Captain Serrano 2 - Sporting Chance, Page 3

  "I don't know," Petris said one late watch, when they had expected a pleasant evening in bed, and instead found themselves less interested in bed than talk. "It's not the past, really. I'd been crazy about you for a long time, and once I found a waybut on this ship"

  "It's the teal and lavender," Heris said, trying to make light of it.

  "No. It'show can I say this and not sound like a barbarian?it's the authority. Here, you're in chargeyou have to be. And" Heris waited out a long silence as he worked his way through it. "When we were back on that island, you weren't. You were hurting, and I could help. I had the choices to make."

  "Mmm. An authority block?"

  "I suppose. Except I've never resented your authority, you know. Not with the ship. It never has bothered me who captained a ship, so long as they were good at it. I knew early on I never would . . . didn't really want to." That surprised her.

  "Didn't you?"

  "No. Not all enlisted are lusting for command, you know. Commanders maybe, but not command itself. It's damned scary; I can see that in your eyes. Maybe I feel that way hereit's scary, because I'm stepping out of my role, with the commander. It didn't bother me off the ship . . ."

  "And it's not something I can command," Heris said. Some did; she knew that. But she couldn't. "How about we pretend this isn't the ship?"

  "I'll try." It seemed to be workingHeris had felt the shifts in her own breathing that went with great pleasure long deferredwhen the intercom intruded.

  "Captain Serranothere's something on the screen" She lunged across Petris to answer it, and he cursed.

  By the time she'd been to the bridge, where the image onscreen had vanished, and gotten back to her quarters, Petris was gone. Heris didn't call him back. Later. There would be time enough later.

  Chapter Two

  Nothing had been settlednot about the prince, not about Petriswhen the Sweet Delight made its last jump. They came out of the anomalous status of jump space precisely where Sirkin had intended, for which Heris gave her a nod of approval. She wished Sirkin hadn't had a lover waiting at Rockhouse Majorshe'd have liked to keep her as crew.

  "Somebody flicked our ID beacon," Oblo said. "Stripped it clean and fast: R.S.S., I'd say, remembering the other side . . ."

  "We're not fugitive," Heris said. "And they'd be looking for the Sweet Delight, considering . . ."

  "Mmm. Wish we had better longscans and a decoder that could do the same. Feels all wrong to have someone stripping our beacon when we can't strip theirs."

  "Mass sensors show a lot of ships," Sirkin put in. "And the delays are too long to tell me where they are now"

  "That's what I meant," Oblo said. "Now in the Fleet, we've got" He broke off suddenly as Heris cleared her throat, and looked up at her. "Sorry, Captain. I'm used to being on the inside of security, not outside."

  "We'd all best be careful, if we want to stay outside a prison, and not inside," Heris said. The only bad thing about Sirkinand Bunny's crewwas this tension between what the ex-military crew knew and what they weren't supposed to know and couldn't share with shipmates. It would have been easier if they'd all been her former crew members.

  She had sent off a message when they first dropped out of FTL, with the codes given them by the Crown Minister. Now the system's outer beacons blipped the first response.

  "Captain, Sweet Delight, proceed on R.S.S. escort course" and the coordinates followed.

  Oblo whistled. "They're putting us down the dragon's throat, all right."

  "What?" Sirkin asked.

  "Escort course is the fastest way insystem; eats power and makes a roil everyone in the whole system can pick up. Hardly what I'd call discreet. All other traffic gives way, and we're snagged by a tug that could stop a heavy cruiser, in a counterburn maneuver. Plus, we go past the heavy guns and damn near every piece of surveillance between us and Rockhouse."

  Heris glared at him, and Oblo actually flushed. He knew better, and she had already warned him. Sirkin wasn't military, had never been military, wasn't ever going to be military, and he had no business explaining Fleet procedure to her. But he had a thing for neat-framed dark-haired girls, whether they liked men or not, and he had taken a liking to Sirkin.

