Rogue Galaxy Episode 2: Command Material Page 4

  “Captain, I....” Miller stopped in mid-sentence. Though he did it subtly, Farraday noted the way the lieutenant-commander’s eyes slid with significance in the direction of the xenolinguist.

  “Lieutenant Cosway,” he said. “Why don’t you use this time to see what other linguistic data you can collect? Don’t roam too far—we may need you. The Casino seems like a good place to hang out—it’s nearby, it’s full of exotic languages, and you don’t need an excuse to spend time there.”

  Once they were alone, Miller said, “Captain, my worry is that, if Chavez isn’t here to parley, then it’s so he can trap us somehow.”

  “Understood, Miller. But how? I don’t see how he can get by the constrains imposed by the oaths we both swore by the True Names of our ships’ hyperdrive spirits. Unless you think Bayawah is lying, and they didn’t actually require that oath of Chavez, as well?”

  “No, I don’t think it’s that—all the research I did on this spaceport shows they have a long history of being scrupulously honest. Ridiculously honest, almost. And from what Witch Walsh told me, a lot of the enchantments that keep this spaceport such a power locally depend on that kind of honesty.”

  “Okay. So we can assume that Chavez is at the very least not going to come straight out and do any of the things he vowed he wouldn’t do.”

  “We can hope, sir. I don’t know if I’d go so far as to ‘assume.’ but it is possible he could have third-party help. Someone who had also sworn an oath, even if it isn’t a mystically potent one.”

  Farraday leaned back in his chair, taking that in. “You mean the oath of allegiance sworn by crewmembers of the Galaxy, for example?”

  “Sir, I’m afraid that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Having a saboteur aboard would be a pretty serious problem, all right,” said the captain. Miller thought that was just about the most gods-damned lackadaisical understatement he’d ever heard, but he refrained from commenting on it. “Have you noted any signs of such a person, or are we hypothesizing?”

  “Nothing definite, sir. But I would say that I’ve had a hunch.”

  “Well. Share the hunch. If that’s all it is I’ll take it with a grain of salt. But I always value your input.”

  Miller shifted his weight and hesitated before speaking. For some reason he had a feeling that Farraday wasn’t going to be easy to convince about Beach. Maybe because there was still bad feeling between the ensign and the captain, from a couple weeks ago when Beach had tried to incinerate the captain’s girlfriend and, thanks to the captain, had fried the helm instead. It wouldn’t have surprised Miller if Farraday, in an effort to be impartial despite his sore feelings, over-compensated and wound up recklessly treating Beach as if he were above suspicion.

  Miller found himself gritting his teeth again. He was going to run out of enamel at this rate. Not for the first time, he felt aggravated by the sense that he had to mollycoddle his captain—a Security Head ought to be able to tell his commanding officer about whatever was worrying him, flat-out and without agonizing over pretty ways to say it.

  “I think Lieutenant Beach may be a weak link, sir.”

  Farraday raised his eyebrows. Overall his expression was difficult to read. “All right. But there’s nothing to support that except a hunch?”

  “There’s bad blood between the two of you, sir.”

  “Between the two of us? No, not really—not on my part, at least.”

  Miller wore the poker face he put on when he didn’t want a superior officer to see he thought they were full of crap. It wasn’t a very good poker face.

  Farraday caught the look. “In any case, I’m not sure what we can do about it now. If you’d come to me about this while we were still aboard the Galaxy, I could have taken Commander Blaine aside and told her to keep an eye on the lieutenant. But as things are, I wouldn’t want to risk a communiqué. I’m not certain the Bayawah oaths extend to protecting our communications.”

  The captain seemed awful cavalier about all this. But for once Miller didn’t worry about that, so caught up was he in the uncomfortable, unfamiliar realization that he himself might have screwed up. Clearing his throat, he said, “I, er, actually I already did bring up these concerns with Commander Blaine, sir.”

  Farraday’s eyes snapped onto Miller’s, shocked. “Without me present?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Farraday continued to stare at his Security Head. A storm began to gather behind his eyes as he transitioned from surprise to anger. For the first time, Miller found it difficult to bear Captain Farraday’s scrutiny.

