Joel had permitted the enthusiastic ensign to recruit him; it seemed like the simplest way to manage the insertion given the complications. Ensign Weilis had even picked up the ticket from Tenerie to Newfell. So after arriving at Newfell Base, the ensign led him to the recruiting station and then took off to report for duty.
Joel shook his head at that, wondering at many levels about the ensign's naiveté. They had stopped overnight south of Washan, staying at one of the coaching inns; the price of the cramped room was included in the fare. So it had been midmorning by the time they arrived. Technically, the ensign did not have to report until just before midnight the day of his arrival. If he reported now, he'd either sit around in an office all day or be assigned busywork until somebody figured out what to do with him tomorrow.
The other level of concern about Weilis' naiveté was Joel's conviction that whoever was running counterintel couldn't find their ass with both hands. The ensign had gladly told him all of his duties in Balmoran and some of what he thought he would be doing in Newfell. In fact, the kid was such a chatterbox, Joel now knew half the story of his life. He either had his cover down pat, or he was an idiot. No, the kid wasn't an idiot, he'd been trained by idiots. And that was worse.
Joel shook his head again and opened up the door to the recruiting office. There was a desk in the room with two comfortable chairs placed in front of it. Behind the desk was a stern-faced older guy in a uniform just about covered in medals. His face broke into a friendly grin when Joel came through the door.
"Hello there, son," the NCO boomed, coming to his feet and walking around the desk. "Glad to see you, I'm Chief Rishell, but you can call me Chief."
"Hi, Chief," Joel said. When the chief limpingly cleared the desk it became apparent why he was behind it; his right leg was gone from the knee down. "Got bad news for you, I think this must be the recruiting office, right?"
"That's right, son," the chief said, pumping his hand. "It's a man's life in the Navy, but we only take the best. Good strong hands there—you working as a plow-hand before?"
"No, Chief," Joel said. "The point is, that nice young lieutenant directed me here. I'm looking for receiving."
"You already got recruited?" the chief replied, dropping Joel's hand.
"Yeah, I used to work fishing boats, before and after the Fall," Joel replied with a grin. "They said something about making me a petty officer."
The chief looked at him with a blank expression for a moment, then pointed to his left.
"Receiving's three buildings down."
"Gotcha, Chief," Joel said, trying not to grin.
"You on orders?" the chief asked, looking at his shabby traveling clothes.
"Verbal is what they told me," Joel replied with a shrug. "Basically they swore me in and put me on a stage coach for Newfell."
"Hmmm . . ." The chief peered at him for a second and then went back behind his desk. "Siddown, son."
Joel did so, cocking his head to the side.
"The thing is, you're not required to report until just before midnight," the chief said with a slight frown. "If you go over there this time of day, they won't have any way to use you. They might tell you to take off and take care of personal business. But they'll probably put you on some temporary detail nobody wants to do, like raking grass or shoveling shit. Now, everybody has to do those sometimes, anyway. But there's no damned reason to put yourself in the way of them, if you know what I mean."
"I appreciate that," Joel said. "But I don't know what there is to do."
"If you've got any cash, I'd suggest going over to the Post Exchange. They've got a snack bar and there's even books you can buy now in the PX. Maybe take a walk around the base, but if you're out of uniform people are going to ask you questions and if you run into some officious young prick he's gonna tell you to report in right away. Go get a book and some lunch and find an out-of-the way spot to hide. I'm only letting you in on this, you realize, 'cause you're a fellow sailor."
"Thanks, Chief," Joel said, rising. "Can I ask you what happened to the leg?"
The chief looked at him intensely for a moment, then shrugged.
"Got a line caught around it in a gale off Cape Far," the chief said. "Just remember, the sea, she's a mother."
"Been there, done that, Chief," the spy replied. "Take care."
"Sure," the chief replied as he walked out the door. "You too."
Joel found the PX and, sure enough, there were some books. He had no idea of authors or titles so he simply picked the one with the most lurid cover. It was as bad as he'd expected. It was the "true" story of Raven's Mill's defense against one of New Destiny's proxies in the first year after the Fall. It centered, to an almost mind-numbing degree, on the training of the Blood Lords. On the other hand, if there was any accuracy, he needed to talk to their trainers. They already had a functional nucleus of professional training going and if the spy school he had in mind ever got off the ground, some training along the same lines would be useful.
The book, however, was another story. No way was he letting the writer anywhere near anything that he did. The guy introduced characters for no particular reason and then killed them off, just when he was getting to like them. Sure, it was a real story and the people really died, but give it a rest. He also had clunky prose and a really strange sense of humor. This guy was never going to win any awards.
On the other hand, it was a page turner and the snack bar guy had to throw him out when they closed. He tucked the book away, unsure whether to burn it or finish it later, and headed over to receiving, still chuckling. He hoped that this idiot never got ahold of his life story. He'd probably kill him off, just when everybody was getting to like him.
