Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (8 page)

She pushed the thought aside - she’d been warned, after all, that shipboard life could be difficult even when it wasn't dangerous - and followed Fraser back into the middy cabin, where Nathan was waiting for her.  The sleeping midshipman was awake, chatting quietly with Nathan; he shut up, at once, when Fraser glowered at him.  George nodded politely to him, then stepped back to allow Fraser to lead them both out of the compartment.  She knew she’d have a chance for formal introductions soon enough.

“Luckily, his duty slot starts in an hour,” Fraser commented, as soon as the hatch had hissed shut.  “
Don’t
be late for your duty slots; try to be there five minutes before you’re actually
meant
to be there.  The officer commanding will
not
be pleased; you’ll be lucky if you’re spending the next month cleaning the toilets with your own toothbrushes.  In your case, you’ll be tried and tested on the consoles before they let you take a formal duty slot, but
don’t
treat it as anything other than a serious assignment.  A bad report from one of the OCs could ruin your career at this early stage.”

George nodded.  Her uncle had told her the same thing.

“You’re both on the day shift until we get you bedded in,” Fraser continued.  “Get out of your bunks at eight, have a shower, grab something to eat and report to the OC at nine; you’ll have a full schedule waiting for you in your mailboxes.  You’ll get a break for lunch, probably around one or two, then another duty slot until five or six.  After that, you’re expected to do at least an hour in the gym every day.  Make sure you have a more experienced midshipman with you until you’re fully checked out on the equipment.”

Nathan coughed.  “Isn't it the same as the academy’s equipment?”

“Yes, but I want you to be fully checked out before you try to use it without a spotter,” Fraser said.  “Certain machines really shouldn't be used without a spotter in any case, but we don’t have the manpower to handle it.  Try and see if there’s someone else in the area before you start exercising.”

George kept her thoughts to herself as Fraser showed them around a handful of compartments; the wardroom, serving food and drink to the crew; the bridge, the nerve centre of the giant battleship; Main Engineering, where the engineering crew kept the ship going; the tactical compartment, where she hoped she’d be working ... they were starting to blur together in her head as they stopped outside one final hatch, the hatch to sickbay.  A large red cross had been painted on the white airlock.

“The doctor wants to take a look at you two before clearing you for duty,” Fraser explained, shortly.  George winced.  Medical exams at the academy were always unpleasant, even when she hadn't been injured.  “Do you think you can find your way back to middy country?”

“I think so, sir,” George said.  She had her reader; she could download an updated deck plan, if necessary.  “If we can’t, we’ll just ask a passer-by.”

“How very feminine,” Fraser sneered.  His voice lowered.  “And you’d be wise not to listen to that helpful passer-by, particularly when the ship is in a holding orbit.  Randy was sent halfway to Main Engineering before he realised that the
helpful
crewman was anything but.”

He shrugged.  “Once you return, I’ll introduce you to the other midshipmen and show you how to download your schedules,” he added.  “And then we can go through some basic lessons before you get some sleep.”

George watched him go, then glanced at Nathan.  “What did he say to you?”

“When we were alone?”  Nathan asked.  “He just told me that I’d be expected to work hard if I wanted to be cleared for shipboard duty.  Oh, and we are apparently going to be welcomed onboard the ship formally, once we leave orbit.”

“Oh,” George said.  It didn't
sound
as though Fraser had made any attempt to intimidate Nathan.  But then, Nathan didn't come from aristocratic stock.  His family might have a tradition of naval service, but it was very low-key.  “What do you think they have in mind?”

“Probably nothing good,” Nathan said.  “My father never talked about his time as a midshipman.”

George nodded.  Her uncle hadn't said much about
his
time as a midshipman either.  He was perhaps the most famous officer alive, save only for John Naiser, but he hadn't
become
famous as a midshipman.  And John Naiser had
never
been a midshipman.  Midshipmen were really nothing more than caterpillars, who
might
become a butterfly sometime in the far-off future.  A successful naval officer wouldn’t want to look back at his early years.

She sighed, then keyed the hatch.  There was no point in trying to escape.  It had been made clear to them, back at the academy, that failing to attend regular medical check-ups could lead to relief from duty, if the doctor had reason to believe they were concealing a dangerous medical condition.  The hatch hissed open, revealing a giant sickbay.  Thankfully, all of the beds within eyesight were empty.

We’re near Earth
, she told herself. 
Any accidents will be taking place down on the surface
.

“Ah, new midshipmen,” a cultured voice said.  George turned to see a young man wearing a medical tunic emerging from a side door.  His office, she guessed.  “I’m Doctor Chung, Adam Chung.  Welcome onboard.”

“Thank you, sir,” George said.  A doctor wasn't
technically
in the chain of command - it struck her, suddenly, that
she
would have to die before Doctor Chung could assume command - but it was wise to treat him as a superior officer.  “Our medical records should have been forwarded to you.”

