David Drake: When the Tide Rises

He pursed his lips. "I wonder how many of the originals remain in use?"

"For now, my lad," said Fanshawe, "I suggest you forget about natural history and hand the thing back to Cerberus at the bar, there. He's just called your number."

"Thanks, Fanshawe," Daniel said as he rose and slid past the lieutenants again. "Thank you indeed."

The thanks were for much more than telling Daniel that he'd been paged. Wealthy connections had doubtless created an interest furthering Fanshawe's promotion, but the RCN would be fortunate if all its lieutenant commanders were his equal.

The attendant at the gate examined Daniel's chit with sour thoroughness, as if he thought it might be a counterfeit. The clerical staff of Navy House were not members of the RCN and tended to view themselves as superior to the serving officers who came to them as suppliants. Daniel understood the mechanism-his study of lower animals as a hobby had given him more than a few insights into human society as well-but it didn't make him like it any better.

The attendant replaced the chit in the hopper from which it would be dispensed to future generations of waiting officers, perhaps over another hundred and fifty years. "Office 12B," he said, swinging the gate open with his right hand.

"Pardon?" said Daniel. He'd been expecting to be sent to the desk of one of the clerks on the other side of the bar, but "office" meant "Through the door and ask the guard for directions," said the attendant peevishly. For the first time in the process, he looked up at Daniel's face. "Or have him guide you, if you don't think you can find your way to the second floor!"

"Ah," said Daniel. He reached into his pocket-an advantage of Grays over Dress Whites was that theyhad pockets-and dropped a florin on the attendant's desk. The coin rang clearly. "Thank you, my good man."

The attendant was still spluttering in amazed fury when Daniel reached the door at the back of the hall. He heard snorts of laughter from officers in the waiting area, and he himself was smiling.

There were two guards, RCN warrant officers whose lack of collar insignia meant they were from the provost marshal's division. They could probably handle themselves if push came to shove, but neither they nor anybody else expected trouble. When they retired in a few years, the white enamel on their sheathed batons would still be unmarked.

"I've been directed to 12B, Sauter," Daniel said, taking the name from the tag over the taller guard's breast pocket. He gestured toward the steps at the end of the corridor. The runner of blue carpeting was worn to the weft in the center of each tread, but the brass rods holding it in place were brightly polished. "Upstairs, I believe?"

"And to the right, Commander," Sauter agreed, "about midway down. That'll be the Liaison Office with Captain Britten."

Daniel pursed his lips as he dredged out a memory. "Britten," he repeated. "Was he perhaps in the Ten Star Cluster a few years ago?"

Sauter frowned. "The very man," said Leckie, his partner. "But promoted since then, I believe."

Daniel climbed the stairs two at a time. He wasn't in a particular hurry, but he was used to going up that way. Taking the treads normally would feel as awkward as mincing down the hallway instead of taking full strides.

The doors along the right-hand corridor were closed, though a clerk-an RCN rating, not a civilian-carried a file folder out of one as Daniel reached 12B. She seemed to look through him as she strode past in the direction he'd come from.

He knocked on the frame beside the panel of frosted glass. "Come in, dammit!" boomed a voice. Daniel swallowed his smile as he obeyed. Yes, this was the same officer whom he'd met on Todos Santos, all right.

Daniel closed the door behind him. The room was long and narrow. There were cabinets for paper files along one sidewall, and a desk-unoccupied at present-beside the door for a clerk. At the far end was another desk, so wide that it only fit the long way.

Captain Britten, built like a fireplug with cropped gray hair, sat at the big desk and typed on a virtual keyboard. He slammed the holographic keys as though he thought he could hammer out the answers he wanted. Daniel smiled; Adele had accused him of doing the same thing.

"Sit down, Leary," Britten said as he glared at his display. "I gather you've been making trouble again."

"Ah…," said Daniel. "Well, only for the enemies of the Republic, I believe, sir."

He ought to salute and report formally, but he was quite certain that Britten'd tear a strip off him if he did. Given that Daniel's salutes rarely rose to a level of minimal competence, he decided just to sit down as he'd been ordered to.

Britten snorted, then collapsed his display into a quiver of electrons and met Daniel's eyes. "Well, you stick to your story, Leary," he said. "Maybe one day you'll find somebody to believe it. For now, though-"

He stretched his arms sideways, then lifted them over his head. Britten's scowl of frustration was probably his normal expression, but he looked tired and a decade older than he had two years before on Todos Santos.

"-the problem is the Bagarian Cluster. My problem, and about to become your problem. What do you know about the place, eh?"

"Well, very little, sir," Daniel said, "though I can rectify that quickly, if you like."

TheSailing Directions which Navy House provided for all regions of the galaxy, both in and out of the Cinnabar Confederation, would give him everything an RCN officer was likely to need. Adele and her sources could provide much greater detail if for some reason that were necessary.

"The cluster's been part of the Alliance for over three hundred years," Daniel said. "Some heavy metals, a fair amount of agricultural produce; nothing of real importance. Frankly, the Bagarian Cluster's what you'd point to if you wanted to give an example of the boondocks. Ah, and there's a revolt going on there at the moment, I've been told."

"Right, I've been told that too, Leary," said Britten. "In fact the Independent Republic of Bagaria has requested the help of the RCN to organize its navy and put it in a state to defeat Alliance attempts to retake the cluster. It's my job, so now it's your job, to provide that help."

"Ah," said Daniel. "Ah, sir… If I may ask, sir, is this a decision that's been made in Navy House, or has it been imposed by, ah, political elements?"

"Like the business in Ganpat's Reach that you just got back from, you mean?" Britten said. "No, this was our idea. My idea, Leary, not to put too fine a point on it. You know what's happening in the Jewel System?"

"Well sir," Daniel said, very carefully. "I know Admiral James only by reputation, but a very good reputation it is, sir."

"Abloody good reputation, couldn't agree more," said Britten. He brought up, then collapsed his holographic display again; a nervous tic that made him frown like a thundercloud when he realized what he was doing. "But he's got two battleships and theLao-tze is eighty years old. Eighty, Leary, and don't tell me that she's still well found. For an eighty-year-old ship sheis well found, but eighty bloody years take a toll. The Alliance squadron has two modern battleships and a pair of battlecruisers that can outsail anything in the RCN. Plus supporting forces in proportion."

Daniel tried not to frown, but given the direction his thoughts were headed, that was a losing proposition. "Ah, sir," he said. "Are you hoping that the Bagarian Republic will be able to reinforce Admiral James?"

Britten stared at him in disbelief. "May the Gods bugger me with a flagpole!" he said. "Have you lost your mind, Leary?"

"Ah, sorry sir," Daniel said in relief. He thought for a moment, then decided that with Britten he'd be better off to voice the rest of his thought. "No sir, I haven't; and I'm glad to see that you haven't either."