HMS Prince Adrian
Madras System
April 19, 1907 PD
“excuse me, lieutenant. Do you have a minute?”
Brandy Bolgeo didn’t reply, but she did pause, then turned to look up at Major Hendren with an arched eyebrow. The Marine had quickened his pace to make it into the intra-ship lift car before the door closed, and his expression was . . . odd.
It was the first time they’d physically crossed paths since Hendren’s complaint about Harkness and Tremaine, and she’d been just as happy about that, thank you very much. Unfortunately, they were both on Captain McKeon’s guest list for tonight’s dinner. This would be the first time Brandy and Hendren had been invited at the same time.
She hadn’t been looking forward to it.
Now the far taller Marine looked back down at her as the lift car began to move, and she thought she saw his lips tighten a bit at her nonresponse to his conversational gambit.
That was nice.
“Look,” he said, after a moment, “mostly I just want to apologize for having been a dick.”
Brandy’s eyes widened slightly, and her lips twitched.
“I . . . ah, don’t think I would have applied exactly that term,” she said.
“I actually cleaned it up a bit. Filed off a few Marine-style adjectives and adverbs.” Hendren shrugged. “I was pissed off, I was worried about readiness states, and I’m very much the new kid on the block in Prince Adrian. None of which is an excuse. An explanation, maybe, but not an excuse. I hadn’t realized just how behind the ship is on her maintenance schedule, or how overworked your department was. Again, an explanation and not an excuse.”
“Not to mention the fact that you were predisposed to think the worst about Senior Chief Harkness, too,” Brandy suggested, and he grimaced.
“Yeah, I was,” he admitted. “I admit I shouldn’t have been, without personal firsthand experience, but you have to admit he has a . . . checkered record, to say the least, where Marines are concerned.”
“That’s probably fair,” she acknowledged. “Most of that’s because he just likes to fight and figures it’s better to pick fights with somebody from outside his own ship. But despite his rep as a discipline problem, he hasn’t shown much evidence of that aboard his last few ships. And there’s never been a more qualified or professionally disciplined spacer in the entire Navy.”
“You may be interested to know that someone else told me basically the same thing about him.”
“Really? Who?”
“Gunny Babcock.” Hendren rolled his eyes slightly. “Sort of pinned my ears back with that infinite ‘You really are dumb as a rock, aren’t you, Sir’ courtesy only senior NCOs have truly mastered.”
Brandy surprised herself with a snort of laughter. Partly because she understood exactly what Hendren was talking about, but also because she could just picture Babcock doing exactly that. Partly because she and Harkness had learned to work smoothly together, but even more because she knew how much the cruiser’s senior Marine did not want to get on the wrong side of the ship’s company. And, despite what Hendren had correctly described as a “checkered” career, in more ways than one, Horace Harkness was immensely popular with his crewmates.
Well, maybe not so much with the ship’s Marine detachment, but he couldn’t have everything.
“Anyway,” Hendren continued, “I did want to apologize, and I also wanted to thank you for working with us to keep at least one pinnace available.”
“And did you read Senior Chief Harkness’ post-inspection report on Pinnace One’s impeller nodes?” Brandy pushed with gentle malice.
“Yes,” Hendren sighed. “And he was right. It’s not really my area, but the Gunny pointed out to me that we’d have lost two of those nodes, almost for sure, if we’d had to go to max acceleration for any sustained period.”
“Well”—Brandy’s tone relented a bit—“I have to say I’m glad we didn’t. We managed a rebuild on both of them, too, which was huge from our spares perspective.” She shook her head. “We’re babying so many systems that really need overhaul right now that it’s not even funny.”
“I know . . . now.” Hendren nodded soberly. “I had no idea how bad things were getting out here before they rotated me out from Manticore, though.”
“I understand why we’re still pushing,” Brandy said, watching the display as the lift car slowed to a halt. “I’m not in favor of giving the Peeps any more time to recover than we can help, either, and I know that means running maintenance margins thinner than the Book requires. For that matter, at least some of that’s probably inevitable under wartime conditions, even without the ops tempo we’re maintaining. But it really is getting out of hand.”
“Well,” Hendren said, nodding her through the opening lift doors before he followed, “I do have a better feel for the situation now. And, in the interest of non-dick-like behavior, I promise I’ll do my best not to make it any worse next time around.”
“That strikes me as a very good idea,” Brandy told him with a small smile.