  He did bear it, though, and said, “I’m afraid so, sir. In hindsight I think that wasn’t very proper.”

  “I’m surprised an officer of your caliber should have need of hindsight in order to reach such a conclusion. Tell me, is this the first conference you and Commander Blaine have had behind my back?”

  “Sir, for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t really call it a ‘conference.’ Commander Blaine and I were having a casual conversation, during off-duty hours, and my speculations about Beach just sort of slipped out, sir.” As he was talking, it hit Miller that actually, the proper answer was, “no;” this had not been the first such conference he and Blaine had had. Though he’d known they were vaguely improper, this was the first time he’d thought of those informal talks as “conferences,” much less secret ones.

  It was plain from Farraday’s face that he considered them to be that, though. This was the angriest Miller had ever seen him, except for situations in which Summers was being disrespected or endangered. “I’m not certain what else you would call it,” he said. “Lieutenant-Commander Miller, would you or would you not agree that one of your primary roles as Head of Security it to bring to my attention any threats you may suspect?”

  “Aye, sir. Of course, sir.”

  “Then do your job, Lieutenant-Commander.”

  Miller hated feeling cowed and guilty, and the flare of outrage he felt at the implication that he hadn’t been doing his job was just what he needed to blast himself free of that hated mood. The fact that Farraday’s criticism was justified only made it all the more galling.

  Some of that must have shown up on Miller’s always-easy-to-read face. Instead of simply dismissing him now that he’d gotten the last word, Farraday studied him a moment, then said, “Something on your mind, Lieutenant-Commander?”

  “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

  “I think that was implied in my question.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, it can sometimes be difficult to be certain what you do and do not want to hear.”

  “Do you mean to say it can be difficult to tell whether I want to receive feedback and advice that directly pertains to the safety of my ship and crew? And the success of our mission?”

  “Frankly, sir, yes.”

  Miller had never found Captain Farraday to be particularly formidable, but the captain’s face at this moment made him quake like a cadet on orientation day. Only on the inside, though; nervousness was one of the few emotions he was good at hiding. He just sat there stoically, waiting for the cold storm of the captain’s wrath to break against his face.

  But instead of that, the sad light of reason shone through the clouds. Farraday turned so that he wasn’t facing Miller straight-on anymore, and said, “Do those doubts come from a perceived favoritism on my part toward Lieutenant Summers?”

  “Only partly, sir.”

  “And what are the other parts? Don’t make me pull teeth, Miller, just give me full and detailed answers to my questions.”

  All right, fine, since he was asking for it. “You’re a very likeable man, sir. A man of many accomplishments. I’ve often thought you would be extremely well-suited to civilian life.”

  “But not so much to the military one.” Of course, Chavez and plenty of people would scoff at the idea of the Fleet being particularly “military,” as opposed to, say, the Marines—but still.

  “That’s not for me t
o say, sir. As I said, you’re a likeable man. You’re the kind of man most people would be happy to work under, if they could work anywhere they wanted. If they had the freedom to up and leave anytime they chose. But of course the crew of the Galaxy doesn’t have the freedom to up and leave. They’re not a group of civilians. And sometimes it seems to me that they need the assurance that their captain is willing to do things that might make him less likeable.”

  Farraday listened to the spiel with a bitter grimace. “If what you say about Beach is true, it sounds like the crew can up and leave, after all.”

  “I guess I meant to say they don’t have the right to, sir.”

  “Right, of course.” Farraday sighed. He seemed impossibly weary. “Tell me, Miller. Is not shooting Lieutenant Summers out of an airlock one of those hard decisions the crew thinks I shirked?”

  “Sir, I actually think the crew supports you on that particular point.”

  “Well then what are the particular points on which they don’t support me?”

  After a moment, Miller said, “I don’t think it’s a matter of uneasiness over specific decisions.” Actually, he reflected, there was plenty of that, as well: for example, he was pretty sure people had been almost as uneasy as himself at Farraday’s decision to risk the mission and the ship by letting Summers run around loose in the Thompson Tubes, even if they would have been almost equally appalled by the alternative. “My concern is more with the crew’s general sense of you.” He added, “Sir.”

