Truth and Beauty 14-7

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“Have any of you any salvage experience,” he asked, once he had their attention again.

To Jack’s surprise, Sergeant Strasser saluted and spoke. “I served on a first-entry crew for Chapham Recovery, off Sirius, then on a sweep team for Coventry, eventually leading an S team myself.”

“I see,” said Jack, to whom none of this made sense. “Well, I suppose this is a first entry mission, so why don’t you start your remarks there - for those who may not have been on a mission of this type, before.”

“Plastite,” said the sergeant without hesitation. "The plastic thermite cuts right through the hull, just like butter. You preload it onto a forced-entry sleeve, stand back, and ‘boom,’ you’re in. Assuming, of course, that you can’t just access an airlock - ‘try before you pry,’ you know. Then, once you’re in, it depends on the nature of the catch,” he went on, falling back into the jargon of his old profession. Stephen noticed a certain relaxation to his posture, too, which somehow made the marine seem more dangerous.

“If it’s a strait RA - roadside assistance - then the crew typically let you in and show you what’s needed. Coveralls’d be all you’d need, and work boots and a hard hat. Dead ships, they’re fairly straightforward, too. Everything has to be started up, perhaps repaired, but it’s all balanced, and of course you’re in survival suits until you have the life support back up. The half-dead ships, those are the widow-makers. Some of the compartments are pressurized, others aren’t any more, see. You get these pressure differentials across the bulkheads, and they can blow out without warning. That can be deadly no matter which side you’re on,” he said with a grim smile. “Survival suits, of course, though that isn’t always enough, if a blow-out catches you."

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Truth and Beauty 14-6

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He met his team in the hangar, along with one of the gunner’s mates checking over their small arms. In the background, their shuttlecraft pilot wiped down all of the control surfaces as he worked his way through his pre-launch checklist. “Doctor, how do you do?”

“Very well, sir, and you,” said Doctor Russ, transferring his bag to his left hand so he could salute with his right. This revealed one of the Roth’s pistols in a holster on his right hip, Jack noted as he returned the salute, handle foremost.

Pulling his attention from this unexpected detail, Jack surveyed the rest of the group. Three men (one a woman, actually) wore the heavy gloves and helmets of a forced-entry team. The road box at their feet do doubt held their equipment. Two marines under Sergeant Strasser held their rifles in a stiff, at-ease posture, their bayonets sheathed in thigh holsters. Five other men held their weapons uncertainly - though basic training included small arms training, the knowledge had clearly not stuck; Jack made a mental note to begin training when the storm settled down.

“All right,” said Jack, and the away team fell turned their attention to him. “We have an unknown vessel, seemingly adrift. She don’t respond to hails, shows nothing on the IFF, so she could be derelict and therefore fair prize, or she could be a trap, so don’t lose your heads,” he added; at the mention of prize money, an almost unheard of thing for a transport’s crew, his team had broken into an excited babble.

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Truth and Beauty 14-5

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The klaxon blared out. The mood lighting turned red. Jack’s officers dispersed to their various quarters, his premier and the gunner waiting for him on the landing so that he could enter the bridge first.

“What have we got, Mister Henreid,” Jack asked, stepping onto the bridge with his premier and the gunner immediately behind him.

“Engine signatures but no radio, sir,” said the master’s mate, moving from the center of the bridge to a position behind the helm.

“One of ours?”

“I can’t tell, sir. Engines are powered down to idle, so there’s not much to work with, and of course the storm interference.”

Roth gave a particularly sudden lurch and Jack, caught in the act of sitting down, missed the seat and sprawled on the floor, tumbling into the locked-out mystery console. Not for the first time he noted the peculiar inscriptions on its controls; a large dial labeled “warp cannon (TJ)” caught his eye, and he thought of the four 4-GW plasma-arc cannon that were his only armament against this potentially hostile unknown vessel. “Have their been any distress signals,” he asked as he picked himself up, waving off the offer of help from Mister Greenstreet.

“No, sir,” said Mister Henreid, who had automatically moved to the watch-officer’s station. “Though it could have been lost in the interference.”

“Thank you, Mister Henreid, I have the bridge,” said Jack, allowing the master’s mate to return to his position by the helm. Jack moved over to the radar station. His elbow hurt cruelly and he suspected that it was bleeding. “This is her?” he asked the radar operator, gesturing at the screen with the hand of his good arm.

“Yes, sir,”

Jack considered the display. “Shee seems to be adrift.”

“Yes, sir,” said the radar operator again, “I believe so.”

