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CHAPTER FOUR

There were times when Raeder was grateful for the insubstantial armor of his dress uniform. This was one of them. He glanced around the room filled with other officers, equally resplendent in their official evening-wear, and enjoyed the ineffable sense of passing muster. In civilian life he disliked both formal occasions and formal wear, they'd always felt phony to him, and anachronistic. But he'd never felt that way about his uniforms, work or dress.

I suppose it's because they're elements of an ongoing tradition, he thought as he studied the people around him. And it binds us together, takes us beyond the personalities and the individual preferences to enable us to work together for the greater purpose we all serve. Peter took a sip of his drink and grimaced. I wonder why I always end up thinking garbage like this at parties. 

He supposed it was leftovers from the Academy; he'd loved those pep talks when he was eighteen. Still do, for that matter, he thought, a little embarrassed. Hey, those talks did me good. 

They had. They'd inspired him, given him direction and a sense of belonging. So, at the sight of dress uniforms, the words of his instructors, neatly stored in his subconscious, were brought out by the occasion. I guess I'm just a sentimental fool, he mused fondly. To the Academy, Raeder thought, raising his glass slightly and then taking a sip.

The captain had allotted twenty minutes for cocktails and mingling, but thus far no one had shown any particular desire to mingle with him. Without the solace of his uniform he would have been wondering if the trouble was something he was wearing. I showered after my run, so I know that's not the problem. He studied a painting on the wall: some obscure moon or planetoid with a gas giant rising in the background.

Odd, that everyone felt so tight after such a short time together. Probably it's Okakura's death. It wasn't unknown for something so harrowing to bring people who hardly knew each other much closer. And there had to have been an official investigation, Raeder thought. That, too, would cause people to close ranks.

There were only two women on the senior staff: Mai Ling Ju, the executive officer, and Ashly Luhrman, the astrogator. The XO was tall for a Chinese woman, standing approximately a hundred seventy centimeters, give or take a few. She was about forty, with a calm, efficient air about her, and Raeder had liked her instantly. He'd left her and the captain in private conversation with the surgeon, Dr. Ira Goldberg, a wiry, energetic man with the most soothing voice Peter had ever heard. Luhrman was a small blond in her mid-twenties and full of nervous energy. She was huddled with the communications officer, Havash

Hartkopf, who was younger than she was and still had the drooping face of a basset hound. Tactical Officer Truon Le was in animated conversation with the tall, dark, mustachioed squadron leader, "Rotten" Ronnie Sutton, under the watchful eye of Chief Engineer Augie Skinner.

That left the dark-haired, sallow-faced security chief, William Booth, talking to Lieutenant John Larkin, the quartermaster. Raeder didn't envy the friendly quartermaster his task, since Booth was looking around like he thought everyone in the room wanted to pick his pocket.

Well, he is the security chief. I suppose it's in his job description that he has to be suspicious. But Raeder secretly thought he would turn out to be one of those officious, obnoxious, oversensitive jerks who delighted in offending everyone they met. And the jealous way he looked at the XO made Peter suspect that he suffered from a classic case of "short man syndrome," overcompensating like mad for those missing centimeters.

Larkin, on the other hand, had a face as wholesome as fresh bread, topped with angelically fair blond hair. He seemed prepared to like all of his brother officers, even the grimly muttering Booth.

One of the captain's aides struck a small gong to announce that dinner was served and the whole crowd of them moved to the table.

Peter found himself placed at Knott's left hand, in a welcoming place of honor. I wonder if this is going to be my usual spot, or if the captain seats his officers in rotation. With the probable exception of the XO.

The table was very elegant, with damask linen cloth and napkins, hand-cut crystal, and porcelain plates with a heavy gold rim. There was an attractive silk flower arrangement in the center of the large, round table.

Knott saw him studying it and said, "A gift from my wife, for those too frequent times when we can't get fresh flowers." He smiled. "She assured me it would add a civilized touch."

"It does," Raeder assured him. "It's lovely."

The captain nodded his thanks and then leaned slightly to the side as the wardroom attendants began serving.

Conversation was pleasant and inconsequential, and after awhile Raeder was wishing impatiently that he'd been seated next to the squadron leader. There were any number of things they should be discussing.

