No Honor in Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

Siobhan repeated, eyes narrowing.  If it was standing procedure, she had no cause to tear into him until she established her own ways.  But if you don't get rid of your world-weary act soon, you'll find out what my ways are.
    "Open the ship's log, Lieutenant."
    "Sir." Devall nodded, his face losing all traces of his earlier disdain as he correctly read the Captain's mood.  He walked over to the First Officer's station and touched the keypad.  "Ready, sir."
    Siobhan joined him, inhaling a brief whiff of expensive after-shave.  She pulled a small data wafer out of her pocket and shoved it into the reader.  Then, she placed her hand on the screen.
    "Computer, I am Commander Siobhan Alaina Dunmoore, NO199235."
    "Acknowledged," the computer's impersonal voice replied.  At least this one sounded female.  On the Victoria Regina the computer had always sounded like a muscle-bound bruiser.  Some misguided soul had programmed it to flirt with her a few weeks after she took over as First Officer, thinking it would be a splendid joke.  A month of back-to-back watches had cured that particular sense of humour.
    "I hereby take command of the frigate Stingray ."
    "It has been so logged."
    "Mister Devall," she turned to the Lieutenant, "you will not post my taking command for another hour, nor will you advise anybody that I'm aboard."
    "Aye, aye, sir," he replied, sudden amusement dancing in his pale eyes.  He was quick on the uptake, usually a good trait in a Gunnery Officer.  "Do you need someone to guide you around the ship?"
    "No, Lieutenant.  I'm quite familiar with Type 203 frigates."
    "Anything else then, sir?"  The hint of disdain returned.
    "No." Face set in a hard mask, Siobhan Dunmoore left the bridge.  When she was gone, Devall shook his head and whistled softly.  A lot of people were going to be in for one hell of a shock.  Especially the First Officer.  He sat down in the command chair again, this time without loosening his tunic, and smiled.  Dunmoore looked like someone who ran a tight ship.  Good thing he hadn't taken Kowalski up on her bet.
     
    The hatch to the wardroom automatically opened at her approach, exposing a sight that added fuel to Dunmoore's anger.  Used plates, utensils and cups littered the tables, the coffee urn was cold and empty, its traditional shine dulled by a lack of care.  Like the ship itself.  But what really made Siobhan's blood boil was the sight of three officers sprawled around a littered table, their uniforms unbuttoned and rumpled.  The three, clearly worse for wear, were playing cards for money, in contravention of regulations.
    It took them a few moments to realize their privacy had been invaded, and the older of the three, a woman, quickly got up and started buttoning her tunic.  The two younger men were up and getting dressed seconds later, their movements as unsteady as the focus of their bloodshot eyes.
    Not trusting herself to speak Siobhan Dunmoore simply glared at the trio while they arranged their uniforms.  When they finally came to attention, eyes staring straight ahead, the Captain of the Stingray took a deep breath and turned her blazing anger on senior of the group.  She was a hard-faced Lieutenant of average height who appeared to be several years older than Siobhan.  Her short dark hair was shot with grey, and lines marked the corners of her green eyes.  Her bloodless lips were tightly pressed against each other.  Siobhan read no shame or resentment in her face.  She read nothing at all.
    "You are?" Dunmoore asked her.
    "Luttrell, ship's surgeon," she replied in a surprisingly deep alto, "Sir".  For some reason, Siobhan got the impression that Luttrell dearly wanted to continue her sentence by asking, "and you?"  She could almost see the surgeon bite her tongue.  Turning towards the younger man, an Ensign who looked like he was fresh out of the Academy, almost young enough to be Luttrell's son, Siobhan asked, "You?"
    "Ensign Sanghvi, sir,