“Try for a handshake,” Jack told the communications operator.

“Too much interference, sir,” said the woman, having worked her controls and waited for a reply.

Jack considered. “Prepare an away team,” he told Mister Greenstreet. “Include a forced-entry team. If we have anyone with salvage experience, include them, too. And the doctor, or his mate if he is busy.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mister Greenstreet, saluting. “Who shall lead the team?”

“I will.”

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Truth and Beauty 14-4

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They were saved from futher awkwardness by a genteel ringing of a bell, followed by the voice of the Marine sentry at the door to Jack’s quarters, cracked and tinny through the intercom, “Mister Barus to see the lieutenant, sir,”

“Mister Henreid’s compliments, sir,” said the midshipman on being admitted. He stared hungrily at the banquet before him: high living and a general lack of planning meant that the midshipman’s berth was already reduced back to standard ship’s rations, and the sight of so much food - real food - drove the master’s mate’s message from his mind.

“Yes,” prompted Lieutenant O’Brian.

Barus jumped, saluted, and began the message anew. “Mister Henreid’s compliments, sir, and there is an unknown vessel off the port bow. He said, nothing on the I-F - um -”

“The I-F-F?”

“Yes, sir, and doesn’t respond to voice transmissions either.”

“Beat to quarters,” said Lieutenant O’Brian, standing, and Stephen noticed that he seemed to swell in size as he stood. “Gentlemen, ladies, forgive me for cutting this short.”

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Truth and Beauty 14-3

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This was three glasses of wine in quick succession, and when another lurch made them grab their plates and glasses, the engineer observed, “this reminds me of a nine-days blow we had off Sirius in the Savage.”

This was near-enough of a reply to Commander O’Brian’s toast to be allowable, far enough from shop talk to be discussed at table, and everyone had a similar story to share. They all politely listened to Jack’s reminiscence of a two day’s storm that he and a dozen crewmen survived in a shuttlecraft, tossed about “like BBs in a can of spray paint,” then the conversation became general. Courses came and went, the bottle went round and round, and jack, for a moment not engaged in conversation with either his right-hand neighbor or his left-, looked down the table and saw the smiling, convivial faces of his officers, truly enjoying themselves; his officers enjoying themselves at his table.

“Of course,” said Mister Humphries, “her name really is Wrath.”

The remark fell into one of those peculiar silences that punctuate even the most boisterous of gatherings. Ms Lund, to whom the remark was made, looked embarrassed and said nothing; and all other conversation came to an awkward halt, and the engineer found himself facing a full audience. “Mister Humphries,” began Mister Greenstreet, but Mister Humphries, who had by now had an additional two glasses in addition to those of the toasts, was already defending himself.

“Look at the lettering across the counter,” he said. “S'not centered. Too far to starboard, because the W, the first letter, is missing.”

“But the raised letters,” said the carpenter.

“Half of them are gone. W’s gone, half of the O, I mean A, most of the T. ‘S jus’ paint. The O is an A, see? Part of i’s missing and they painted it wrong. Records don’t go back more’n ten years -”

“Mister Hum…,” began Mister Geenstreet.

“- but she’s a Syracuse class - no bilge keel, see. Has to be older than that -”

“Mister Humphries, a glass of wine with you, sir,” said Jack at last, raising his glass an bringing the discourse to a close.

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Truth and Beauty 14-2

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Jack’s dinner party, held the following day in still-heavy weather, began in a starched, formal fashion. He had only entertained the wardroom once before, of course, and the wardroom, following his lead, had not entertained him in return. His guests therefore sat quiet and correct, the buckles in their in their rarely-worn uniforms chafing cruelly, strictly following the court etiquette of not speaking unless Commander O’Brian (the King’s direct representative) spoke to them first.

Jack found it heavy going. Having exhausted the usual types of small talk without success, he turned to alcohol as a social lubricant. “A toast,” he said, raising his glass, “to wives and sweethearts.”

“To wives and sweethearts,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them, but nobody dared add the facetious coda.

“To smooth sailing,” he proposed, when an unexpected lurch sent a (thankfully nearly empty) bottle out of Stephen’s hand, to smash a small red stain on the painted floor cloth.

“To smooth sailing,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them again.

“To shore leave and fresh supplies,” he proposed, once the bottle had been replaced and everyone’s glasses refilled.

“To shore leave and fresh supplies,” the wardroom dutifully replied, raising their glasses and draining them yet again.

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Truth and Beauty 14-1

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The radio operator set her controls and spoke into the microphone, trying several settings before looking up at her skipper. “Nothing, sir.”