  They were only halfway home, as Cecelia put it, when the escorts pulled up on either side. R.S.S., both of them; Heris got an exterior visual and grinned. She had once captained one of these stubby, peculiar-looking ships; ridiculously overpowered, designed for fast maneuvers within a single system, their small crews prided themselves on "flair." On distant campaigns, they traveled inside podships, even though they mounted FTL drives.

  The voicecom board lit. Heris flicked the lit buttons, and then a sequence which informed the caller that she had no secured channel.

  "Ahoy, Sweet Delight. R.S.S. Escort Adrian Channel calling"

  "Captain Serrano, Sweet Delight," Heris said.

  "You don't have any kind of secure com?" At least that showed some discretion; she'd been afraid they'd ask in clear if she had the prince aboard.

  "Negative."

  "Well . . ." A pause, during which Heris amused herself by imagining the comments passing between the two escorts and their base. Then the voice returned. "We understand you have urgent need for priority docking at Rockhouse Major. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, it is," Heris said. "The relevant enabling codes were in my initial transmission"

  "Yes, ma'am. Well, ma'am, we're here just to see you make a safe transit, and chase any boneheaded civvie that doesn't listen to his Traffic Control updates out of your way. Our instruments show you on course" Oblo scowled at that; with him on the board there was no question of being off course.

  The counterburn maneuver, when it came, strained the resources of the Sweet Delight's artificial gravity; dust shimmered in the air and made everyone on the bridge cough. For one moment Heris felt nausea, then her stomach ignored the odd sensations. Others were not so lucky. She saw a medic light go on in the prince's stateroom, and in the galley.

  Then the internal gravity stabilized again; the tug's grapple snagged the yacht's bustle, and Petris shut down their drive. Far faster than a commercial tug, the R.S.S. ship shoved them toward Rockhouse Major, and put them in a zero-relative motion less than 100 meters away from the docking bay. Visuals, boosted several magnifications, showed the Royal Seal above their assigned bay, and the gleaming sides of a Royal shuttle and a larger, deepspace yacht twice the size of Sweet Delight. Grapples shot out, homing on magnetic patches on the yacht's hull. These would stabilize, but not change, their inward drift under docking thrusters. Heris had always enjoyed docking maneuvers, and the chance to show off at a Royal berth delighted her. She eased the yacht in, with neither haste nor delay, until the grapples were fully retracted and the hull snugged against the access ports.

  Until this moment, she had spoken with the Rockhouse Major Sector Landing Controla professional exactly like any other landing control officerand their exchanges were limited to the necessary details of bringing the yacht in. Now another channel lit on the board. Heris took a steadying breath. This would be a very different official, she was sureand even after hours reading everything Cecelia's library had on Royal protocol, she wasn't sure she would get it right. Once, she could have relied on the military equivalent, but as a civilian captain

  "Royal Security to the captain of Sweet Delight"

  "Captain Serrano here," she said.

  "We need to establish a secure communications link before your passengers debark; we'll need hardwire access. Open the CJ-145 exterior panel next to the cargo access, please."

  At least he'd said "please." For a moment she was surprised that they knew which panel to use, but of course they would: the yacht was a standard design, built at a well-known yard. They'd had weeks to get all the specs.

  "Just a moment, please," she said. She nodded at Oblo, who put the relevant circuits up on a screen, and cut out all but the communications input. No reason to give them easy access to Cecelia's enti
re system, just in case they were of a mind to strip that, too. When he grinned at her, she popped the latch and waited while Security set the link up.

  And after all that, the formalities were no different than docking at any fairly large Fleet base. Mr. Smiththe princehad spoken to Security from his suite, she presumed in some code. She herself admitted the Royal Security team (one technician in gray, the others in dress blues, a major commanding) who would escort the prince down to the planet. No one seemed to expect any protocol from her that she didn't already understand.

  But when the prince came into the lounge, Lady Cecelia was with him. Her maid followed, with a small travel case in her hand. The prince's servants, behind the maid, filled the passage with luggage.

