The Mote in God's Eye

“Those were general orders. If Cziller’s known we’d have to fight, he’d never have let you aboard. As captain of this ship, it’s my decision, and I say I’m not about to take Senator Fowler’s niece out to a possible battle.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. The direct approach hadn’t worked. “Rod. Listen. Please. You see this as a tremendous adventure, don’t you? How do you think I feel? Whether those are aliens or just lost colonists trying to find the Empire again, this is my field. It’s what I was trained for, and I’m the only anthropologist aboard. You need me.”

“We can do without. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’re letting Mr. Bury stay aboard.”

“Not letting. The Admiralty specifically ordered me to keep him in my ship. I don’t have discretion about him, but I do about you and your servants—”

“If it’s Adam and Annie you’re worried about, we’ll leave them here. They couldn’t take the acceleration anyway. But I can take anything you can, Captain My Lord Roderick Blaine. I’ve seen you after a hyperspace Jump, dazed, staring around, not knowing what to do, and I was able to leave my cabin and walk up here to the bridge! So don’t tell me how helpless I am! Now, are you going to let me stay here, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or nothing, of course. I know I can’t threaten you. Please, Rod?” She tried everything, including batting her eyes, and that was too much, because Rod burst out laughing.

“Commander Frenzi, sir,” the Marine sentry outside the bridge companionway announced.

“Come in, Romeo, come in,” Rod said more heartily than he felt. Frenzi was thirty-five, a good ten years older than Blaine, and Rod had served under him for three months of the most miserable duty he could ever recall. The man was a good administrator but a horrible ship’s officer.

Frenzi peered around the bridge, his jaw thrust forward. “Ah. Blaine. Where’s Captain Cziller?”

“On New Chicago,” Rod said pleasantly. “I’m master of MacArthur now.” He swiveled so that Frenzi could see the four rings on each sleeve.

Frenzi’s face became more craggy. His lips drooped.

“Congratulations.” Long pause. “Sir.”

“Thanks, Romeo. Still takes getting used to myself.”

“Well, I’ll go out and tell the troops not to hurry about the fueling, shall I?” Frenzi said. He turned to go.

“What the hell do you mean, not to hurry? I’ve got a double-A-one priority. Want to see the message?”

“I’ve seen it. They relayed a copy through my station, Blaine—uh, Captain. But the message makes it clear that Admiral Cranston thinks Cziller is still in command of MacArthur. I respectfully suggest, sir, that he would not have sent this ship to intercept a possible alien if he knew that her master was—was a young officer with his first command. Sir.”

Before Blaine could answer, Sally spoke. “I’ve seen the message, Commander, and it was addressed to MacArthur, not Cziller. And it gives the ship refueling priority…”

Frenzi regarded her coldly. “Lermontov

will be quite adequate for this intercept, I think. If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must get back to my station.” He glared at Sally again. “I didn’t know they were taking females out of uniform as midshipmen.”

“I happen to be Senator Fowler’s niece and aboard this ship under Admiralty orders, Commander,” she told him sternly. “I am astonished at your lack of manners. My family is not accustomed to such treatment, and I am certain my friends at Court will be shocked to find that an Imperial officer could be so rude.”

Frenzi blushed and looked around wildly. “My apologies, my lady. No insult intended, I assure you… I was merely surprised we don’t very often see girls aboard warships certainly not young ladies as attractive as you I beg your pardon…” His voice trailed off, still without punctuation, as he withdrew from the bridge.

“Now why couldn’t you react like that?” Sally wondered aloud.

Rod grinned at her, then jumped from his seat. “He’ll signal Cranston that I’m in command here! We have what, about an hour for a message to get to New Scotland, another for it to get back.” Rod stabbed at the intercom controls. “ALL HANDS. THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. LIFT-OFF IN ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. LIFT-OFF IN ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. IF YOU’RE NOT ABOARD WE’LL LEAVE YOU BEHIND.”

“That’s the way,” Sally shouted as encouragement. “Let him send his messages.” While Blaine turned to hurry his crew along, she left the bridge to go hide in her cabin.

Rod made another call. “Commander Sinclair. Let me know if there’s any delay out there.” If Frenzi slowed him down, Blaine just might be able to get him shot. He’d certainly try… long ago he’d daydreamed of having Frenzi shot.

The reports came in. Cargill came onto the bridge with a sheaf of transfer orders and a satisfied look. MacArthur’s boatswains, copies of the priority message in hand, had gone looking for the best men on Brigit.