Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (5 page)

Susan rubbed her eyes.  “And no one noticed?”

“I rather doubt it was entered in the reports,” Mason said.  “Commander Bothell was the one who should have filed any complaints, if necessary, and I assume he didn’t say a word.”

“
Vanguard
is meant to be the most powerful ship in the fleet,” Susan said.  “Why didn't she get a commanding officer ...”

She shook her head.  The answer was obvious.  Captain Blake’s connections had been more than enough to get him moved to
Vanguard
, a transfer that would probably be worth more than a promotion to Commodore.  And his record probably wasn't bad.  He was old enough to have served in the war and, presumably, he’d earned credit merely for surviving.  Hadn’t John Naiser managed the jump from starfighter pilot to command track in the depleted years, following the war?

“I see,” she said.  She wasn't sure
how
to proceed.  If she contacted the Admiralty and reported the budding nightmare, Captain Blake’s connections would kill her career, even if the Admiralty agreed with her.  But if she kept her mouth shut, she would be compliant in ... in what, precisely?  Allowing someone to claim the rank without actually doing his bloody job?  “What was Commander Bothell like?”

“Competent,” Mason said.

Susan frowned.  “You say that as though it was a bad thing.”

“He did his job,” Mason said.  “And yes, he did most of the hard work of commanding this ship.  He was approachable, always willing to listen, and yet he had no spark of insight or genius.  I would honestly have said he was ... well, like Fisher.”

“That’s bad,” Susan said.  Fisher had been one of their fellow cadets, back during their first year at the academy.  Her family had made her join the navy and it showed; she had no enthusiasm, no inclination to actually do her best and no real urge to succeed.  She’d passed her exams, by some dark miracle, but she hadn't returned the following year.  “He was in command of the ship?”

“Yes,” Mason said.  “To all intents and purposes, he was the true commanding officer.”

Susan ran her hands through her hair.  If she’d known what she was getting into, she would have taken the risk of declining the promotion.  It was clear the Admiralty hadn't known; they’d have sent an inspection team if they’d had good reason to think there was a major problem.  And there
was
a problem.  How could
she
step into the shoes of a man who had been effectively commanding a battleship?

“If he deserted,” she mused, “why?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said.  “He was always a very straight-laced officer.  I would have expected him to complete his term, then retire.  There was never the slightest hint of impropriety, Commander.  He certainly never went to Sin City while we were orbiting the moon.”

Susan frowned.  “A wife?  A family?”

“None,” Mason said.  “Susan ... he actually gave me his ticket to Luna, two months ago.  Just
gave
it to me.”

“I don’t believe it,” Susan said.  “He just
gave
it to you?”

“Yes,” Mason confirmed.  “He said I could have it, if I wanted it.”

Susan shook her head.  A ticket to the moon, which meant Sin City as far as most crewmen were concerned, might be sold, or used as a gambling stake, but not just given away.  The crew would be given a handful of travel vouchers every so often, normally as rewards for good service.  If
she’d
had one, she wouldn’t give it up for anything. 

She scowled down at the deck, thinking hard.  Commander Bothell might have deserted ... or he might have suffered an accident ... or he might have been murdered.  Could the
captain
have murdered him?  He
had
talked about the XO in the past tense, after all.  Or ... or was she just being paranoid.  Senior officers took loyalty seriously, as they should.  And if Commander Bothell had been doing most of the work, his sudden desertion had left Captain Blake in a fix.  He couldn't have wanted Susan when she lacked the experience to fill Commander Bothell’s shoes.

“Then I’d better do my best to do my job,” she said.

“I’m happy to accept any further travel vouchers,” Mason said.

Susan gave him a rude gesture, then stood and walked over to the desk.  The drawers were locked, but a touch of her fingers to the scanner opened them.  Inside, there were a handful of papers, a small selection of Cadbury’s chocolate bars and a navy-issue pistol.  Susan picked it up and studied it, thoughtfully.  The weapon felt to have been crafted for a specific person, even though it was a standard design.  Further inside, there were two small packets of ammunition and a cleaning kit.

“Interesting,” she mused out loud.  “Was Commander Bothell a shooter?”

“Not as far as I know,” Mason said.  His voice became more formal.  “But we
are
encouraged to practice on the firing range.  Christopher - Major Andreas, the Marine CO - keeps score.  There’s a bottle of ship rotgut in it for the person who has the highest score, each week.”

“I see,” Susan said.  It was a wise precaution.  The Tadpoles had tried to board
Ark Royal
during the war.  Having the crew armed and ready to fight back would, it was hoped, make it harder for the Royal Navy to lose ships to boarding parties.  “I’ll speak to him later.”

She took a breath.  “I think I’m ready for that tour now,” she said.  She’d have to file
something
to the Admiralty, even if the file remained sealed.  “Is there anything I need to handle before the end of the week?”

“Yes, Commander,” Mason said.  “Two more middies are due here later this afternoon, unless there’s
another
delay.  I think you have to greet them, even if you have not yet assumed your post.”