  “If it’s a general sense then what am I supposed to do about it? It’s not as if you’re bringing me advice about changes I can make to my behavior.”

  One wasn’t supposed to have a conversation like this with one’s captain, and Miller’s discomfort was making him angry again. “Sir, again, with all respect, if the problem really is with the crew’s sense of your basic nature, there is one thing you can do. If you decide you do want to change the crew’s perception, which as captain you are in no way obligated to do.”

  “What is the one thing, Lieutenant-Commander?”

  “Change your basic nature. Sir.”

  Farraday gave him another long look, then turned away again with another heavy sigh. “Dismissed, Lieutenant-Commander.”

  Miller stood, with relief. But once upright he found himself at loose ends. “Sir. I feel that I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

  “Why, Miller? Do you think I may start crying and will need you to hold me?”

  “Negative, sir. I’m the Head of Security, you’re my captain, and we’re in a largely unknown environment. Leaving you alone doesn’t feel like I’m doing my job.”

  “It didn’t bother you yesterday, when you left with Cosway.”

  “Frankly, sir, it did bother me. I simply didn’t protest because I understood that you wished to talk to first Shinjo and then Commodore Chavez alone. So that came under the heading of risks taken to further diplomatic ends. But I’m not certain what ends would be furthered by my absence, at this moment, sir.”

  “Getting you out of my face is the end that would be furthered. I’m happy to make it a direct order, unless you’re worried that would be too uncharacteristically militaristic of me.”

  Seething, Miller struggled to keep a straight face. “All right, sir.” Suddenly, it seemed like maybe it would be a good idea for him to get away from Farraday, before he said something regrettable. Either Bayawah was as safe as its reputation said it was, or else its reputation was crap and they were screwed regardless of what he did. The captain didn’t need a bodyguard here, regardless of what regulations said, and he would have been more useful helping Blaine keep an eye on things back on the ship. Helping her keep an eye on Beach, for example. “I’ll go see if Cosway is doing all right.”

  Farraday’s mouth half-opened, and Miller paused, thinking his captain was about to say something. But Farraday closed it again, almost mournfully. Miller could have just about screamed. All this emotion crap! He was loyal to the Fleet because he remained loyal to the Democratic Empire, and he had chosen the Fleet because he had wanted to be out among the far-flung stars. But over the years it had often occurred to him that, if he’d joined the Marines or another branch, he would have had to put up with a lot less hand-wringing and self-expression. He was about to proceed with his exit when Farraday’s communicator beeped. Better wait and see who that is, he thought.

  Farraday read the message, then looked back up at Miller. It struck Miller just how tired he looked. Not for the first time, Miller wondered whether Farraday might not be cut out for the job of captain. And he wondered what he, Miller, was supposed to do about it, if that were indeed the case.

  “That was Chavez. He suggests we blow off steam at the Casino. So I guess we’ll be sticking together after all.” Then he flashed that boyish smile that had gotten him so far in life. “Probably for the best. You go right on keeping me in line, Lieutenant-Commander.”

  “Aye, sir,” replied Miller drily. He reflected that the flippant order, though endearing in its way, was not exactly the sort of thing one most wanted to hear from one’s CO. Particularly not with superior enemy forces nearby and a possible traitor aboard ship....

  Six

  Farrraday and Miller followed the homing blips on their hand-held communicators to Chavez. Toward the middle of the Casino there was a particularly thick clump of sentients gathered around something. Farraday and Miller noted with vague foreboding that the homing beacon was leading them to the middle of the clump.

  Even more disquieting was the way the other humanoids made way for the two men. Farraday had been wondering if they would have to elbow their way through the crowd, and it was true that the aliens’ politeness spared them the trouble. But it also implied that they were expected, that everyone had been awaiting the humans because they knew the humans were a main attraction in some big event.

  And Farraday naturally wondered what the event might be.

