No Honor in Death by Eric Thomson Read Free Book Online Page B

do his job somehow to survive, but for the rest..."
    Dunmoore slumped back into her chair, massaging her temples again.  "I'd really like to know what's wrong with the people on this frigate.  I've seen garbage scows where the crew had more pride.  My predecessor obviously had a different way of doing things.  Different, hell!  If the non-commissioned officers can run around looking and acting like Zavaleta..."
    "Like I said, skipper, the crew's either drunk or staring out at a black hole.  They'll need more'n a little shock treatment."
    "Go ahead and do it.  Hit 'em hard, Chief and tell 'em how it is."
    "Before the end of the watch, skipper," he nodded.  "Begging' your pardon, sir, but Zavaleta was bloody lucky this morning, I'm thinking.  Just let me sort 'em  out, skipper.  Like old times.  We'll put this ship under Navy discipline again."  He briefly studied her exhausted face.  "You just take care of yourself, sir."
    "Aye, Chief.  And thank you."
    Guthren rose, grinning.  "Old times, skipper.  The Don Quixote was a good ship, with a good skipper.  This one 'll be too, or I'm hanging up my starbursts."
     
    "Ten-SHUN!"
    Puskin's bark silenced the assembled officers of the Stingray as Dunmoore entered the wardroom.  The buzz of animated conversation that Siobhan had heard from the passage died down and seventeen pairs of eyes turned towards the Captain.  Many of them were bloodshot from lack of sleep or overindulgence of alcohol, or both.  A fine lot they were.  Most wore shipboard dress, rumpled in many cases, except for the engineers, who seemed to wear their worn-out coveralls with a moody defiance.  The eyes that met Dunmoore's showed a combination of wariness and fear, when they betrayed any emotion at all.  It was clear they had been discussing her.
    They would be the usual mixture of average officers, incompetents and shining stars, with most falling into the first category.  She would have to figure out who was what soon, and without Pushkin's help.  If Devall's attitude was any indication of the wardroom's dislike for the First Officer, then she was sure those feelings were reciprocated.  Repressing an overwhelming urge to clear her throat, a sure sign of nervousness, she let the silence live on for a few more heartbeats.  Then, her voice cracked out loudly in the small room.
    "At ease."
    Like Lieutenant Devall had, earlier on the bridge, they assumed the more formal parade rest and did not stir.  So they knew already she was a very pissed-off woman.  Good.
    "I am Commander Siobhan Dunmoore and as of eight bells in the morning watch, Captain of the Stingray .  Under the circumstances, I'll dispense with the customary bullshit speech a new skipper usually gives.  I am not at all sure I'm going to like being your Captain, nor do I even for a moment think this is a fine crew and a fine ship."  Her tone was hard, her words sharp and she saw several of the younger officers take a sudden interest in what she had to say.  "It is my considered opinion, after spending the forenoon watch aboard this ship, that the Stingray has more in common with a whorehouse than a Commonwealth warship."
    The resentment was almost palpable, as were undercurrents of humiliation and fear.  But none made the fatal mistake of speaking out.  The look of disgust on Siobhan's face, made harsher by her barely repressed pain, was too much for anyone to challenge.
    "I don't really give a damn, about what happened under my predecessor.  The state of the ship and crew speaks for itself.  The Navy and Admiral Nagira have given serious thought to dispersing this crew and starting from scratch.  You all know what that would mean to your careers.  Well, by the grace of God and the Grand Admiral, you've been given a chance to clean up your act, and I am the instrument of the Lord and the Admiralty.  This ship will sail in one week, repaired and re-supplied.  Once we are out in space, I will retrain this crew to