  "I'm going with him," Cecelia said. Heris, who hadn't expected this, stared at her. Cecelia pulled herself to her full height, and looked every millimeter the rich, titled lady she was. "The Crown Minister gave me the responsibility"

  "But madam . . . we're Royal Security." The major looked unhappy, as well he might.

  "Very well. Then you can make sure that I also reach groundside safely."

  "But our orders were to take . . . er . . . Mr. Smith . . ."

  The red patches of incipient temper darkened on Cecelia's cheekbones. "Your sacred charge, young man, is the personal safety, the life itself, of your prince. If you think I endanger it, you are sadly mistaken about the source of danger. I suggest you need to have a long talk with the Crown Council. I went out of my way, at my own expense, to bring this young man safely home from a life-threatening situation. It might be asked where you, the Royal Security, were when he was being shot at!"

  "Shot at!" Clearly this man had not heard the whole story. Heris wished Cecelia had not said so much; she'd assumed they would know already. "But he was on a training mission, with military guard"

  Cecelia glared. "Perhaps your superior will, if you prove discreet, tell you the full truth later. Suffice it to say that my honor, and my family's honor, are involved in this, and I will witness Mr. Smith's return to his father myself. You will find that his father agrees, should you care to take it that far."

  "Yes, madam." The Security man still looked unhappy, but resigned. Exactly what she wanted.

  "I will not require my maid's attendance, since I expect to travel directly to my brother's residence once I've spoken to the king. I am ready." She glanced back, to find Gerel and his luggage in the passage behind her, took her small case from her maid, and stepped forward.

  The Royal shuttle eased into atmosphere with hardly a shiver in its silken ride. Four Royal Aerospace Service single-seaters flanked it, and another pair led it in. The prince sprawled in a wide seat, looking glum. Cecelia divided her glances between the viewportsshe had always liked watching planetfalland the Security men, who avoided meeting her gaze. She enjoyed the excellent snack a liveried waiter served her. The prince, she noticed, waved it away, and the Security men drank only water.

  Two flitters waited on the landing field. Both dark blue, both with the Crown Seal in gold and scarlet. Honor guards stood by both. Cecelia snorted to herself. It wasn't going to work; she would see to that.

  Sure enough, Security steered the prince toward one flitter, and attempted to lead her to the other. She strode on after the prince.

  "Gerelwait a moment." He paused, and looked back almost blankly.

  "Yes, Lady Cecelia?"

  "You're too fast for an old woman," she said, grinning at him. "Ronnie knows to slow down for me."

  He smiled. She saw no malice in his smile, but no great intelligence either. What had gone wrong? How could the king not know? "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just thinking of being home."

  "But sir," one of the Security men said. "We're supposed to take you home, and Lady Cecelia to her"

  "I told you," Cecelia said, still smiling, "I'm going with Gerel. It is a matter of honor." To her surprise, Gerel nodded.

  "Yes, it is. A matter of honor." And he held out his arm for her. Whatever had blunted his intelligence had not ruined his manners. Here, she saw no sign of the hectic energy, the tension that had led him to such stupid outbreaks at Sirialis. Through the flitter ride, he sat quietly, not fidgeting, and when they arrived at the palace landing field, he gave her his arm again on the way in. Although she had believed Ronnie before, Cecelia found herself even more worried about the prince now.

  "So, you see, I felt it necessary to come to you myself," Cecelia said, watching the king's face for any reaction. He had offered her one of the scarlet and gold striped chairs in his informal study, where she was both amused and delighted to see a picture of herself among the many others on one wall. It was one of her favorites, too, one the king had taken himself just as her horse sailed over a big stone wall.

  The king looked tired. Rejuv had smoothed his skin, but he still had deep discolored pouches beneath his eyes. "I'm glad you did," he said. "Do you have any idea how many other people have noticed?"

  "I'm not sure." Heris had warned her not to answer this question; she felt a warning flutter in her diaphragm. But this was the king; she had known him from boyhood. Surely she could trust him, though not his ministers. "I would guess that plenty of people know he can act like a silly young assbut then so do many of them, my nephew Ronnie included."

  "It's a difficult situation," the king said, toying with a stylus.