  At last they arrived at the center of the crowd. Chavez was there, wearing a pompous grin. Beside him was Witch Tanner. Both Miller and Farraday knew Tanner only by his dossier. He was a slight, pale man with black hair and big, dark, staring eyes. They had a fanatical glint, which would fit in with Farraday’s notions about the witches that had stuck with the Provisional. He was also far younger than Witch Walsh, and ergo less experienced. That was a comforting thought, in light of the massive dreadnaught perched above the Galaxy.

  Cosway was there too, along with his new friend Boksal. Farraday could tell from a glance at their body language that Cosway was trying to shake the guy loose—but it didn’t seem like Cosway considered the aksalion a threat, merely a nuisance. The aksalion was pretty talkative, Miller had said. And since he was more interested in practicing his Bahng’Doh than in teaching Cosway the aksalion tongue, the primitive sole-tech didn’t have much of a professional interest for Cosway.

  Flanking Chavez and Tanner was Shinjo and Yfir, one of Bayawah’s Word Bondsmen. Seeing the way those symbols of probity smiled reassuringly, Farraday couldn’t help but be put at ease somewhat. But he told himself that Miller would have found such a reaction criminally naïve; and, since the Security Head was almost certainly right, he tried to keep himself at full alert.

  “Hello, Captain,” said Chavez. “I thought we might play a friendly little game. But it seems to have turned into quite the production.”

  “Yes, I see that. What drew all these people? They must think we’re playing for pretty high stakes.”

  Shinjo spoke up: “In a way, Captain, yes. Since your arrival yesterday, word has spread among the Bayawah population of this new race of warring sentients. And when Commodore Chavez and his honored colleague Witch Tanner discussed the idea of inviting you to join them in gambling, they were overheard. Eavesdroppers spread the word, casting it as a confrontation between the two sides of this conflict. Gossip and rumor swelled the appeal of the spectacle, until the crowd which you now see had formed.”

  Yfir said, “I hope you don�
�t find their presence too troublesome, Captain. As you know, we have no authority to disperse the crowd, or in any way constrain them to any action. All we may do, if they break the oaths they have sworn against harmful action, is withdraw our protection from them.”

  Farraday returned his gaze to Chavez, who laughed and gave a shrug. “Sorry, Captain,” he said. “I only meant this to be a friendly gamble.”

  Farraday studied Chavez, then looked at the game table and the cards stacked upon it in decks. No blaring warning signs. He glanced Miller’s way. Miller obviously suspected some dirty trick, but since Miller always suspected some dirty trick that wasn’t very helpful.

  Farraday turned back to Shinjo. “Just a game, right?”

  Shinjo nodded. “Correct, Captain. A game.”

  It was impossible to distrust Shinjo. And if all these sentients saw Farraday refuse to play a friendly game of poker or whatever, it could have disproportionately strong diplomatic consequences: he didn’t want word getting around throughout the quadrant that the Galaxy was a boatload of craven paranoiacs. He smiled at Chavez, trying his best to fake some authenticity, and said, “Sure thing. But you’ll have to teach me the rules.”

  Was it his imagination, or did something predatory briefly appear in Chavez’s toothy smile? “Always happy to do that, Terry,” the commodore said.

  The two Bayawah functionaries began to explain how the game worked. Farraday would have liked to take Cosway aside and ask if the xenolinguist had managed to glean anything he might need to know. But there were too many people around for him to do anything discreetly—besides, although Cosway was a very good xenolinguist, he had never struck Farraday as much of a sleuth.

  Shinjo and Yfir explained the rules. They weren’t hard to follow. You bet on a series of numbers, then the gamemaster spun a wheel—basically a roulette wheel. If your number won, you got to put a certain number of cards from your deck onto a marked-off section of the game table called a “hold.” Whoever got all their cards into the hold first won that round. He got to plunder the other player’s gate (the “gate” being a gap in the outline of the hold, over which the gamemaster passed the cards when he placed or removed them), taking whatever cards his opponent had stashed there, and adding their numerical value to his winnings, which were subtracted from the credits the loser had stored in the Bayawah Bank (which all visitors to the spaceport were required to make a deposit in, unless they wanted to earn boarding rights through a period of indentured servitude).