“They were,” Chung assured them.  “But I prefer to take baseline readings myself.”

He smiled, cheerfully.  “Who’s first?”

Chapter Seven

The midshipmen, Susan noted, looked like rabbits caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

She kept her expression blank as the captain droned on, despite her amusement.  Captain Blake had kept his promise - or his threat -  to host a dinner party for the newcomers, inviting Susan, both new midshipmen and a handful of his older officers.  The food had been excellent, the wine a pleasant compliment to the meal - although she’d been quick to order the stewards to make sure the midshipmen didn’t get more than a single glass each - but the conversation had been minimal.  She couldn't help recalling some of the more awkward dance and etiquette lessons of her youth, where boys and girls had stumbled around awkwardly rather than learning the ropes.

“And so I welcome you to the most powerful ship in the Royal Navy,” Captain Blake finished.  It was customary for the captain to give a speech, true, but not one that lasted longer than five minutes.  “And I trust you will serve her faithfully.”

He sat down, then nodded to Susan, who rose and lifted her glass.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said.  “I give you King Charles, Princess Elizabeth and the United Kingdom of Great Britain.”

She winced inwardly as the toast was echoed back by the small crowd of guests.  If it had been up to her, more guests would have been invited and the tables would have been spread out, allowing the junior officers to chat without the disapproving presence of their seniors, while she and Mason could talk to Captain Blake.  Instead, there were two tables, parked far too close together.  If
Vanguard
had been hosting a diplomatic dinner, she knew, Captain Blake would have a great deal of explaining to do the following morning.  It would be difficult for anyone to have a private conversation without everyone overhearing.

“You have done well, filling Commander Bothell’s shoes,” Captain Blake said, distracting Susan from her thoughts.  “I didn’t expect so much when I heard you were coming.”

“Thank you, sir,” Susan said.  It hadn't been
hard
, once she’d gotten over the surprise.  The ship’s various departments had been organised
perfectly
, in line with the very latest naval regulations.  Commander Bothell hadn't been a little OCD, he’d been
anal
.  “It’s a fascinating challenge, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Very good, very good,” Captain Blake said.  “Do you feel we can depart Sol as planned?”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said.  “We should have no trouble making our scheduled departure date.”

She sighed, inwardly.  Commander Bothell had done a
very
good job. 
Vanguard
had taken on thirty new crew, including the two new midshipmen, but her various departments were already assimilating them nicely.  There was nothing wrong with any of the senior crew, save for the captain himself.  He’d spent the last few days either watching over her shoulder or leaving her completely on her own.  If it hadn’t been for that, she would have honestly been delighted with the state of affairs on
Vanguard
.

“Then I will inform the Admiralty that we will depart on schedule,” Blake said.  “The war games will not wait for us, unfortunately.  We’re going to be testing ourselves against the Yanks and
they’re
not likely to make any foolish mistakes.”

“I hear their planned battleships are bigger than ours,” Susan said.  “Are we going to be testing ourselves against one of them?”

“Only against a fleet carrier or two,” Blake said.  “The details haven’t been set in stone.”

Susan nodded.  It wasn't easy to assemble over thirty starships from two different nations in a single system for war games, even if the two nations were closely allied.  Something might pop up that would require one or more of the ships to be diverted at short notice or simply force the war games to be cancelled.  It would have been a great deal easier to hold the war games in the Sol System, but everyone else - up to and including the Tadpoles - would have been able to watch and take notes.

Not that they won’t be able to take notes now
, she thought, wryly. 
They just have to work harder to spy on us
.

“I wouldn't bet good money on a fleet carrier standing against our firepower,” Blake said, darkly.  “The Yank carriers were just bigger targets during the war.”

“They’ve built their own version of the
Theodore Smith
-class fleet carriers now, sir,” Susan reminded him.  “Those ships have quite heavy armour ...”

“Not enough,” Blake said.  “Fleet carriers have too many vulnerable points.  And even if they didn’t, our cannons are rated to burn through anything.  They’d be fools to let us come within weapons range.”

“And they’d find it hard to outrun us,” Susan agreed.  “Their only real hope would be slowing us down with their starfighters.”

She kept her face blank as the stewards appeared, carrying great trays of spotted dick, sticky toffee pudding and real fresh cream, shipped directly from Earth or one of the lunar dairy farms.  The discussion might have been interesting, it might even have been fun, but there was something about the way the captain spoke that bothered her.  As if ... he was reciting lines from memory, rather than actually thinking before he spoke.

“Their missiles could do us some real damage,” she said, carefully.  “If they took out a couple of our drive compartments ...”

“The point defence will keep them back,” Captain Blake said.  He took a spoonful of pudding, then looked at her.  “What do you make of the new middies?  Particularly the girl?”

I think I’m glad you’re not the one who has to work with her
, Susan thought.  It wouldn't be
easy
for the girl, not when her family was both a blessing and a curse.  She had the nasty feeling the captain would practically have fawned on her, just in the hopes of pleasing her uncle. 
And I notice you changed the subject very quickly
.