Jack took another sip of his coffee to give himself time to consider. The sublieutenant, he noticed, was looking sullen. Well, Jack thought, if the damn’ fool had been doing his job, I wouldn’t have to. “Try for Taconite,” he said aloud.

“Nothing, sir,” said the radio operator, after two minutes of twiddling her knobs and careful listening.

Jack moved over to the radar station. Several vessels now showed in red: last known position, current location unknown. Scattered white blips indicated unclassified returns, probably the current locations of some of the lost vessels. “Zoom out,” he asked the operator.

The operator complied, and Jack studied the screen. “Two vessels are missing,” he said at last.

“They come and go,” said the operator. If you wait a few minutes they’ll reappear.”

“Mister Greenstreet, perhaps we should increase our distance.”

“Yes, sir. I don’t think we’ve received orders to that effect.

“I am issuing the orders, sublieutenant. You may enter that in the log. I want us at least two clicks from the nearest known or suspected vessel.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mister Greenstreet, saluting and making as if to leave the bridge.

“Where are you going?”

“The chartroom, sir.”

Jack stared. After two false starts to his premier, he turned his back on the man and addressed the helmsman instead. “Take us down and away,” he said, “and reduce speed by one knot.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-10

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“Have we heard anything from Vindictive since the order for loose formation,” he asked, taking a sip of coffee to show that his question was routine.

“No, sir,” said the radioman, sounding slightly resentful. “I would have passed that along as soon as it came in.”

“She’s said nothing to anyone,” Jack asked.

“Oh,” said the woman, thinking for a moment. “Shortly after eight bells I heard her talking to two of the merchantmen, Keystone, sir, and Elephant and Castle, but nothing since then.”

“What did she say,” Jack asked.

“She ordered them to specific stations. Shall I get you the specifics from the log?”

Jack shook his head. “Have we heard anything form anyone else since then?”

The sailor shook her head. “It’s been quiet for at least two bells, sir.” She thought for a moment. “There was some chatter at the fore end of the convoy, but it was pretty garbled, and I couldn’t make anything of it.”

Jack considered. A particularly heavy lurch on Roth’s part caused him to stagger.  “Mister Greenstreet, perhaps lifelines are in order,” he said, then, to the radioman, “see if you can raise Vindictive.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-10

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“Have we heard anything from Vindictive since the order for loose formation,” he asked, taking a sip of coffee to show that his question was routine.

“No, sir,” said the radioman, sounding slightly resentful. “I would have passed that along as soon as it came in.”

“She’s said nothing to anyone,” Jack asked.

“Oh,” said the woman, thinking for a moment. “Shortly after eight bells I heard her talking to two of the merchantmen, Keystone, sir, and Elephant and Castle, but nothing since then.”

“What did she say,” Jack asked.

“She ordered them to specific stations. Shall I get you the specifics from the log?”

Jack shook his head. “Have we heard anything form anyone else since then?”

The sailor shook her head. “It’s been quiet for at least two bells, sir.” She thought for a moment. “There was some chatter at the fore end of the convoy, but it was pretty garbled, and I couldn’t make anything of it.”

Jack considered. A particularly heavy lurch on Roth’s part caused him to stagger.  “Mister Greenstreet, perhaps lifelines are in order,” he said, then, to the radioman, “see if you can raise Vindictive.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-10

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“Have we heard anything from Vindictive since the order for loose formation,” he asked, taking a sip of coffee to show that his question was routine.

“No, sir,” said the radioman, sounding slightly resentful. “I would have passed that along as soon as it came in.”

“She’s said nothing to anyone,” Jack asked.

“Oh,” said the woman, thinking for a moment. “Shortly after eight bells I heard her talking to two of the merchantmen, Keystone, sir, and Elephant and Castle, but nothing since then.”

“What did she say,” Jack asked.

“She ordered them to specific stations. Shall I get you the specifics from the log?”

Jack shook his head. “Have we heard anything from anyone else since then?”

The sailor shook her head. “It’s been quiet for at least two bells, sir.” She thought for a moment. “There was some chatter at the fore end of the convoy, but it was pretty garbled, and I couldn’t make anything of it.”

Jack considered. A particularly heavy lurch on Roth’s part caused him to stagger.  “Mister Greenstreet, perhaps lifelines are in order,” he said, then, to the radioman, “see if you can raise Vindictive.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-9

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“The fiddle?” repeated Stephen.

