“Commander,” offered Van.
“Commander James Baile.” He inclined his head to Van. “We need to talk.”
“My cabin.”
Baile nodded. “That would be fine.”
As they walked forward, Baile added, “I just arrived on the Aherne.”
A cold feeling settled in Van’s gut. “Then you know what happened here?”
“I read your battle report on the way out. The marshal thought I should be fully briefed.”
Van liked the sound of that even less, and said nothing until he closed the hatch to his cabin. He didn’t bother to offer a chair, since there was only one. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m the one CSO tasked to deliver your orders.”
“Orders?” Van had orders being delivered personally? Why? Because he’d destroyed the unknown cruiser? How could anyone have even known about that at RSF headquarters before his torp arrived? How could they have even found a replacement in something like forty-eight standard hours?
Baile extended a dark gray envelope. “You ought to read them before we talk.”
Van took the envelope, eased open the seal, and began to read. Then he read them again, finally focusing in on the key words.
…temporary duty as RSF liaison to ambassador of Tara to Scandya on Gotland…detached immediately…estimated duration of duty not to exceed twelve standard months…
Van finally looked up at the older commander. “Do you have any idea—”
“Why the CSO is sending a junior commander as a military liaison to the ambassador while a senior commander takes over his command?” Baile laughed ruefully. “It ought to be the other way around. Right?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Van had thought a great deal, and quickly, but none of it was anything he wanted to express. “Can you give me any idea what this is all about?”
“I also have a briefing cube for you. I don’t know its contents. What I think is only an educated guess…” Baile quirked his lips. “Tensions have been high in this sector. The Fergus was attacked. We can’t afford to station a squadron near Scandya, and the Scandyans won’t let us base one here. Because there wasn’t any evidence, except through the detector screens of the Fergus and the torp message you sent, what happens if the Revs or the Argentis or the Kelts claim that you attacked them?”
The whole idea of the antiquated Fergus attacking anything seemed ludicrous to Van, but what seemed absurd in the cockpit wasn’t always seen as such by the various Arm governments.
“They could claim that you attacked a merchanter or a corvette on a peaceful approach.”
“So I’ve been relieved by a more experienced officer?”
“Actually, my presence sends two messages, Commander. First, it’s a way of saying, between the words, that New Oisin thinks you were right, and second, by putting a more senior officer in charge of the Fergus, that the RSF has no intention of backing down.”
“And the marshal can also claim that the RSF certainly doesn’t want to escalate matters, and that’s why a more senior commander has taken over command of the Fergus.”
“Exactly.”
“Why am I being detached as a liaison officer here?”
“Again, I would have to guess…”
Van doubted that there was any guessing at all, but “guessing” allowed deniability.
“First, because you come from Sulyn, you speak Old Anglo, and Revenant and Kelt are both variants of Old Anglo. You also speak Hispyn fluently. Second, you’re not known outside of the RSF. Both the Revs and the Argentis keep dossiers on officers likely to command capital ships or be posted to diplomatic assignments. Third, you look younger than you are. Fourth, you’re black Taran.”
Outside of the first reason, Van couldn’t see that any of the others made sense, and that bothered him even more. “And you? You don’t speak Old Anglo?” That was a rhetorical question, because all RSF officers did, as did most of the Republic. The question was more to express Van’s irritation.
“Oh, I do. I’m from Weathe, and you can’t get more Old Anglo than that.” Baile’s words were matter-of-fact.
“I assume they sent you with operating orders, Commander?” asked Van.
“I have those orders. They’re sealed. I won’t know what they are until after I relieve you.”
Van nodded slowly, trying to conceal his surprise. Usually, an officer taking command was fully briefed.
“I was fully briefed on the tactical, technical, and strategic considerations of operating in and around Scandya system,” Baile explained, “but I was told that my orders are included in the command cube.”
“I see,” Van replied. What that meant was that the CSO didn’t want the orders known to anyone until Baile took command—even to Baile.
Baile cleared his throat.
“Yes, Commander?” asked Van.
“There is a down-shuttle to Valborg, leaving in four standard hours.”
Detached immediately meant exactly that. Van nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll be back in about two hours. You can brief me on anything urgent then.”
“Yes, ser.”
After Commander Baile left the cabin, Van began to gather his gear. He still needed to tell Forgael and the rest of the crew.
Chapter 6
In less than twenty minutes, Van had changed into a set of travel greens and packed up his gear—two duffels’ worth, plus a shoulder bag. Then he slipped the briefing cube into the console on the small desk that would shortly no longer be his, placing his hand in the authenticator until the console stated, “Accepted.”
The holo image that appeared in the middle of the small cabin was that of a commodore whom Van did not recognize.
“Commander Van, I’m Commodore Wadding, senior advisor to the Chief of Space operations. I’m sure that you’re puzzled at the suddenness of your reassignment to the embassy of the Republic in Valborg. I’d like to assure you that the marshal is not displeased with your actions. A quick analysis of the data you enclosed with your battle report suggests that the vessel was of Revenant construction, but that is all that can be said at present.