"But if I'd done that," Captain Knott said to him, "you wouldn't have met anyone else. Which is the purpose of this gathering."

Peter stared at him in surprise and then laughed.

"Was I being that obvious?" he asked.

"You were yearning over the table," Knott said out of the side of his mouth. Then he quirked his brows. "Don't get me wrong, Commander, I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about your duties. But there's a time for everything. And right now," he said with heavy meaning, "it's time to get acquainted."

Meaning? Raeder wondered. Does the captain suspect someone on his command staff? He suppressed a grimace. If that were so, he'd have to walk awfully softly. If the Old Man does have some ideas, I wish he'd share them. Peter's exasperation melted quickly. No, he was looking for someone who didn't know these people. Someone who wouldn't pick out Booth because he's a jerk, or Sutton because he's obvious. So it was reasonable to suppose that Knott wouldn't want to contaminate his investigator's thought process at the outset. Peter suppressed a sigh. Why me? I have no idea how to even begin looking into something like this. Which was not a feeling he enjoyed. But then, Booth is supposed to be an expert and I wouldn't trust him to find his own butt with both hands, a mirror, a map, and a flashlight. Come to that, I imagine the old man shares that opinion. Booth seemed to be the one officer who hadn't been picked with care. Considering the delicate touch that security work often required, it was a glaring oversight.

"Commander," Dr. Goldberg said from Peter's left.

Raeder looked inquiringly at him.

"Would you mind dropping into sick bay tomorrow before you go on duty?" he asked. "I'd like to go over your records with you and introduce you to my physical therapist."

Peter blinked. "I was told that I wouldn't need PT anymore," he protested.

"Not actively, no," the doctor assured him. "But it's best to check in periodically to make sure you're doing the exercises correctly. And yours is the latest model. I'd really appreciate an opportunity to examine it and to hear how you're progressing."

"Sure," Raeder said quickly to shut him up. Before you ask me if I'd mind disrobing. Sheesh! At the same time, Peter was annoyed with himself for not being as matter of fact about his prosthesis as the doctor was. But how can I be? he asked himself. It's my hand! And its loss was altogether too recent.

Goldberg opened his mouth to speak when the quartermaster broke in.

"You're certainly going to have a full plate for the next few days," Larkin observed. His cherubic face wore an expression that told Raeder he was well aware he was interrupting the doctor. "You'll have almost four weeks of reports to get through."

"Lieutenant Robbins has been doing a good job," the captain said quietly.

Sutton's eyes flickered over the captain to Raeder and Peter felt his heart sink.

"She's a good engineer from her file," Peter offered diplomatically.

"She is," the chief engineer agreed judiciously. "But she's not a people person."

Strictly speaking, it wasn't the chief engineer's business. He was in charge of the ship's drive systems and powerplant, not the Speeds. However . . .

The squadron leader passed that look again and Peter could practically hear him thinking: Neither was Attila the Hun a people person. 

"All in all," Commander Ju observed as she lifted her wine glass, "we have an exceptional crew. I consider myself fortunate to be serving with everyone here."

Raeder impulsively lifted his glass. "To the Invincible!" he said.

"Invincible!" they responded enthusiastically, and drank.

They dispersed shortly after dinner. There was too much work waiting before they turned in, with too few hours of sleep afterward to linger.

Peter found himself walking with Lieutenant Larkin down the echoing corridor, still smelling faintly of the solvents used in the shipyard's final cleaning.

"I'm in the cabin next to yours," Larkin said cheerfully. "Hope my snoring doesn't keep you awake."

"I doubt I'll hear it over mine," Raeder boasted. "They were thinking of using me as a sonic weapon for awhile there."

"Hah!" Larkin gave him a playful punch on the arm. "The man's full of himself!" He shook his head as Raeder chuckled. "Have you had a chance to look around yet?"

"I gave myself the opportunity to get down to the main deck," Peter said. "Got a look at my second; didn't speak to her, though."

Larkin said nothing. They walked a few steps.

"Isn't this what's known as a `speaking silence'?" Raeder asked.

Larkin nodded. "It is that."

"C'mon, give," Raeder prompted. "I'm a brother officer."

"Well . . . you've heard . . ."

