The War Machine: Crisis of Empire III by Roger MacBride Allen, David Drake Read Free Book Online Page B

setting the cosmetic things to rights. And the Daltgeld shipyards will be better able to help us get shipshape. Once we’re at Daltgeld, you’ve got one week to turn this flying casino back into a Pact cruiser. I’ll stay out of your hair while you do it. I’ll be busy enough in the meantime learning my own job. Bend and break whatever rules you need to bend getting this ship put back together. Then I’ll take that inspection, when you’ve had a fair chance to put things right. And if this ship isn’t in order by then there’ll be hell to pay.”
    “Very good, Sir.”
    “Excellent. Effective immediately, you will resume your duties as executive officer. You will continue to use this office until you have some semblance of control over the task force. You know this command and I don’t. I will leave the ship in your hands while I deal with the question of the unpleasantness aboard the Banquo. Settling that will be my first priority. Will you see to it that the appropriate logs and other documents are in my cabin within half an hour?”
    “Yes, Sir, very good.”
    “That will be all, then, Commander. I can find my own way to my cabin.” Spencer stood up to leave, and Tallen rose hurriedly. He saluted and watched the captain depart, very much confused. He didn’t know quite what to make of it, but it seemed that the Duncan might actually have a real commander for a change.

    ###

    Allison Spencer closed the door on his new executive officer and breathed a sigh of relief. He had carried it off, at least so far. Eighteen hours after leaving the hospital, and here he was already, bluffing his way through the role of commanding his very own task force. He hadn’t even been prepared to change into his new uniform aboard the gig, let alone assume command today.
    The next challenge was seeing if he really had memorized the ship’s layout. So where was his cabin? He tried to picture its location in his head, but didn’t feel confident about it. He could ask someone—but that wouldn’t exactly give the image of command. Should he just try and fake it, hope he remembered all the twists and turns properly? No, it wouldn’t do for the new captain to go blundering into the women’s showers, either. Well, anything would be better than standing aimlessly in a hall for fear of looking foolish. At least he couldn’t get embarrassed in front of machinery. “AID,” he said at last, “How do I get to my cabin?”
    “I made a bet with Santu that you’d have to ask,” his AID replied with an excellent imitation of a chuckle. “Head back down the way you came, turn to port, go to the third intersection and turn—”
    “Hold it. I was in the Guard until this morning, remember? So, uh—which way is port?”
    The AID seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying. “Captain, I have the feeling this is going to be interesting for all of us. Turn left, go to the third intersection . . .”
    Captain Spencer followed the AID’s instructions, beet red and quite thoroughly aware of how embarrassed he could be in front of machinery.
    He located his cabin without any further ado, accepted the salute of the rather haggard-looking Marine on guard duty, and stepped through into his quarters.
    He had some vague idea of what to expect, but his jaw dropped nonetheless. Ornate, opulent, decadent—none of them went quite far enough. It would seem that Kerad had not had the time to strip her own cabin of its furnishings. The place was done up like something out of the Arabian Nights. The compartment’s bulkheads were lost behind elaborate wall hangings and tapestries. The deck was covered in layers of thick carpet and animal skins. There were no chairs, merely heaps of gaudily covered pillows scattered about the carpets. A meter-tall hookah had pride of place in the center of the room. The lights were dim and the air was thick with incense. Slow, seductive music came from somewhere, a haunting refrain that teased at Al, as if it were