Dreadnaught

“No.” He smiled encouragingly to take any sting from the blunt reply. “If we need something that bad, I expect people like you and Captain Smythe to figure out how we can get it within regulations. Somehow. Some way. Find a loophole or an interpretation that could be defended as justified.” Memory of the near disaster involving the mass courts-martial for low fuel cell levels crowded in then, making Geary’s smile vanish. “I don’t want anyone making the mistake of thinking that I want them to break regulations. If that’s the only alternative, then I take that responsibility openly. We don’t do something like that under the table even if we can make it hard for anyone to figure out that we did it.”

Lieutenant Jamenson had been listening intently, and nodded. “I understand, Admiral.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Captain Smythe asked me to invite you to visit Tanuki in person whenever it is convenient, Admiral,” Jamenson said. “I should mention that Tanuki’s wardroom has one of the finest selections of wines, liquors, and other distilled and fermented beverages in human space.”

That helped explain some of what Smythe had been up to. Geary wondered how many VIPs had found their shipments of luxury goods mysteriously shorted as a result of something like “damaged in transit” and how many requisitions from Tanuki for unusual items had gone unremarked because of creative formatting. “Thank you, Lieutenant Jamenson. I don’t know when I can manage a visit to Tanuki in person, but I’ll keep the offer in mind. I look forward to working with you.”

“Most of my visits will be through the fleet virtual-meeting system,” she added, “but Captain Smythe thought it wise that I explain my role in person.”

Desjani had been right. Smythe was clearly an old hand at playing games in which he didn’t want to leave any unnecessary traces inside official records. “Good idea. Lieutenant; there’s one other thing that I have to ask you, given that both you and Captain Smythe understand the need for keeping a low profile.”

“My hair, sir?” Jamenson asked.

“Yes. I’ve seen a few other sailors with green hair but never talked to any of them about it since it was within regulations. But it’s still a bit flamboyant.”

Jamenson smiled ruefully. “It’s my natural color, sir. I’m from Éire.”

“Éire?” The name didn’t ring a bell, so Geary called up a star map. “That’s pretty far distant, one of the star systems colonized directly from Old Earth.”

“Yes, Admiral. The first colonists on Éire had a fondness for such shades of green and may have been a wee bit too free with genetic engineering.” She touched her temple lightly. “It can be reversed, but many of us think that it would be improper to change something that meant much to our ancestors, is mostly harmless to us, and causes no harm to others.”

“Mostly harmless?” he asked, thinking that he had wondered why a fleet officer would choose such a shade.

“I can’t change how others see it, Admiral. But it’s also given me a nickname. I’ve been called Shamrock since before I left Éire.”

“Shamrock? That’s a plant, isn’t?”

“A green plant. It’s everywhere on Éire.” Another rueful smile. “Something else dear to our ancestors, apparently.”

After Lieutenant Jamenson left, Geary walked up to the bridge. With the fleet’s departure looming near, he had grown increasingly restless to be on the move, to be about the purpose for the fleet’s existence, and to get away from further messages from headquarters and the possibility of more order changes from the government.

Desjani was already on the bridge, of course, just finishing running her bridge crew through a training simulation. “Have a nice meeting?” she asked.

“Instructive.”

“Since you’re apparently going to insist upon my asking directly, why did Captain Smythe send a green-haired lieutenant to speak with you in person?”

“Her job is to confuse things.”

Desjani waited a moment to see if Geary would betray signs of joking. “If you wanted a lieutenant who would confuse things, I have at least one on Dauntless who would fill the bill.”

“Noted. I’ll explain her particular skills in that area later on.” The privacy fields about his and Desjani’s seats on the bridge were good, but Geary knew from his own experience as a junior officer that amazing amounts of information could still be gleaned by close-though-covert observation of senior officers as they talked. He settled into his seat, looking about the bridge of Dauntless, having to suppress a sigh of contentment. “You know, after dealing with the grand council and Alliance politics and headquarters, it’s actually going to be something of a relief to be dealing with lying Syndics and homicidal aliens again.”

“Dangers make you yearn for distant home,” Desjani mused, “but when you get home, it can have a way of quickly making you yearn for distant dangers.”

“You really do have a way with words, Captain Desjani. When we were on Kosatka—”

“All four days?”

“—did you get a chance to talk to your uncle the literary agent?”