“Understood,” Susan said.  She rose from behind the desk.  “You can take me on tour now, Paul.”

“Yes, Commander,” Mason said.

Chapter Four

“Hey, George,” Midshipman Nathan Bosworth called.  “They summoned you back today too?”

“Yep,” Midshipwoman George - no one ever called her Georgina, certainly not twice - Fitzwilliam said.  “How does it feel to be back at the academy?”

She smiled as they walked past the guards and into the academy itself.  It had been a week since their formal graduation ceremony, a week since she’d watched her uncle give the final address before the newly-minted midshipmen were given their rank badges and a week’s leave before they were dispatched to their new assignments.  She stepped to one side as a crowd of cadets ran past, snapping off salutes as they saw George’s uniform bars.  It was truly said that the academy was one of the few places where midshipmen were saluted.

“Look at those youngsters,” Nathan said.  “Doesn’t it make you feel
young
?”

George snorted.  She was twenty; she’d signed up for the academy as soon as she’d turned sixteen, despite her father’s half-hearted protests.  He might have expected her to become a proper lady, to be presented to the king at her coming out party and hunt for a rich or well-connected husband at a series of balls, but she was damned if she was allowing the aristocracy to turn her brains to mush.  She would sooner follow Prince Henry and renounce her title than surrender to the demands of her birth.  And her father, to his credit, had allowed her to go rather than continuing the fight.

“You’re twenty-two,” she said.  Nathan’s mother had insisted that he stay in school until he turned eighteen.  “I don’t think you’re
that
old.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Nathan said.  “But compared to some of the newer cadets, I
feel
old.”

“Cling to that feeling,” George advised.  “You’ll need it when we go back to the bottom of the pecking order.”

The cadets were probably a little confused, she thought.  They looked
young
; they had both cut their hair close to their scalps, as the academy required.  George’s dark hair and pale skin contrasted oddly with Nathan’s blond good looks.  And yet, they were wearing midshipmen uniforms and carrying weapons.  Technically speaking, they no longer
belonged
in the academy.

She sighed, inwardly, as they made their way along the corridor.  There were four years at the academy, imaginatively called First to Fourth Year.  The seniors, the Fourth Years, ruled the academy; they were, to all intents and purposes, senior officers.  And they could be nasty at times, bullying and harassing the younger cadets.  Her uncle, when she’d asked, had pointed out that life onboard ship could be a thousand times worse, even though midshipmen and lieutenants were expected to be more mature.  It was better to weed the ones who couldn't hack it out of the academy before they graduated and wound up on starships.  But she’d never been entirely convinced of the logic.

“Maybe we’ll be promoted quickly,” Nathan said.  “You can’t be promoted for at least a year, unless you do something staggeringly awesome.”

“I don’t think you can do
anything
that will get you promoted up a grade before the earliest legal opportunity,” George said.  She’d looked it up; only one person had ever been promoted from midshipman to lieutenant in less than a year and that person had had to step up when her superiors died in an accident.  There
had
been acting officers, of course, but they didn't stay in their temporary ranks.  “We’ll be middies for at least a year.”

They turned into the commandant’s office and paused outside the hatch.  It was rare for a cadet to visit the commandant and, when it happened, it was almost always the final interview before a cadet was expelled.  The office was in Officer Country, to all intents and purposes; cadets were not supposed to enter without special permission.  But they’d been recalled to the academy, just to receive their new assignments ...

She took a step forward and pressed her hand against the scanner.  It hissed open, revealing the commandant’s secretary, the formidable Mrs Kale.  The cadets whispered that she’d been around since the days of Nelson, quietly steering the Royal Navy as it changed from a seafaring to a spacefaring force.  Even if she was much younger, and logic suggested she couldn't be much older than fifty, she was still respected and feared.  She’d been in her post for years and knew where all the bodies were buried.

“Cadet ...
Midshipwoman
Fitzwilliam, reporting as ordered,” George said.

“Take a seat,” Mrs Kale ordered, once Nathan had identified himself.  “The commandant will call you shortly.”

George nodded and sat down.  The seats were uncomfortable - she had a nasty feeling that that was deliberate, to remind troublemakers that they were in trouble - and she found it hard to speak, knowing that Mrs Kale was sitting there, listening to every word.  She waited for the commandant to tell her where she was going, feeling her heartbeat starting to race.  If she got a poor assignment, right out of the academy, her career might never get off the ground.

Unless you ask for help
, her thoughts reminded her. 
But you wanted to see what you could do on your own
.

She scowled, inwardly.  Her uncle was the First Space Lord!  It would be easy to ask him to make sure she got a dream assignment - or, for that matter, for a senior officer to
assume
the First Space Lord would intervene in her favour.  But she’d know, even if no one else did, that she’d done nothing to deserve it.  She wanted to
earn
her place in the Royal Navy.  Her pride would admit of nothing less.

The hatch hissed open.  “You may go through,” Mrs Kale told them.  “Leave your holdalls on the chairs.”

Her expression softened, just slightly.  “Good luck.”