* * *
Herzer and Jerry followed Rachel back towards the headquarters and Herzer took the opportunity to have a closer look at the shipbuilding. There were more than a dozen ships under construction, ranging from a small boat that probably was meant to be used in the bay all the way up to a massive vessel, fully sixty meters long. The latter only had its frames up, but it was clearly designed to be fast and powerful. He had no clue what it was going to look like when completed but it had the look of a warship.
Behind the warehouses there was another row of buildings on slightly higher ground. Most of the structures were extremely rough, obviously made in the first rush of building after the Fall. Some of them were already being torn down for materials; the large tree sections that had been used to construct the early cabins could be sawn into wood to make three buildings out of one. One of them, however, was having additional construction added on and it was to that one that Rachel led them.
"This is the base headquarters," Rachel told them as they approached through streams of workmen and sailors in blue trousers and off-white shirts. "It's also Fleet headquarters for the time being. They're a bit bunched up."
"I can imagine," Herzer said, chuckling. They were having much the same problem in Raven's Mill with the Academy and the Overjay local defense headquarters occupying the same suite of buildings. "What gets me is how many people there are here; it must be two or three times the number in Raven's Mill. And that's more than there were in Harzburg. Most of them are prime soldier material and we're dying for soldiers!"
"From what I picked up in the headquarters they've been filtering in from the north and south ever since the Fall," Rachel said as they approached the entrance. The two guards in blue uniforms saluted Herzer as they passed and he gave them a wave in return. "There's a lot of emphasis being put on getting a fleet built."
"Well, I'd rather fight Paul's forces at sea than on land," Herzer admitted. "So I won't begrudge it."
She led them through the building to an office in the rear that was part of a recent addition; the air was still thick with the smell of sawdust and the stud-covered walls were weeping sap.
The party from Raven's Mill was grouped around a desk, behind which sat a short-coupled man with a heavy tan and a shock of iron gray hair that had been cut short on top and to stubble on the sides. He had cold blue eyes that searched the newcomers unhappily.
"Lieutenant Herzer Herrick, Jerry Riadou, this is Skipper Shar Chang. His rank is colonel in the Free States forces. He's the skipper of the Bonhomme Richard, which is going to be conveying us to the islands. Skipper, Jerry is the senior dragon-rider and Herzer is one of my officers who is acting as my aide in this mission."
"Sir," Herzer said, snapping to attention and rendering a salute.
"General Talbot outranks me, Lieutenant," the colonel said, dryly. "One of the many wonderful aspects of this mission."
"You're in charge of the ship, Skipper," Talbot said, calmly. "We're just along for the ride."
"The dragons aren't," Chang replied. "Let me explain to you all the problems we've got to deal with. The Richard is a brand-new ship, a dragon-carrier and the first one to be launched. It's specifically designed to support dragons. The first problem is that we've had to design it in theory, since these are the first wyvern we've had on the base. She's designed to carry thirty-six wyvern and their riders or four great dragons and a support team at sea for one hundred days. The five wyverns and one great dragon are going to rattle around in her like peas in a pod but that's the good news. We've just completed builder's trials. There are problems left to fix. She hasn't had a shakedown cruise. Her rigging needs adjustment. Dragon support is going to need adjustment. And in the midst of all of this we're tasked with this high-priority mission. You begin to see why I'm so enthusiastic."
"I can understand that, sir," Jerry interjected. "We were informed that the mission had both aspects in mind, working out doctrine and supporting the diplomatic mission. We'll do it, sir. We have to."
"Agreed. What's your rank, son?" the skipper asked.
"Well . . ." Jerry temporized. "We don't actually have ranks as such. I'm just the most senior guy. In most cases, I defer to Joanna when she's around."
"Grand," Chang sighed. "So you're not officially members of the UFS forces?"
"We are, sir," Jerry replied, cautiously. "At least, that's how we get paid. But the subject of ranks has never been raised. We just go where Sheida tells us and do what we can. We've done combat missions, sir. It's not been a problem."
"And what happens if one of your riders decides they don't like the mission?" Chang asked.
"It's . . . never come up, sir," Jerry admitted.
"I'm going to send a long memo to Atlantis Command," Chang said. "That's for sure. Until further notice, Mr. Riadou, your new rank is warrant officer first class. I don't know what you've been being paid but that's also your pay-grade, starting now. If it's more than you've been being paid, you just got a raise. If it's less, we'll figure something out. Flight pay, maybe. Choose one of your riders as your senior noncommissioned officer. The rest will be given the rank of sergeant. Do you have any questions?"
"No, sir," Jerry replied.
"You should. You're now under military law and discipline. That's a far cry from being a civilian. I can have your riders flogged or hanged for failure to obey an order. So can General Talbot. For that matter, you'll have to obey orders from Lieutenant Herrick, here, since he's a commissioned officer and outranks you. I'll have a copy of the regulations sent to your barracks."
"What about Joanna?" Talbot asked.
"She'll get a rank of commander," Chang said after a moment. "She'll be equal in rank to my XO but outrank everyone else on the ship except you or me. In general, she'll have full control of the dragons and their riders. She'll also be responsible for their actions. Will that be a problem?"