"That she's not a people person, yeah." Seen it, too. Not that he would say so.

"She is, however, a Michelangelo of mechanics, an artist, a perfect poem of an engineer." Larkin looked rapturous, his hands raised like a conductor's as he almost sang Cynthia Robbins' praises. He looked at Raeder out of the corner of his eye and laughed. "Thus sayeth Augie Skinner, one of her fans."

"Well," Peter said wryly, "they're both engineers. Same song, different tempo."

"She tends to treat the rest of us like we're in the way," the lieutenant said with a sigh. "I think the only reason she's been promoted so far is because she's so technically brilliant. And she's young; she might outgrow those rough edges. But to be honest, I'm glad I won't have to deal directly with her anymore. The woman's got a tongue like a flaying knife."

"Well, I'll find out for myself tomorrow," Raeder said cheerfully. And I thought you liked everybody, he thought. I guess it's true what Gramma said. Still waters run deep, but not necessarily pure. Of course, to be fair, Lieutenant Robbins did appear to be hard to warm up to. And based on observation, she actually does have a tongue like a flaying knife. 

In any case, he ought to take advantage of Larkin's confidential mood.

"What's the deal with Booth?" he asked. "He looks like a starling at a parrot convention."

The lieutenant laughed. "He does, doesn't he? Will was an extreme last-minute replacement," Larkin said solemnly. "The original security person was Margaret Lester, a very good woman."

Raeder blinked. "You sound like she's dead."

Larkin grimaced. "No, but she'd be better off that way. She was seriously hurt in a freak airlock accident. There was considerable brain damage."

"And Booth was the best they could get on short notice."

"Mmmm. My mother used to say that the bird that flies in on the winds of expediency is seldom a swan," Larkin observed.

"Umm. John, I believe I cruised in on those very winds," Raeder said with a smile.

"She said seldom," Larkin protested, hands raised defensively, "not never. Personally, I think we lucked out this time, roomie."

Peter chuckled. "I refuse to believe the walls are that thin."

"You'll hear me turning over," Larkin promised. "Goodnight," he said as he walked on to his hatch.

" 'Night," Raeder said.

* * *

Raeder wasn't in his best mood ever as he hastened to the meeting he'd arranged between himself, Cynthia Robbins, and the CPO who'd been supporting her. The previous night he'd stayed up much later than was wise as he studied his most recent set of reports and was feeling frazzled as a result.

His meeting with the doctor had gone better than he'd anticipated. But then, he'd anticipated decking the guy. Fortunately, perhaps because Goldberg's intrusive questions weren't so out of place in sick bay, it wasn't the ordeal Raeder had expected.

He'd liked Sergeant Kedski, the physical therapist, too. She obviously knew her job. And noting Raeder's discomfort over Goldberg's drooling fascination with his prosthetic hand, she'd somehow managed to hustle the commander out of the sick bay long before the surgeon would have released him otherwise.

Still, Peter was running later than he liked and was close to a jog as he neared his ready room.

What he'd discovered with his late-night reading was that the captain had, if anything, downplayed the parts failure problem. Commander Robbins had provided ample documentation of vital components that fell well below standard, and that she considered too fallible to be used.

On the other hand, there were protests filed by the quartermaster citing Lieutenant Robbins' "obsessive perfectionism" as the problem. These parts have been inspected and passed, he'd written. Both by the manufacturer and by my people, who are all qualified technicians. Minor surface blemishes do not necessarily indicate defective equipment. They may not be beautiful, but they're passing their tests. I request that Second Lieutenant Cynthia Robbins be restrained from this gratuitous waste of our time and valuable Commonwealth equipment. 

People often come across differently in writing, but Raeder had been surprised by the tone of rancor in Larkin's letter. He seems like the kind of guy you have to push to the wall to get a protest out of. But then, Robbins didn't have a soothing reputation.

He sighed. He'd worked with one or two geniuses in his time, and they were seldom team players. Well, I'll soon be finding out what kind of animal she is, he thought.

He saw as he rounded a corner that someone was already waiting for him: a solidly built man with grizzled hair and dark brown skin. Doubtless this was Chief Petty Officer Jomo arap Moi. Twenty years in Commonwealth service, with a solid reputation and an excellent record; one commendation for some very cool-headed work during a containment-vessel breakdown on an assault transport. Raeder was glad to have him and looked forward to working with him.