“They look to be good kids,” she said.  “It’ll take them a while to get rid of that baby fat and turn into decent officers, but they’ll make it.”

It was true enough, she admitted privately, but she had other concerns.  The first middy was competent enough, she supposed, yet it was clear he was brooding over his lack of promotion.  Indeed, there was no
written
reason why he
hadn't
been promoted, but after meeting him Susan suspected his superiors had noted that he had a chip on his shoulder and chosen to leave him as a midshipman.  And yet, the longer he stayed as a midshipman, the lower the chances of actually getting promoted.  It was a situation that was just tailor-made for resentment. 

There, but for the grace of God go I
, she thought.  She’d feared she too would be stuck on the very lowest rung, able to climb to the top if she could only reach the second rung. 
I’d better keep an eye on him
.

“I will need a new steward,” Captain Blake said.  “If I were to offer one of them the post ...”

He allowed his voice to trail off, suggestively.  “It would be bad for their careers, sir,” Susan said, keeping her voice level.  She was starting to have an idea why Commander Bothell had deserted.  Even if the captain thought he was doing some poor midshipman a favour, it would turn into a disaster.  “They need to hit the deck running, not waste their time serving as stewards.”

“I suppose,” the captain said.  “I expect you to keep me informed of their progress.”

“I’ll have a full report for you just prior to departure,” Susan assured him.  “And I won’t hesitate to send one of them back to the academy if they fail to come up to snuff.”

She wondered, absently, if he’d even bother to
read
the reports.  The earlier documents she’d sent for his signature had come back, signed and dated, within minutes.  If she’d wanted to organise a criminal ring, dedicated to stealing naval components and selling them on the black market, it would have been easy.  And if the captain had signed the paperwork, he’d take the fall when the audit finally caught up with them.

“I insist on being consulted first, before anyone is sent back,” the captain said.  “See to it.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said, irked.  As XO, the responsibility was hers.  The captain seemed inclined to second-guess her on matters that were
her
responsibility, while allowing her free rein on matters that were technically
his
.  “I’ll make sure you are aware of any issues prior to sending them back to the academy.”

Which would be the end of their careers
, she thought, tiredly. 
Poor kids
.

She took a bite of her pudding and discovered, not entirely to her surprise, that it was very good.  The captain, it seemed, had ensured that
Vanguard
had a very good chef, a civilian given a temporary naval commission, rather than someone who’d been through the navy’s cooking course.  Although, she remembered, there was the old joke about the course being so hard that
no one
actually passed ...

“You hired a good cook,” she said, changing the subject herself.  “Where did you get him?”

“Poached her off Lord Hunter,” Captain Blake said.  He sounded pleased, even though it had probably been no more challenging than offering the cook more money.  “She is skilled, isn't she?”

And she shouldn't be here at all
, Susan thought. 
Is she even qualified to serve on a starship
?

She made a mental note to check it out later, then pushed the thought aside.  Given all the other problems she had to solve, it was very much a minor issue right now.  A cook couldn't cause anything like as much trouble as a poorly-trained midshipman or an older officer who had been nursing a grudge for the past five years ...

“Ask her for the remainder of the pudding,” the captain said.  “She always makes more than strictly necessary.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said.

***

George had attended more than her fair share of formal dinners; indeed, some of her earliest memories were of attending Christmas dinners at Buckingham Palace, once the war damage had been repaired.  She’d never really liked them, even though the food had always been excellent; the combination of poor speakers who were madly in love with their own voices and society dames who were happy to prattle on about the need for marriage and countless grandchildren had long-since curbed her enthusiasm for eating out.  She knew how to conduct herself at High Table, at least, but she would do everything within her power to decline an invitation. 

But we didn't get much of a choice
, she thought, sourly. 
We couldn't decline an invitation to the captain’s table without being dead.

“I bet you’re used to this sort of food all the time,” Fraser muttered, leaning close so only she could hear.  “Fancy dinners all the time, hey?”

“Not at all,
sir
,” George muttered back.  If she’d had any doubts about just how much Fraser disliked her, she would have lost them after he’d constantly given her the hardest and most demeaning tasks to do.  He rode the other midshipmen hard - she had to admit he had middy country well organised - but he reserved the worst of his attitude for her.  “I’ve been eating academy food for the last four years.”

She glanced up towards where the captain was sitting, next to the XO and his tactical officer, Paul Mason.  The captain had looked at her several times, she thought, and the only reason anyone would pay attention to
her
was because of her name.  It wasn't
fair
, she told herself, tiredly.  If only she’d been allowed to use a false name at the academy.  Prince
Henry
had gotten away with it and
he’d
been the heir to the throne!

“Yes, I suppose that
would
explain the smell in the toilets,” Fraser said.  “Make sure you give them an extra clean tonight.”