Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (7 page)

And yet,
she mused,
doesn't that make me a coward?

She brought up Commander Bothell’s logs and skimmed the last few entries.  It didn't take her long to decide that Commander Bothell had been detailing
everything
- his logs included references to bringing supplies onboard and a brief mention of a fight in the middy cabin - and yet, there were surprisingly few
personalised
details.  Commander Bothell had no thoughts or feelings of his own, judging by his logs; there was nothing to say how
he’d
reacted to the problems facing the Royal Navy’s first battleship.  He’d been nothing more than his captain’s right hand.

“Odd,” she said, out loud. 

She’d read some XO logs back at the academy and most of them had included observations and cheerfully irreverent comments.  The tutor had explained that the XOs sometimes needed to vent, secure in the knowledge that no one would read their logs and take note of the comments they made, sometimes, about their commanding officers.  Their personalities had shone through their words.  But Commander Bothell had no personality, as far as she could tell.  He spent a dozen paragraphs covering the dispute over which starship should have first dibs on a shipment of spare parts, yet no time at all covering his personal feelings.  She was honestly starting to wonder what he’d been trying to hide.

Unless he suspected someone would be reading his logs
, she thought.  There had been one XO log that had included grumbles about a captain who refused to move on, keeping the XO and everyone below him firmly in place.  She doubted his commanding officer would have been particularly amused if he’d read it. 
Could the captain have been reading over his shoulder?

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  Traditionally, personal logs were inviolate, unless there was an internal security investigation underway, but the captain could unlock any file on the ship, if he chose.  Someone who wanted true privacy would need to bring their own laptop onto the ship, which was against at least four different regulations.  If Commander Bothell had believed that Captain Blake was reading his logs ...

Definitely not a pleasant thought
, Susan told herself. 
And I’d better be careful what I write myself
.

She saved the message, knowing it would be transmitted to the archives on Nelson Base, then tapped out another message for Commodore Younghusband.  He’d tell her what he wanted done with Commander Bothell’s possessions, if he didn't want to send an investigative team to
Vanguard
.  She had a feeling he’d probably just want them all boxed up and shipped back to Earth, unless something had popped up to suggest it was more than an open-and-shut case of desertion. 

Shaking her head, she rose and strode over to the king’s portrait, pulling it back to reveal the hidden safe.  It hadn't been programmed to accept her fingerprints, she discovered; it rejected them the moment she pressed her fingertips against the scanner.  She made another mental note to have the safe reprogrammed, then looked at the bookshelves.  Commander Bothell, it seemed, had been fond of the science-fantasy books that had been common, before the Troubles.  It suggested a whimsical nature that was at odds with his logbook entries.  She opened one at random and smiled at the description of life on Mars.  Two hundred years of exploration had turned up nothing to suggest that Mars had ever been inhabited, even by single-celled creatures.  The only beings living on Mars were human settlers.

There was no answer from Younghusband, but she hadn't expected one.  She checked her message file, just to make sure no one else was trying to contact her, then walked back into the sleeping compartment and set the alarm.  Five hours of sleep was less than she needed, but she was used to getting by on very little sleep.  She’d have enough time to dress, freshen up and eat something before making her way to the bridge and officially assuming her post as XO.  And then ...

This is a career boost
, she told herself.  Serving as
Vanguard’s
XO should be a great step forward, opening up the prospect of commanding a fleet carrier or one of the newer battleships, when they came online.  Either one would be regarded as the quickest way to become an admiral, although she knew her connections were too weak to guarantee it. 
I should make the most of it
.

She scowled at the thought.  There was something wrong with the captain, the former first officer had vanished under mysterious circumstances ... she had the nasty feeling she'd been dropped in a cesspit.  Perhaps she had been assigned to
Vanguard
purely so someone
without
serious connections could take the fall, when the situation - whatever it was - finally exploded.  Captain Blake
had
to have some connections in
very
high places, while no one would give a damn about
her
.

Even paranoids have enemies
, she thought, gloomily. 
Paul might be my only ally on the ship and he’s nothing more than a lieutenant-commander.

She climbed into bed, turned out the light and closed her eyes.  The situation might look better tomorrow, when she assumed her post ... and, even if it didn't, she’d have the advantage of a few hours of sleep.  Who knew?  Maybe Captain Blake had just been having a very bad day.  It couldn't be easy to lose a trusted XO, certainly not to desertion ... hell, it would make Captain Blake look very bad, even if he
hadn’t
driven Commander Bothell to flee the service.  His trust had been betrayed ...

Sure
, she thought, as sleep dragged her down into the darkness. 
And I’m the Queen of England
.

Chapter Six

“So,” the first middy - Charles Fraser - said, addressing Nathan.  “You two have never served on a starship before?”

“No,” Nathan said.  “Not unless you count
Rustbucket
...”

“That’s
no, sir
,” the first middy corrected.  “And no, no one counts
Rustbucket
as a
real
starship.”