George nodded as she rose, then walked through the hatch.  Commandant McWilliams was seated behind his desk, his cold stare sending shivers down her spine as he studied her for a long chilling moment before turning his attention to Nathan.  She came to attention and saluted, only relaxing - slightly - when he returned the salute.  They might be officers now, but they had a long way to go before they reached
his
exalted rank.

“You may be seated,” the Commandant said.  “Congratulations on your graduation.”

“Thank you, sir,” George said. 

She sat down and waited, resting her hands in her lap.  Whatever she got, be it an assignment to a mining scow or a survey ship, she would take it and be glad.  A survey ship wouldn't be bad, even if she might wind up stuck in survey for the rest of her career.  There was always the prospect of being the first person to meet a
third
alien race.

“You both graduated with high marks, both theoretical and practical,” the Commandant said, shortly.  “Your
practical
experience is limited, but there are ...
problems
creating truly realistic training scenarios.  Accordingly, you are both being assigned to HMS
Vanguard
as junior middies.  I trust you both find this acceptable?”

“Yes, sir,” Nathan said.

George echoed him a second later.  There was little prospect of becoming first middy on
Vanguard
- if she recalled correctly, there were at least six or seven midshipmen assigned to a battleship - but it had its compensations.  As long as she didn't screw up, she’d remain firmly on command track, rather than being diverted into survey or - horror of horrors - staff work.  There was no way to know if her uncle had had a quiet word with the personnel department or not, but at least her grades provided justification for the assignment.  She knew, without false modesty, that she’d done well.

“Mrs Kale has your travel details,” the Commandant added.  “You’ll have an hour before your shuttle departs, so I suggest you use that time to send messages home before you arrive on
Vanguard
.  You’ll be very busy right from the start.”

He paused.  “I won’t give you much advice, because you should have been paying attention in class.  However” - his expression hardened for a second - “ you should recall that you are
very
junior and inexperienced officers.  You must
earn
the respect of the crewmen under you if you wish to proceed. 
Listen
to personnel who are more experienced than yourselves, even if you outrank them.  Your rank badges do not make you little gods.  A single mistake can kill you.”

George nodded, not daring to speak.  She’d been taught to check everything, time and time again, because space was merciless.  And yet, she knew all too well that a single mistake, something that could easily be overlooked, something that would be perfectly safe on Earth ... could get them killed in space.  She wondered, absently, just how long it would be before she was trusted to work on her own, then dismissed the thought.  Having someone else check her work was just common sense.

“Thank you, sir,” Nathan said.

“Good luck,” the Commandant said.  He rose.  “Dismissed.”

George and Nathan saluted, then turned and marched out of the office.  Mrs Kale, without looking up from her computer terminal, held out a pair of datachips.  George took hers, picked up her holdall and headed out of the hatch.  Nathan followed her and, as soon as the hatch had hissed closed, he wrapped her up in a tight hug.

“
Vanguard
,” he said.  “A
battleship
!”

“It could be worse,” George agreed, mischievously. 

She pulled her reader off her belt and slotted the datachip into it.  They had a shuttle flight in an hour, as the Commandant had said; she scanned the list of requirements quickly, then nodded to herself as she shut down the terminal.  There was no need to make a run to the stores before they arrived on the giant battleship.   She had two full changes of clothes with her - as well as extra underwear - and she shouldn't need anything else immediately.  Her reader had enough books loaded to keep her content for years.

“I need to pick up an extra uniform,” Nathan said.  “Coming to the store?”

George sighed.  “What happened to your spare?”

“Don’t ask,” Nathan said.  “I mean it. 
Really
don’t ask.”

“What happens in Sin City,
stays
in Sin City,” George said.  She’d been twice, but she hadn't cared for it very much.  Cadets and spacers - and everyone else - were welcome, as long as they had money to spend.  Ironically, it was also the safest place on the moon. 
No one
was fool enough to tangle with the city’s authorities by mugging the guests.  “Let’s go.”

She picked up some extra chocolate and sweets at the store, then followed Nathan down to the airlock.  The shuttle docked on schedule - she was surprised to discover that there were a handful of crewmen waiting to board the craft too - and she hurried onboard.  Maybe it was her imagination, but the crewmen looked tough, unwilling to suffer fools gladly.  How could she give orders to them?

“It’s only a short flight,” Nathan said.  “There’s hardly any time to sleep.”

“I’m too excited to sleep,” George said.  It was true.  Everything she’d done, over the last four years, had been building towards this moment.  “I’m going to read.”

She opened her reader as the hatch banged closed and the shuttle took off, accessing the other files on the datachip.  There was surprisingly little about
Vanguard
herself, save for a handful of deck plans that looked to be intentionally vague and a great deal of buzzwords that seemed designed for public consumption.  She’d been told, back at the academy, that much of the information freely available online was inaccurate in many ways, but it didn't look as though the academy wanted
her
to be any more informed.  But then, she
was
only a midshipwoman
en route
to her first posting.  No doubt she’d be filled in when she arrived.

“There’s very little on the command crew,” Nathan observed.  “And the XO slot is completely empty.”