There was no sign, however, of Lieutenant Robbins.

Damn, this is just what I wanted to avoid, he thought. She's going to find us talking together and it's going to look like the boys against the girls. It was inevitable. And frankly he wasn't too happy that Robbins had chosen not to be punctual.

"Chief Petty Officer arap Moi?" he asked, smiling. The CPO snapped off a salute and Raeder returned it.

"Yes, sir. Commander Raeder?"

"Yes, Chief. Has Lieutenant Robbins been delayed?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir. It's always something these days," the noncom said lugubriously.

"So I gathered from the reports I've been reading. Well," Raeder said, smiling again, "perhaps we should go and find her so we can be of some help."

"Yes, sir."

They started off for the elevator that would bring them to Main Deck, arap Moi casting an occasional glance at Raeder from the corner of his eye.

"You have something you want to say, Chief?" Raeder kept his eyes ahead as he spoke.

The chief cleared his throat and frowned. "Ah, Lieutenant Robbins is one hell of an engineer," he said, and paused as though waiting to see how his comment was taken.

"But she's not a people person," Raeder finished for him. "I've heard that."

The chief bit his lower lip to hide his smile, but his attitude brightened considerably.

"Personally, sir, I think she's got the instincts of a good officer. But the lieutenant's picked up some bad habits somewhere. If we can coax her over those rough spots, she'll turn out all right someday."

"I sure hope someday is today, Chief. Because as of now Lieutenant Robbins will have to start doing things my way." He suppressed a grin at the CPO's frown. "Tell you what," Raeder said, "you coax, I'll bully, and between us we may get where we want to go." He turned to look at arap Moi, who regarded him with calm brown eyes.

"Yes, sir. That might work," he agreed.

"Unacceptable!" The angry voice belled out in the cavernous hangar, then flattened rapidly and faded.

"Sir. I will not release a Speed that is not testing right. It is my job—"

"It's your job to fix them and then give them back, Lieutenant. Except that you seem to be having this little problem with letting the pilots use them. But that's what they're for, don't you know."

"Yes, sir. I do know. But this Speed—"

"Yes, this Speed. It's always this Speed, Lieutenant, and I'm tired of it. D'you understand me, Lieutenant?"

Looks like the Rotten Ronnie portion of Squadron Leader Sutton's personality is uppermost this morning, Raeder thought with resignation. Sutton's sangfroid had completely vanished as he virtually pushed his red face into Lieutenant Robbins' pale one the better to shout at her. Good thing I got here when I did, or we'd be having another funeral on the Invincible. For Sutton's career. I think he's on the verge of decking her. 

"Morning, Sutton," he said casually. "Lieutenant Robbins." He nodded to each of them, then glanced at the equally angry young pilot who stood at Sutton's elbow with an inquiring expression.

"Thank God, you're here!" Sutton exclaimed. "The lieutenant here," he began, placing a distinctly uncomplimentary emphasis on "lieutenant," "has apparently decided to persecute Lieutenant Givens by never letting him fly again." The squadron leader's eyes were almost bugging out as he glared at Robbins. "Four times, Commander, four times, she's pulled his Speed apart at the last minute. I'm beginning to think that all I need do to ruin an exercise is to file a flight plan!"

Raeder grinned at that. "No, I think we can do better for you than that, Ron. What do we have that's cleared to fly?" he asked Robbins.

"Two-seven-seven-six CBF, sir," Robbins answered immediately, her face sullen.

"She's all yours, Lieutenant Givens." Raeder made a general sweeping gesture, since he didn't know the exact location of two-seven-seven-six CBF.

"But it's not my Speed," Givens protested.

"Exactly!" Sutton agreed, only slightly mollified.

"Understood," Raeder assured them. "But," he gestured at the Speed's engine where it lay on the deck, "for today, it's the best we can do. At least you'll be able to fly the whole squadron. And you know . . . I was under this curious impression that these spacecraft belonged to the Commonwealth and Space Command, somehow."

The lieutenant commander sighed in mournful resignation. "Yes, I suppose." He sighed again. "But, really, Peter, can't you do something?"