“Yes, sir,” said the marine, grasping the edge of the table as the Roth plunged. “The fiddle.”

“Indeed,” sad Stephen. The unperturbed demeanor of the marine and the master’s mate forced him to be equally calm or lose face. In a bid to keep the marine talking, Stephen quizzed him about the fiddle; a series of questions and answers that grew increasingly strange until the marine realized that while he was discussing the raised lip of the table, Doctor Russ was discussing a violin.

* * *
Two levels up, Bollwerk appeared with a spill-proof mug of coffee and a pocket full of cereal bars. Jack had not left the bridge, except for a brief trip to the bathroom, since the storm had started in earnest. This was partly from professional duty, partly from curiosity - this was Roth’s first blow under his command, and patly because he simply loved a blow.

“Sir,” said the radar man, “it’s getting very difficult to see the far side of the convoy.”

Mister Greenstreet, to whom the comment was ostensibly directed, nodded. Jack left several seconds of silence. He did not want to appear distrustful of his first lieutenant, a man with whom he was saddled for the foreseeable future. But eventually he moved over to where he could clearly see the radar displays.

Fuzzy waves swept across the screens, with many of the ships of the convoy shown in the yellow of extrapolated data, rather than the green of a solid return.

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Truth and Beauty 13-8

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The wardroom was only three-quarters lit for the overnight shift, but after the stygian gloom of his cabin it felt like an assault, and he closed his eyes. Two voices greeted him.

A hand took his, and he allowed himself to be guided into a seat. He opened his eyes into a squint, finding himself beside Sergeant Strasser. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not at all,” said the sergeant. “Difficult weather we’ve got - expect the skipper’ll be rigging lifelines any moment.”

“Ah,” said Stephen. He wished he could come up with something braver to say in the face of certain destruction; lifelines must mean that Roth was near the end. Casting his eyes about he saw Mister Henreid sitting in his usual place, quietly turning the page of a book. I’m sailing with the original group of stoics, he thought.

“There’s a chess board in one of the stern lockers, if you fancy a game,” said Sergeant Strasser.

“Chess?”

“Oh, the pieces screw in,” said the sergeant quickly, “just a quarter turn to keep them in place, and the board clamps to the fiddle.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-7

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The weather continued to mount and fall into disorder; two storm systems seemed to be colliding. Roth’s motion, already vigorous, became chaotic. Stephen, now buckled into his cot, was tightening his straps still further when a groan, then a series of creaks, filled his cabin. There was no corresponding call to quarters or rushing of feet, however, nor did the mood lighting around the cabin door illuminate, and he lay in the heaving darkness, pondering.

Perhaps the noise is only in my room, he thought, staring at the vague outline of the outer wall of his cabin. He wondered exactly how much steel, or aluminum, or titanium, or whatever it was lay between him and the void of space. If the wall ruptured, death would be near instantaneous.

He closed his eyes, but his ears fastened on every sound. When a particularly loud groan shook the metal frame of the bunk he unbuckled himself and tumbled from his bed, landing on all fours on the floor. A sudden lurch sent him into something, possibly his chair, but before he could grab hold he was sent into the door. He fumbled for the latch, and crashed through to the wardroom.

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Truth and Beauty 13-6

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Part of the grin was also because he had managed to use Mister Holley’s presence to instruct his premier on the proper handling of a crew, without the sublieutenant feeling personally slighted, but this was not to be spoken of aloud. Some hours later, after the combined crew had snugged everything down and the larboard watch had retreated below for a few hours of fitful rest, Roth began to rock.

The effect was subtle at first, but in the space of a single bell her gyrations became severe enough that the wardroom steward turned up the fiddles on the table, and transferred Stephen’s wine to a wide, low plastic tumbler, slightly chipped. An Erlenmeyer flask might be more appropriate, Stephen thought, perhaps with a rubber base.

Half a bell later, Stephen untangled his seat belt and buckled himself in. This was labor lost as far as productivity was concerned, however, for by now his papers were sliding freely across the table top, and tapping the correct portion of his tablet’s screen had become a matter of chance. He gave up, grabbing hold of his scattered notes as each slid by him, then gazing longingly at his glass of wine, marooned on the far side of the table.


On the bridge, Jack waited with increasing impatience for Vindictive to give the signal for the convoy to spread out. The idea of one of the convoy’s merchentmen blundering into them - most likely Taconite, stationed directly above them; or the Two Brothers, off their port beam - filled him not exactly with dread, but certainly with concern.

