Van frowned. A major command meant at least a battle cruiser, certainly a step up from the Fergus. But how could one measure successful completion of duty as a military liaison?
“…Commander Cruachan was the previous military attaché in Valborg. He was missing for several weeks, and his body was found just a short time ago. The official report was that he had been knocked overboard while sailing alone just outside the Valborg harbor and drowned…You are junior for such a post, admittedly, but you are known to be quick-thinking and physically well endowed…”
Van tried not to bristle at the words “physically well endowed,” knowing them as a code phrase.
“Normally, attachés have already had some diplomatic exposure, but we need an immediate replacement to assist Ambassador Rogh. As you may have noted from the briefing materials in the Fergus’s netsystem, Scandya is volatile politically, and has been held on a moderate course by the extraordinary political talents of Premier Gustofsen. It would seem that we now need an officer such as you in this post, and since you are already there in Scandya…Your task is both simple and difficult. You are to supervise what few intelligence activities we already have in place, and you are to report any information that might be of use to the CSO, particularly information concerning the intentions, capabilities, and actions of the Revenants, the Argentis, and especially the Keltyr…”
Van continued to listen to the commodore’s specific charges to him, stiffening after more than several minutes of redundancies.
“You are to commit to personal internal netlink the following codes, authentications, and contacts. They will be fed only from a commander’s console, so, if you are using another, please stop here, and only continue at the command console of an RSF vessel.”
Van swallowed and stepped closer to the console, putting on the headset that mirrored those in the cockpit.
The data flowed into and through him, as he routed it into personal storage—as ordered.
The image of the commodore reappeared.
“If you did not commit the data, please reset and do so immediately. You have exactly twenty seconds.”
Van checked the data. So far as he could tell, he had committed everything, not that he knew what it all meant.
The twenty seconds passed.
“The cube is now blank,” said the holo image. “The CSO and I wish you well.”
After the image faded, Van tried the cube again.
“The cube has failed,” the console announced. “No information can be obtained.”
Van linked into the speakers and the shipnet. “All hands. This is the commander. There will be a briefing in ten minutes in the mess. All officers and techs are requested to be personally present. During the briefing, the quarterdeck watch will secure the lock door to orbit station.”
By the time he entered the mess, the nine other members of the Fergus’s crew had all gathered there.
“Please be seated.” Van took the chair at the head of the mess table, knowing it was for the last time. Before he began his speech, he ran his eyes over each of the nine, starting with Driscoll and ending with Forgael. “Some of you have probably guessed what I’m going to tell you, but I’d prefer to make it official. I’ve been transferred—immediately—to become the military attaché to the Taran embassy on Gotland. Commander Baile will be arriving in a few minutes to assume command. Neither he nor I know all the details, but apparently the previous RSF attaché in Valborg died unexpectedly in a boating accident, and the CSO needed an officer with command experience.” Van shrugged. “I had the fortune or misfortune to be convenient.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the ‘incident’ out-system, would it, ser?” asked Sub-major Driscoll.
“Commander Cruachan died sometime back,” Van pointed out. “The CSO only found out a week ago. I suspect that when we were diverted here to take over for the Collyns, they decided that the simplest solution was to transfer me ahead of schedule.” That was partly true, at least.
“Do you know what we’ll be doing, ser?” asked Forgael.
“No. Commander Baile has sealed operating orders for the Fergus.”
“Starscut…” muttered someone at the end of the table.
Shennen’s lips tightened, but she said nothing.
A Commander Baile is at the lock, announced the shipnet.
Someone will be right there, Van link-replied.
“The commander is here,” Van said. “Any last questions?”
The mess was silent.
Van rose and left them, leaving the mess and reaching the quarterdeck in a few strides. There, he opened the lock.
Baile stood there with one slim duffel and a shoulder bag.
“Welcome aboard, Commander. I was briefing everyone on the change of command.”
“You finished that?”
“Just as you arrived.” Through the net, Van could sense Forgael, and he half turned. “Commander Baile, this is Sub-commander Forgael.”
“Pleased to meet you, ser,” replied Forgael pleasantly.
“I’m looking forward to working with all of you.” Baile’s words and smile were both warm and youthful-sounding.
Van envied the warmth, for he’d never had that quality. After a moment, he said, “We’d better get on with the change in command.”
“Lead on, Commander,” Baile said.
Van did, turning left off the quarterdeck and making his way forward to his cabin.
The two stepped inside, and Baile set down the duffel, looking to Van. Van stepped to the console and placed his hand in the authenticator. Change of command.
Insert new CO’s cube.
Commander Baile inserted his cube into the commander’s console.
Accepted, subject to approval of Commander Van, the shipnet announced.
Van linked with the net, running down the protocols, the codes, and the command accession protocol. All was in order.
Approved, Van stated, keying in his approval as well.
Command transferred.
Van felt suddenly isolated, as his access to the command protocols dropped away, and he could only access the shipnet in a general sense, not even so much as the most junior tech aboard the Fergus. “She’s all yours, Commander.”
“Thank you, Commander. I wish you well in Valborg.” Baile smiled, professionally.
“We’ll do what