George swallowed.  Fraser was huge, intimidatingly huge ... there was an air of barely-restrained violence around him that terrified her, even though she’d met no shortage of extremely dangerous men when they visited her family.  His hair was cropped short; his face was battered and ugly, twisted into a perpetual scowl, as if he were smelling something disgusting under his nose.  The tutors at the academy had been tough, particularly the unarmed combat instructors, but Fraser chilled her to the bone. 

She followed him down the corridor, trying hard to keep from glancing around as they passed through a series of airlocks. 
Rustbucket
had been fantastic - a decommissioned spacecraft turned into a training zone for cadets - but
Vanguard
was a true starship, humming with light and power.  A dull
thrumming
echoed through the hull, reminding her that they were on an active starship about to power up its drives and head out into the great unknown.  Dozens of crewmen walked past the midshipmen, some pushing trolleys loaded with sealed packing crates.  George stared at them in silent fascination, wondering what they were doing.  Shipping spare parts to the engineering decks, perhaps, or transporting ration bars to the galley?  There was no way to know.

“This is middy country,” Fraser said, as they stepped through yet another airlock hatch.  “No one is supposed to enter, save us.  Don’t be surprised, however, when the XO makes an inspection every so often.  We got in deep shit when Commander Bothell made an inspection and this new XO may be just as nit-picking.”

“Yes, sir,” Nathan said.

“Gym through there,” Fraser said.  He jabbed a finger at a green hatch.  “Shared with some of the senior crew, but we have priority.  You’re meant to spend at least an hour a day in there, working to build up your muscles and generally staying healthy.  Emergency stores in there” - he pointed at another hatch - “but don’t take anything unless you desperately need it, as I am required to account for all the supplies.  The XO may ask pointed questions.”

George frowned. 
Of you or of us
?

Fraser stopped outside a larger hatch.  “These are our sleeping quarters,” he said.  His gaze crawled over George, sending shivers down her spine.  “I trust that neither of you are claustrophobic?”

“We wouldn't have made it through the academy if we were,” George said, refusing to allow him to intimidate her any further.  “We’ve been in some very cramped spaces.”

“I am the first middy,” Fraser said.  He leaned forward, his dark eyes meeting hers.  “You will address me as
sir
.”

George was tempted to refuse - they were of equal rank, technically - but she knew he had far more experience of shipboard duty.  Besides, he
was
the first middy.  She’d be under his supervision - and command - until one of them was promoted to lieutenant and moved to a private cabin.

“Yes, sir,” she said, reluctantly.

Fraser eyed her for a long moment, then keyed the hatch switch.  It hissed open, revealing a tiny space, barely large enough for ten bunks and ten tiny cabinets.  George felt a sinking feeling as she saw a sleeping midshipman in one of the bunks, even though she
knew
not all of the midshipmen would be on duty at the same time.  The compartment was so tiny that Fraser alone seemed to take up most of the space; hell, she had a nasty feeling that the only place to change was in the middle of the cabin, where everyone could see them.  There were only a handful of thin curtains covering the bunks!

“There are two showers and two toilets at the far end,” Fraser said.  “As junior midshipmen, it is your duty to clean them every day.  I will check your work and woe betide you if it is not perfect.”

Nathan blinked.  “I thought such duties were shared ...”

“You’re fit for little else at the moment,” Fraser told him, curtly.  He opened one of the doors to reveal a shower, barely large enough for a single person.  “Wash the decks, empty the bins, check the flushers ... we’ll go through the rest of it later.”

He turned.  “You have the bunks here, nearest the hatch,” he added.  “Do
not
wake anyone else when you get up in the morning; some of us have to work shipboard nights.  If you want to read books, play games or listen to music, make sure you wear headphones and keep your mouths shut.  No one will be even
remotely
sympathetic if you get punched in the nose by a person you woke up, believe me.

“We have our own table in the wardroom, which you’ll see when I give you the basic tour of the ship.  Do not eat elsewhere and do not invite anyone to eat at our table without my permission.  If you want a snack in the middle of the night or something along the same lines, and you can't be bothered going to the wardroom, there are ration bars in the side compartments.  Remember, you have to replace any you take.  Again, if you eat or drink in here, don’t wake up the sleeping ugly midshipmen.”

“Yes, sir,” Nathan said.

“You each have one locker for your personal clothes and other such shit,” Fraser added, pointing to the lockers.  “Those are your
private
compartments - no one, not even the XO, will look in them without a good reason.  If you need more space, tough shit.  Any fancy dresses you happened to bring” - he shot George a nasty look - “will have to be spaced.”

George nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

“Midshipwoman Fitzwilliam, unpack your holdall and then wait in here,” Fraser concluded, shortly.  “I’m going to have a little talk with Midshipman Bosworth.”

“Yes, sir,” George said.  Judging from the look on Nathan’s face, he welcomed the idea of a private chat with the first middy about as much as George herself.  “I’ll remain here.”