"Unlikely," Edmund replied. "But she's got a very specific pay structure. It's in my orders."
"Understood," Chang said. "Now, to the mission. As Mr. Riadou noted, we've got a dual priority, getting the dragons trained in and handling the diplomatic mission. Comments?"
"Getting to the islands is the highest priority," Edmund replied. "Dragon training cannot interfere with that to any great extent."
Chang sighed and shook his head. "More or less the point that I'd come to. Well, we'll just have to handle it." There was a knock at the door and it opened almost immediately to reveal a brown-haired young man with a distant expression. He stopped, startled, at the group in the crowded room and looked at the commander behind the desk.
"Sorry, I'll come back," he muttered, starting to leave the room.
"You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago," Chang sighed. "Come in, Evan. Evan is . . ." He paused and looked Duke Talbot with a puzzled expression. "We're not sure exactly what to call Evan. Generally we just refer to him as a ship's designer, but he's more like an efficiency expert."
"I like to think of myself as a systems designer," Evan said with a smile that relieved his puzzled countenance. "About that, there's a change I want to make to the feeding system on the Richard . . ."
"Evan, we have to have the things in place long enough to write doctrine, you know," Chang replied. He had an amused expression on his face as if this were a long-running complaint.
"I know, Shar, but I think I can cut one crewmember . . ."
"Tell it to me later, Evan, there's something more important at the moment." Chang turned to Jerry with a gesture. "This is Warrant Officer Riadou. He's the senior dragon-rider of the first dragon-flight we've received. You should get him dialed in on the facilities on the Richard as soon as possible. Jerry Riadou, Evan Mayerle."
"Okay," Evan said, holding out his hand. "Does that mean we actually have wyverns to work with?"
"And a greater dragon," Chang said with a nod. "You hadn't heard?"
"Uh, no," Evan replied. "We'll have to break down the stalls on the hangar deck and—"
"Take it up with the XO," Chang said, cutting him off. "We're sailing on the morning tide. I'll be out in no more than an hour. Pass that on to the XO, will you Mr. Riadou?"
"Will do, sir," Jerry said. "Should I move my people out to the ship?"
"There's no way I can think of to get the dragons to the ship without them flying out, so the first thing we're going to have to do in the morning is fly them on. What do you think?"
"I'll go out to the ship, make sure that everything is arranged and that I'm familiar with the system and then come back on shore?"
"That's right," the skipper replied with a chuckle. "I want to see you this evening so stay on the ship until I arrive."
"Yes, sir," Jerry said.
"This is the Navy, Warrant Officer," the skipper replied with a smile. "When you get an order you say 'aye, aye, sir.' "
"Aye, aye, sir," Jerry replied. "Should I go now?"
"And the term is 'by your leave' or 'by your permission.' " Chang sighed. "Yes, go. You too, Evan. I'll see you both on board."
When the two had left Chang shook his head and looked at Duke Talbot.
"Is it just me, or is everyone having to make this up as they go along?"
"Everyone is." Talbot chuckled with the rest. "Daneh is having to half-train doctors, Herzer constantly has to make soldiers out of straw and mud. Everyone is."
"Do you have any idea how complex a large ship is?" Chang asked. "Just gathering the necessary materials for it to go to sea is mind-boggling. Enough food and water for a hundred days, for thirty-six dragons? Not to mention the two hundred and twenty-five crew members, twenty officers and warrant officers, dragon-riders, passengers. On that subject, water is at a premium on-board. There is a ration of one gallon a day per person and it is not adjustable. There are saltwater showers and you can have thirty seconds of secondary water for washing the salt off. Don't drink it; it's not potable. We have a low-power steam engine for powered support and it produces the shower water, but there's only so much. The cabins are small and tight; there's no room for much gear. And the food ranges in quality from poor to very bad."
"So much for a pleasure cruise to the islands," Rachel said with a laugh. "It's better than things were right after the Fall, Skipper."
"That it is," Chang said with a nod. "Speaking of gear, this was ported over. Or formed here, I'm not sure which."
He reached behind his desk and pulled out a gray plastic box, setting it on his desk. It was apparently seamless.
"I can't open it," he added in a less than amused tone. "I have no idea what it contains."
Talbot placed his hand on the top of the box and it opened down an invisible seam on the top. Inside were four transparent bags, some mixed items on the bottom and a sealed envelope. Talbot pulled out the envelope and broke the seal, then shrugged at the contents.
"More instructions from Sheida," he said, folding it and putting it back in the envelope. Chang was visibly annoyed that he was not made privy to the communication but Talbot ignored him. "Breath-masks for working underwater and suggested trade materials," he added, closing the box. "Could you have this sent out to the ship, Skipper?"
"Of course, General," the officer replied. "Will there be anything else?"
"No, I don't think so," Talbot said. "It would probably make sense for us to go out to the ship as soon as possible."
"I'll make arrangements," Chang replied, gesturing at the box. "That way your luggage can come with you."
"Thank you," Edmund said with a broad grin. "Now?"
"Horace!"