She
had
crossed a line.  She’d made it clear, to Henderson, that she could and she would use influence and power that had nothing to do with her rank and position on the battleship.  And now that she’d drawn that sword, using it again and again would be inhumanly tempting.  She wondered how easy it would be to threaten Potter, to cow him so badly he never made another snide remark.  It would be easy to turn into a spoilt brat ...

... And it would be the end of her.

Uncle James would not be amused
, she thought, as she heard someone approaching the open hatch. 
And he’d see to it that I never commanded anyone, ever again
.

“George,” Potter said.  For once, his voice sounded normal.  George eyed him suspiciously anyway.  “I hear that you gave Henderson a right bollocking.”

“No more than he deserved,” George said, tartly.  She wondered idly how he knew.  The compartment was supposed to be soundproofed ... maybe he’d just put two and two together and come up with four.  She
had
kicked him out of the wardroom, after all.  “What do you want?”

“To help,” Potter said.

George scowled at him.  “I thought you were too busy chasing your girlfriend,” she said, nastily.  She had no idea if Potter’s relationship with the researcher was anything more than talk - if all the barracks room banter she’d heard had been true, no one would have had time for any actual work - but she found it hard to care.  “Do you have any time to help?”

“I always have time for a pretty girl,” Potter said.  He winked, broadly enough to make her want to hit him.  “And it’s clear to me that you
do
need help.”

“Fuck off,” George said.  She was so
tired
.  “I don’t need
your
help.”

“Yes, you do,” Potter said.  “Let me take charge of Clayton, eh?  I can make sure he gets to his assignments on time.”

Or make sure he doesn't, because I will still get the blame
, George thought. 
It isn't as if I can authorise him to do anything
.

She forced herself to think, despite the tiredness pervading her entire body.  Potter wasn't making the offer out of the goodness of his heart - she rather doubted he
had
any goodness in his heart.  He wanted to embarrass her or to break her - and all he would have to do was nothing.  And Henderson would be ... resistant ...to the suggestion he should obey a fellow midshipman, certainly one who wasn't First Middy.  She wouldn't put it past him to openly defy Potter ...

... And, just incidentally, ensure that George’s career ended up in the crapper.

She picked up the datapad and checked the timetable.  Perhaps, if she altered her own schedule a little, she could wake up with Henderson and frog-march him to his duty station before running to her own.  But it would rapidly become impossible to balance both his assignments and hers, not when the ship was so shorthanded.  It would be
her
who arrived at her station late, her who faced the XO when more complaints were filed.

“I can do it,” Potter said.  “You have my word.”

“No, thank you,” George said, sharply.  “I’ve already had a nasty word with him.”

Potter smirked.  “And how effective was it the
last
time you had a word with him.”