  "You did . . . know something." Cecelia made that not quite a question. The king looked at her.

  "We knew something. Butyou will forgive meit's not something I want to discuss."

  Cecelia felt herself reddening. His tone, almost dismissive, irritated her. She was not some old busybody. Just because she hadn't accepted rejuvenation, he shouldn't assume her brain had turned to sand. It was this kind of attitude that made Ageists out of people who simply didn't want rejuv. He smiled, a gentle smile for a man of such power, and interrupted what she might have said.

  "I do appreciate your coming to tell me yourself. It was thoughtful of you; I know you won't spread this around. And you're right, we must do something, soon. But at the moment, I'm not ready to discuss it outside the family. In the meantime, let's talk about you. You have a new captain and crew for that yacht of yours, I understand . . . and you've infected the captain with your enthusiasm for horses . . ." Cecelia smiled back, well aware that she had no way to force him to confidences he didn't want to give. They chatted a few more minutes, then she took her leave.

  The king stared at the picture of Lady Cecelia he had taken. She was a good fifteen years older than he; he had taken that picture in his youthful enthusiasm for photography, before he realized that kings have no time for hobbiesespecially not hobbies that reveal so much about their interests and priorities. He had grown up a lot since then; the adolescent who had admired her so openly, who had taken that picture and sent her a print with a letter whose gushing phrases he still recalled, had learned to mask his feelingshad almost learned to feel only what suited the political reality.

  She had not matured the same way, he thought. She still rode her enthusiasms as boldly as she had ridden horses; she said what she thought, and damn the consequences. She felt what she felt, and didn't care who knew it. Immature, really. A slow comfort spread through him, as he finally grasped the label that diminished her concern to a childish fretfulness, an undisciplined outburst of the sort he had long learned to forego. Deep inside, his mind nagged: she's not stupid. She's not crazy. She's right. But he smothered that nagging voice with ease; he had quit listening to his conscience a long time ago.

  Heris had plenty to do while waiting to hear from her employer, but she could not banish the chill she felt. She had to get all the crew properly identified for Royal Security; not even Bunny's crewmen, who had been there before, and were only passing through on the way downplanet, could leave the Royal Docks without a pass. Heris put them first in the identification queue, and within a few hours they were on their way downplanet to Bunny's estate on Rockhouse. Then there was t
he usual post-docking business: arranging for tank exchange, for recharging depleted 'ponics vats, for lines to the Station carbon-exchange tanks (waste) and water (supply). It would be hours yet before Cecelia's shuttle would land, before she could reach the king, before whatever would happen could happen.

  But the knot in her belly remained; she barely picked at the delicious lunch the two cooks produced. Something would go wrong. She knew it. She just couldn't figure out what it would be.

  By the time Cecelia called, Heris had dug herself into a nest of clerical work. She had almost forgotten why she was so tense. Cecelia called up from the surface, with such a cheerful, calm expression that Heris had to believe everything had gone well. She did not, on a commercial communications channel, mention the prince. Instead, she chattered about refitting.

  "I've discussed matters with the family, and my sister has agreed not to be offended if I have Sweet Delight redecorated to fit my tastes instead of hers. It really was generous of her to do it before, but as you know, lavender and teal are not colors I'm fond of. We've had a dividend payout, from some business, and I can easily afford to redo it. I'll be up in a few days; you'll have to move the ship to a refitting dock over on the far side of Majorat least that's the one I'm leaning toward. Even though I didn't like the colors, they did a good job last time. I'll bring the preliminary plans with me, and if you'd supervise"

  "Of course," Heris said. For a moment her original estimate of rich old ladies resurfaced. How could she think only of redecoration at such a time? But something about Cecelia's eyes reassured her. Something else was going on than changing the color of carpet and upholstery. "Have any idea how long it will take?"

  "A few weeks, last time. Presumably about the same this time, although restocking the solarium may take longer. I've missed my miniatures"

  "Ummm . . . but milady, you said you wanted to be at Zenebra for the horse trials . . ."