"We'll do our best, Ron. Have a good flight."

"Thank you." Sutton shook his head in disgust and slapped his lieutenant on the shoulder before walking away.

Givens cast one last contemptuous glare at Cynthia Robbins and jogged off to find his Speed.

"If you're free now, Lieutenant, perhaps we could have that meeting we scheduled," Raeder suggested mildly.

Robbins glanced at the engine her people were working on. Her obvious desire to pitch in was plain on her face.

"Lieutenant," Peter prompted.

"Yes, sir. Of course."

Raeder, Robbins, and arap Moi headed off for Peter's office. Peter studied Robbins surreptitiously as they walked along.

Her dark hair was cut no-nonsense short and the habitual glower she wore did nothing for her, either. But she was, on second glance, rather pretty. She had a nice clear profile, a neat little pointed chin, and large, lustrous brown eyes that would have made up for a slew of other defects, but didn't have to.

It was immediately apparent, though, that Robbins was not a woman who projected self-confidence. Her movements were awkward, almost gawky, and though her posture was upright enough—the military had no doubt seen to that—her head drooped on her neck like a flower dying of thirst.

They didn't speak until Raeder, pulling his chair up to his desk, said, "Why don't we spend a few minutes on this kerfuffle with the squadron leader."

"We are not deliberately singling Givens out, sir," arap Moi said immediately.

"I would like to hear from the lieutenant first, Chief," Raeder said quietly.

Robbins bit her lip and her frown grew more thunderous, while her hands, which she held clasped in her lap, grew white at the knuckles.

Peter glanced at the chief, then shifted in his chair.

As though the movement had prompted her, she said, "Like the chief says, we're not picking on him. The problems are there."

"Usually," arap Moi said.

Robbins threw him a look of shocked betrayal. She paused, biting her lower lip, still not meeting Raeder's eyes, and with a shrug, continued. "One time it was a crack in a feed tube, and not really a hairline fracture, either, but a damn big one. Last time it was disequilibrium in one of the magnetic containment bottles of the fusion generator."

Peter leaned forward. "But that's not a part failure," he said quietly.

"No, sir." She shifted nervously. "The problems we've been having aren't always."

How did this woman ever get to be a lieutenant? Raeder asked himself. She might be a talented technician, but based on this interview so far, she had no business being in charge of people.

Aloud he said: "Feel free to volunteer information, Lieutenant. If I have to ask for everything we'll be here all day. And none of us has time for that. What other kinds of problems have you been having?"

"What I've mentioned, and scrambled electronics. We've had some very strange AI failures. All without warning. I realize that battle stress, heck, even just flying will cause some of these problems. But the sheer volume of them is extraordinary." For the first time she looked up at Raeder, then quickly looked away, her cheeks flaming.

"Is Givens' craft more likely than most to have problems?" he asked.

"I'd have to check my books to be sure, sir. But I'd say yes. Marginally."

"So you check him out more carefully than you might otherwise?"

She looked confused for a moment, then the frown came down again. Still she appeared to give it a moment's thought.

"Perhaps," she conceded.

"Then maybe you're being overly cautious," he suggested.

Robbins started shaking her head before he'd finished speaking. "No, sir. The problems were there. Check my reports, ask the techs, they'll confirm what I'm telling you. I did not shut down Lieutenant Givens for a whim. The problems were real." She glared across the desk at Peter, real anger blazing in her brown eyes. "I don't play games," she proclaimed.

I wonder, Raeder thought. She was coming across as exactly the kind of person who played games. Games like deliberately damaging parts and then claiming they were defective, or claiming someone's Speed needed repair and then making damn sure it did. His predecessor hadn't said much about Robbins beyond the universal observation that she was a genius at engineering and a flop with people. Of course, they'd only worked together for about a month before he died.

Would Okakura have been writing something a lot more critical about her if he'd lived? 

Something wasn't right here. Larkin claimed his parts were good; Givens said his bird could fly. Things passed through the lieutenant's hands and suddenly everything was garbage. If she's a genius at fixing, Peter thought, maybe she's a genius at breaking things, too. 

