Эрик Флинт - The Service of the Sword

He looked to Citizen Major Citizen. "You'll handle this, Diana? Mind you, I want a good, solid, rock-hard case against Alouette. Nothing flimsy."

She nodded. "Won't be hard. Assuming we're right, everybody in the section will fall all over themselves spilling the beans—as long as they're sure that Alouette will get put away for a long time. Somewhere he can't retaliate against them."

"Have no fear on that score. Just going by a minimum reading of regulations, if Alouette has been threatening his mates with violence in order to cover up his skill deficiencies—much less a senior rating like a section chief—he's looking at five years, at least. That's five years served in a StateSec maximum security prison, too, not a ship's brig."

Yuri's face was grim. "That's if he's lucky. But I think Alouette's luck just ran out on him. Because his case will be coming up after the Special Investigator's return, and Cachat has the authority to mete out any punishment he deems proper. Any punishment, people. After I got my new assignment, for the first time in my life I studied carefully all the rules and regulations governing the position of Special Investigator. It's . . . pretty scary. And Cachat's already made crystal clear how he looks on StateSec personnel abusing their positions for the sake of personal gain or pleasure."

He studied the far wall of the stateroom. It was a wide bulkhead, as you'd expect in a top staff officer's suite in a superdreadnought. Almost as wide as the bulkhead which Cachat had used as the backstop for his firing squad.

Everyone else in the room seemed to share Yuri's grim mood, judging from the sudden silence.

Not for long, though, in the case of the two noncoms. "Hey, Jaime," whispered Ned. "Any chance I could volunteer—just the once—to serve on a StateSec firing squad?"

"S'against regs," Rolla whispered back. "But I'll put in a good word for you."

Yuri sighed. There were times—had been for many years, now—when he felt like a sheep running with the wolves. And wondering when someone was finally going to notice that his moon-howl was distinctly off-key.

The half-rueful, half-amused thought lasted for perhaps five seconds. Then the office hatch snapped open with no notice at all, a commo rating burst through the opening, and Yuri discovered that his long-extended fortnight had come to an end.

Dr. Johnson's proverbial hangman had finally arrived.

The rating's face was pale as a sheet. "The task force is back in the system. We just got a message from the Citizen Admiral. They expect to be back in orbit inside five hours."

Easy-going as Yuri was, the rating's lack of basic military courtesy was just too extreme to let pass unreprimanded. Yuri wondered what was wrong with the woman. The task force's return was hardly unexpected, after all.

"What is your name, Citizen Rating?" he demanded frostily.

The woman had apparently taken leave of her senses. She didn't even have the excuse of being a young recruit. From her age and the two hash marks on her sleeve, she'd been in StateSec service for at least six T-years. Even a wet-behind-the-ears newbie knew enough to recognize a superior officer's you-are-about-to-be-fried-alive tone of voice.

Utterly oblivious, it seemed. "You don't understand! The SI sent a message too. Ordering Citizen Captain Gallanti to disregard the message from the merchant ship—"

Yuri felt his stomach drop out from under him. He had a very bad feeling that the sensation was much like that of a man feeling the trapdoor open under the gallows.

" What message from a merchant ship?"

"—and stand down the impellers and sidewalls."

Citizen Lieutenant Commander Saunders bolted upright in his chair, his head cocked as if straining all his senses. He stretched out a hand and laid fingertips delicately against a bulkhead.

"She's right. The ship's getting under way. What the hell—?"

Impellers couldn't be detected in operation inside a ship. They were not reaction engines and produced no discernible noise or vibration. But the impeller rooms were close to Yuri's cabin and although Yuri himself still couldn't sense anything, Saunders was apparently picking up the subtle vibrations created by the various auxiliary engines. That was Saunder's specialty—although even he hadn't noticed until the rating brought it to his attention. Yuri didn't think to doubt him.

What was Gallanti doing? There was no logical reason for the Hector Van Dragen to be leaving orbit. And even if she were, why bring up the sidewalls unless . . .

Yuri forgot all his own by-the-regs proscriptions. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. Then, firmly, to the still-jittery rating:

"You're making no sense at all, woman! Settle down!"

That seemed to calm her, finally. She swallowed and then nodded abruptly. "Com Tech first-class Rita Enquien, Citizen Assistant Investigator. Sorry for the discourtesy. It's just—I'm not supposed to be here—the Citizen Captain finds out I left the bridge I'm dead meat—"

The sensation in Yuri's stomach was now definitely one of free fall. He wondered how long a man dropped before the rope ran out and the noose broke his neck.

"No problem, Citizen Tech Enquien," he said soothingly, in his best confessional tone of voice.

He realized, finally, what was happening. In general, if not the specifics. Something had completely panicked the rating and, in her confusion, she'd broken discipline and gone to the one person in the ship she'd come to trust in a pinch. Given that Yuri didn't know her, the woman's estimate was obviously based on what she'd heard from her shipmates.

Which meant . . .

The falling sensation vanished. Dr. Johnson's hangman be damned. Yuri had set out weeks ago to steal a capital warship right out from under its own captain, hadn't he? Just in case all hell broke loose.

All hell had broken loose, clearly enough. But the ship was there for the taking.

"Now, Enquien. Let's start from the beginning. What merchant ship are you talking about? And what message did it send?"

The woman's mouth made an "O" of surprise. "Oh. How stupid of me." Then, in a rush:

"A merchant ship arrived in the system just half an hour before we got the message from the Citizen Admiral. It's from Haven. There's been—a revolution, I guess. Coup d'état, whatever you call it. Citizen Admiral Theismann's taken over, they say. And—"

She swallowed. Yuri suddenly knew what was coming next. Exultation flooded over him. Yet at the same time, oddly, a wave of fear also.

At least the Devil you know is the one you know.

"Citizen Chairman Saint-Just is dead. Nobody knows exactly how, I guess. Well, by whom exactly, I mean. They know how, that's for sure. The merchant ship sent us the recording, it was played all over Nouveau Paris' HD networks. I saw it myself. It was Oscar Saint-Just all right. The face wasn't touched. Just a great big pulser dart hole in the middle of his forehead."

The rating shook herself, as if chilled. "He's dead, Sir!" she cried.

And, in her voice also, Yuri Radamacher could sense the same conflicting emotions. His eyes scanned the room, seeing them on every face.

Exultation. The cold, gray, heartless man who had loomed over the Republic for years as the incarnation of murderous ruthlessness was finally gone. Dead, dead, dead.

Terror. And now what?

The paralysis lasted for perhaps five seconds. Then Yuri slapped his knees and rose abruptly.

"Oh, bullshit," he said, softly but firmly. "Now's the same as it always was. We do the best we can, that's all, with what we've got."

He looked at the rating. "I take it the Citizen Captain's gone berserk?"

Enquien jerked a nod. "Yes, Citi—uh, Sir. That's why I snuck out when she wasn't looking and came here." She hissed in a breath. "I'm scared, Sir. I think the Captain's really lost it."