She watched Fraser and Nathan leave the room, then opened her holdall and emptied it out onto the bunk.  Her two spare uniforms were easy enough to hang up in the locker, but it was harder to sort out her underwear and the handful of personal effects she’d brought with her until she realised she was meant to just leave them on the bottom.  It didn't strike her as being very efficient, but naval uniforms were designed to be durable as well as uncomfortable.  She slotted a photograph of her parents and sister into the locker door, then reached for the chocolate on the bunk, just as the hatch reopened.

“Ah, chocolate,” Fraser said.  “Put it in the general stash.”

George stared at him.  “I bought it ...”

“And now it’s in the general stash,” Fraser said.  He inspected her locker, his eyes darkening at
something
.  “Anything sent to us from Earth goes into the general stash.  We’ll share it out later today.”

He smiled at her shocked expression.  “Come with me,” he ordered.  “We’ll give Bosworth his chance to open his bag and hide his stash.”

“Yes, sir,” George said.  There was no point in arguing, she suspected.  “Where are we going?”

Fraser led her through the hatch, down the corridor and into a small compartment.  A table, chair and terminal sat, perched against the far corner; the remainder of the room was barren, completely bare.  There weren’t even any pictures on the bulkheads.  The hatch hissed closed behind them; Fraser caught her, spun her around and pushed her against the bulkhead.  She tensed, unsure if she should try to fight or not, as he glowered down at her.  Up close, all alone, he was far more intimidating.  She would have thought that was impossible.

“I want you to understand something,” he growled.  “Your family name means
nothing
on this ship.  I don’t give a damn if you’re the heir to the Barony of Cockatrice or the next in line to inherit Buckingham Palace.  Your name means
nothing
here.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” George stammered.

“I am the first middy,” Fraser said.  He loomed over her, far too close for comfort.  “That means you do as I say, whatever it is.  I am
god
, as far as you are concerned.  I don’t give a shit if you like me or not.  My job is ensuring you fit into the crew before you make a typical maggot mistake and get someone killed.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” George managed.

“You are young, absurdly young,” Fraser added.  “Your family probably saw to it that you entered the academy early, even though the recruiters prefer prospective cadets to complete their basic schooling and enter the academy at eighteen.  Don’t expect any respect from me, or any of the other midshipmen, until you earn it.  Do you understand me?”

George merely nodded, fighting to keep her legs from trembling.  Her uncle had never told her about
this
, never implied that she would be intimidated by the first middy.  And yet, some of the stories she’d read from the wet-navy era had been far worse.  Midshipmen could be whipped to a bloody pulp by their superiors, if their superiors were having a bad day.

“If I catch you being derelict in your duties, or using your family name as a weapon, I will administer punishment duty,” Fraser said.  “Space is unforgiving,
Fitzwilliam
; this isn't
Rustbucket
, where the worst that can happen is you getting roundly mocked by your peers or kicked out for gross stupidity.  A mistake here ... well, you’ll be lucky if all that happens is you meet the wrong end of my fists.”

He stepped backwards.  “Did you manage to unpack everything before I collected you?”

“Yes, sir,” George said.  It was hard, so hard, to keep her voice level, but she managed it.   “I have everything put away, save for the chocolate.”

“And that’s going to be shared out tonight,” Fraser said.  “We’re all in this together, Fitzwilliam.  I won’t tolerate anything that smacks of elitism among the middies.  Elitism breeds resentment.”

George blinked.  “Like one of us being the first middy?”

“I’m the senior midshipman,” Fraser said, simply.  Oddly, he didn't seem inclined to bite her head off for cheek.  “I didn't get this post through connections, merely through endurance.”

“Yes, sir,” George said.

Fraser nodded.  “This room - and the privacy tubes - are the only places where we get any actual
privacy
,” he said.  He nodded to the terminal.  “You’ll have a time slot each day to use the terminal to write messages and suchlike, if you have the chance to actually use it.  You can trade personal time with the other middies, if you wish, but you’re not allowed to use the terminal outside your designated slot.  Unless, of course, you’re studying for exams. 
Those
take priority.”

He smiled, rather coldly.  “Any questions?”

George studied him for a long moment.  “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Plenty,” Fraser said.  His smile turned into a leer.  “Once the ship is underway, we’ll give you the
formal
welcoming ceremony.  After that, you’ll be one of us ... assuming, of course, you survive.”

He turned and strode out of the hatch.  George stared after him, feeling her thoughts whirling in confusion. 
No one
had told her
anything
about
this
.  She wondered, briefly, if she should send a message to her family, just to ask what was going on, but she knew it would be counted as whining.  Her uncle had made it very clear, when he’d told her that she’d been accepted at the academy, that he expected her to earn her rank on her own merits.  There was no way he’d do anything about her minor problems.  He’d been in the middle of a war.

And he was a midshipman too
, she thought, grimly. 
He would have gone through worse before being assigned to Ark Royal
.