Heck, his little adventure on Africa told him how easy it was to fake damage. And how easy it is to get away with it. Of course he had a little range when it came to facial expressions and was convinced that his "choirboy" look had helped carry him through.

Angry and resentful seem to be little Cynthia's entire repertoire. No, I lie, he thought as her expression changed slightly, she could be the demo model for sullen. Raeder felt an almost irresistible urge to pin the blame on the unpleasant young woman before him. He suppressed it as unworthy and also because she had arap Moi's support. And I was prepared to respect his judgment before I ever laid eyes on him. 

"Well," he said aloud, "we've got too much to cover in this meeting to dwell on the lieutenant's misfortunes. But in the future, if his Speed is going to be down, I want another up and ready for him. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," both Robbins and the chief answered.

They bent to their work with a will, but in the back of Raeder's mind a small voice insisted that the lieutenant and the chief might well be allies.

Oh, hell, he answered it, I can't suspect everybody, or I'll never get to the bottom of this. Next thing you know the only two people I'll be able to trust are me and the captain. And of course, how could he be sure of the captain? Better stick to the evidence, he advised himself. If I only had some. 

Wait a minute! He did have some. The records of defective parts received. Of course, Larkin's records will show them to be good. Which meant that one of the quartermaster's people, or maybe one of Raeder's, or John himself, or someone, somewhere . . . or maybe everybody, everywhere was guilty. Well, that was a short trip through futility, Peter thought in disgust. Clearly I have a gift for narrowing things down. I must thank Captain Knott for giving me the opportunity to discover it. 

"Sir?" arap Moi asked uncertainly.

"Sorry, Chief, I was in a brown study." He tapped a finger against his mouth. "From what Lieutenant Larkin tells us, the parts he receives are good. But from the time they leave his hands to the time we receive them they somehow become defective. Any thoughts on that?" Raeder looked from arap Moi to Robbins.

"I thought at first," the CPO said, "that maybe they were getting rough handling from some inexperienced people. So I thought things would get better after awhile." He shook his head. "But they've gotten steadily worse. And I now know that there are no inexperienced people on this ship."

Raeder nodded. "I've noticed that, too." He allowed himself a mental sigh as he looked at Robbins, who was sitting stiffly in her chair, apparently miles away. And having a good sulk wherever she is, he thought. Well, that answers my question. She's definitely not a team player. 

"Lieutenant," he prompted. She looked up. "Do you have any thoughts on the matter that you'd like to contribute?"

She paused for a moment, apparently holding her breath. Then she took the plunge, her words coming out in a rush. "Other than observing that Lieutenant Larkin would like to blame me for the problem, no, sir. I have no idea where or when our parts are becoming defective."

"Denying that he is responsible is not the same as saying that you are, Lieutenant. But I've taken note of your point." Paranoid as it is. She'd lowered her eyes again and he studied her for a moment. She was about twenty-one standard years old, a mere baby seen from his mountain of twenty-seven years. She also seemed rather beaten. And everyone's been yelling at her and blaming her for what's going wrong. Then they yelled at her for trying to fix it. And of course, she'd never expected to be in charge of five hundred people as well as the technical side of things. So all in all, the poor kid's had a very tough row to hoe. 

Of course as an officer in the Commonwealth Space Command, she should be able to do a lot of hoeing before she got this downtrodden. Still, people joined the force for all sorts of reasons. And I doubt hers was to look for the fast track to power and glory. 

In spite of everything she was doing to prevent it, somehow Raeder found himself liking her. She seemed to be trying to live up to the position she'd found herself in. The only thing is there's this nagging thought she could have created the situation that put her in that position. 

"Well," he said, rising, "I think I should take a tour of Main Deck and start meeting the people."

Robbins and arap Moi rose also.

"Would you mind if the chief escorted—" Robbins began.

"Yes," Raeder said, cutting her off. "You're going to be my second, Lieutenant Robbins. We're going to have to learn to work together. Besides, I want a technical rundown on our facilities, and I think that you're the right person to give it to me."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, it's not going to be that bad. I just got out of school and I had really good marks."

He thought she almost smiled, and glanced at arap Moi.

The chief's eyes twinkled and he mouthed the word, "Bully." 

That's "Bully, sir," to you, Chief, Raeder thought.

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