“Vindictive to all craft, ‘assume loose formation,’ sir,” said the radio man (a woman, actually), and Mister Greenstreet issued orders to the helm.

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Truth and Beauty 13-5

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“Come,” called, Jack, and Mister Midshipman Holley entered.

“Mister Henreid’s compliments, sir, and this just came through on the twix.” He handed a tablet to his skipper.

“Indeed,” said the skipper, reading the report. “Mister Greenstreet, it appears that we are in for a blow.” He glanced at the regulator: half a bell to go before the end of the watch. “Mister Veidt has the second dog, I believe,” he asked his sublieutenant.

“Yes, sir,”

“Mister Holley,” said Lieutenant O’Brian, and the boy took a more formal posture, “tell Mister Henreid to rig for heavy weather at four bells.”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy, receiving the tablet back. “Both watches will be on deck, do you see,” Jack added kindly, seeing the boy’s confusion. “Fifteen minutes will make no difference, we’ll still be ready and with time to spare before Mister Rains pipes ‘down hammocks’.”

The midshipman saluted and left. Mister Greenstreet, who had profited from the interruption by surreptitiously add some ice to his coffee, drained his mug and withdrew, leaving Jack alone.

A grin spread across his face as he returned to his now-cold meal. “I do love a blow,” he told the empty room.

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Truth and Beauty 13-4

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Jack’s meal, held in the great cabin one bell later than the wardroom’s, also showed the benefits of new stores - roast leg of Achillian lamb with green beans and long-grain rice, and bottled white wine, whose cap Bollwerk unscrewed with all appropriate gravity before pouring his skipper a glass.

The meal was solitary, though, and Jack found himself daydreaming of his years in the wardroom - even his years in the midshipman’s berth. He had yet to entertain the wardroom, he realized, though he had owned the Roth for - he worked backwards through the calendar in his head, “good heavens,” he said, “three months on - on Tuesday. A quarter of a year. Bollwerk! Pass the word for Mister Greenstreet, if he is available.”

The sublieutenant was available, and when he appeared, with formal bearing and clean-pressed uniform coat for his summons to the Cabin, Jack said, “Bollwerk, a glass of wine for the lieutenant - you’ll take a glass of wine? Oh. Coffee? Light? Sweet? Bollwerk, scrub the wine, make that coffee, black and bitter.”

Once Mister Greenstreet was seated, with coffee at hand, Jack went on. “I’ve been sadly remiss,” he said, “but I hope you and the wardroom will join me for dinner tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sublieutenant, and indeed he could hardly have given any other reply, save for extra-ordinary circumstances. Custom dictated that the skipper refresh his premier, which he did; and custom dictated that the premier accept the refreshment, so having already taken the rare option of declining the first refreshment offered, Mister Greenstreet could hardly now decline the invitation.

Custom also dictated that the sub-lieutenant finish his refreshment with in five to ten minutes, and in this perhaps Mister Greenstreet was unwise to decline milk, since without it his coffee was quite hot. He was saved from the choice of a scalded throat or diplomatic faux-pas by a knock on the door.

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Truth and Beauty 13-3

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“Do the crew do the same?” Stephen asked, lifting other covers to reveal real rice and steamed broccoli, a sight that made him salivate.

“They lay in butter and condiments,” said Mister Humphries, “cake and sweets for afters, and the like, but their meals are made in batch, so there isn’t the same opportunity for stores - private stores, that is. Nor are they allowed spirits outside the ration.”

“Speaking of which,” Sergeant Strasser said to Ms Lund, “the bottle stands by you.”

Ms Lund refilled her glass and sent the bottle on its way, but by the time it worked its way around to the marine it was empty. “Treason,” he cried, “rank treason! Steward!” But the steward was an insightful man, and was already reaching for the bottle to carry it over to the drinks machine and refill it. “My sister is on the Lion,” the sergeant continued, “Captain McGill, and they have two bottles, no waiting for refills.”

“We have two bottles,” said Mister Humphries.

“Two of red and two of white, I mean,” replied the sergeant. “Four bottles.”

“Lion must be a fifth rate or better,” said Mister Blaine.

“She’s a third rate. Tiger class. But that’s not the point. We could buy a second set of bottles. Whitehall need never know,” he added in response to the purser’s frown.

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Truth and Beauty 13-2

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There was indeed not a moment to lose, with 22 transports and the Vindictive champing at the bit to be off, while Roth still had to off-load all of her old cargo and take on all of the new, to say nothing of visiting the condensing dock to have her coolant recompressed, and then a seal blew on the master cylinder of the docking stanchion, requiring two space walks to repair. Eventually, though, eventually, everything was squared away, and the forced delay gave time for the gunner to replace all of his defective caps, the master to exchange the filters on the water circulators, the purser to replenish his stock of paper (toilet and writing), and both Jack and Sergeant Strasser (caterer to the officers’ mess) to lay in some private stores, as was explained to Stephen when he found real chicken under the first tray cover that he lifted that Thursday evening. “And you will find that your earnings have been docked accordingly,” explained the Purser.

“Really?”

“Yes,” said the Purser. “In some ships you have to buy in with ready cash, but Roth uses the payroll - so much easier, not having to make sure you have ready money when you depart, and never quite knowing how much to set aside, since you’d have to borrow otherwise.”

“Typically from the purser,” said Sergeant Strasser, “at a high rate of interest.”

“Well,” said the Purser, blushing, “not all pursers are created equal.”

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Truth and Beauty 13-1

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Chapter 13
The Achilles, and even the orbiting facilities scented with exotic spices, wafting into the very ships themselves, including the afterdeck cabin of the Moons of Jeopardy where Lieutenant O’Brian sat waiting for his interview with Admiral Lavery. Several small scuttles opened into the space beyond, and through one he could see his Roth, roughly centered, docked at another part of the sprawling station. She looked particularly shabby in comparison with the spit and polish of the flagship, but as his meeting with the unknown admiral drew nearer, Jack stole frequent glances at her.

The cabin door opened. “Commander O’Brian?” asked a Marine, resplendent in deep scarlet and bright white.

“I am Commander O’Brian.”

“The Admiral will receive you now. This way, if you please.”

The Marine led Jack down a carpeted, paneled corridor to the Admiral’s day cabin, where he knocked and announced Commander O’Brian on the wall-mounted intercom.

“Send him in,” replied a tinny voice, and the Marine unlatched and opened the door. “This way, sir. The Admiral is a little deaf, so you’ll need to speak up a bit.”

Jack stepped through and the Marine withdrew, closing the door. This was a spacious cabin - acres of space that separated him from the Admiral, who sat behind a richly carved wooden desk, his back to a noble spread of glass through which sunlight streamed, casting the great man’s face into shadow. Jack saluted.

The Admiral returned the salute and gestured to a chair. “So,” he said. “You’ve met the Libre.” Showed up about a month ago - god-damned nightmare. Took fourteen transports and merchantman, hulled Pallas when she was lucky enough to find her, or unlucky, given what a hash Compton made of it. Man’s an inveterate ass. But I digress. Nice sleight of hand, getting away from her like that, but don’t expect her to fall for it again. Never show the same trick to the same audience, and all that; and Dupree’s no fool.”

“Thank you, sir, I shall bear that in mind,” said Jack, relieved to to have to reply to the more charged part of the Admiral’s observations.

“You’re welcome. You deserve it. Just don’t let it go to your head. I’m sending you back to the Neva system as part of a convoy, with the Vindictive, Chambers. Between her guns and yours, and those of the rest of the convoy, if they aren’t captained by old women, you should have no trouble if you run into her again. The Libre, that is. And maybe if Dupree sees that we’re running convoys he’ll disappear, become someone else’s problem for a while. Have you any questions?”

“No, sir,”

“Good. Get your cargo off-loaded, you’ll have more coming aboard tomorrow early. I’ve held the convoy to fit you in; there’s not a moment to lose.”

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Truth and Beauty 12-8

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Their health was good, Doctor Russ, in this respect at least, meeting or exceeding Jack’s wildest dreams in keeping his crew sound. But Jack was obliged to admit - to himself if not in the report - that they were not entirely behind him. Minor crimes such as muttering were too frequent. Hands favored a bold, skilled commander, he knew, who was at the same time careful with his crew’s lives, and though he had shown himself to be bold in handling the French frigate, that jump into hyperspace did not suggest skill.

There was nowhere in the report to share these observations, though, even if he had wanted to. The punishment log did form a part of the report, “but they never look at that,” he muttered, “unless there’s an inquiry.” Perhaps he was misreading the situation. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

“Bollwerk,” he called, but in the five seconds before the man appeared he changed his mind. “Er, a glass of wine, red, if you please,” he said, not to have called his servant in vain.

Bollwerk drew off the glass and handed it to Lieutenant O’Brian, who took a large sip - almost a gulp - to prove that he really did want it, then said, “thank you. You may turn in.” Bollwerk excused himself and retreated, closing the door behind him, and Jack was alone.

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