Read Online The Mote in God's Eye by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle - Free Book Online
Authors: Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle
Ads: Link
good administrator but a horrible ship’s officer.
Frenzi peered around the bridge, his jaw thrust forward. “Ah. Blaine. Where’s Captain Cziller?”
“On New Chicago,” Rod said pleasantly. “I’m master of MacArthur now.” He swiveled so that Frenzi could see the four rings on each sleeve.
Frenzi’s face became more craggy. His lips drooped.
“Congratulations.” Long pause. “Sir.”
“Thanks, Romeo. Still takes getting used to myself.”
“Well, I’ll go out and tell the troops not to hurry about the fueling, shall I?” Frenzi said. He turned to go.
“What the hell do you mean, not to hurry? I’ve got a double-A-one priority. Want to see the message?”
“I’ve seen it. They relayed a copy through my station, Blaine—uh, Captain. But the message makes it clear that Admiral Cranston thinks Cziller is still in command of MacArthur . I respectfully suggest, sir, that he would not have sent this ship to intercept a possible alien if he knew that her master was—was a young officer with his first command. Sir.”
Before Blaine could answer, Sally spoke. “I’ve seen the message, Commander, and it was addressed to MacArthur , not Cziller. And it gives the ship refueling priority...”
Frenzi regarded her coldly. “ Lermontov will be quite adequate for this intercept, I think. If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must get back to my station.” He glared at Sally again. “I didn’t know they were taking females out of uniform as midshipmen.”
“I happen to be Senator Fowler’s niece and aboard this ship under Admiralty orders, Commander,” she told him sternly. “I am astonished at your lack of manners. My family is not accustomed to such treatment, and I am certain my friends at Court will be shocked to find that an Imperial officer could be so rude.”
Frenzi blushed and looked around wildly. “My apologies, my lady. No insult intended, I assure you. . . I was merely surprised we don’t very often see girls aboard warships certainly not young ladies as attractive as you I beg your pardon...” His voice trailed off, still without punctuation, as he withdrew from the bridge.
“Now why couldn’t you react like that?” Sally wondered aloud.
Rod grinned at her, then jumped from his seat. “He’ll signal Cranston that I’m in command here! We have what, about an hour for a message to get to New Scotland, another for it to get back.” Rod stabbed at the intercom controls. “ALL HANDS. THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. LIFT-OFF IN ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. LIFT-OFF IN ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. IF YOU’RE NOT ABOARD WE’LL LEAVE YOU BEHIND.”
“That’s the way,” Sally shouted as encouragement. “Let him send his messages.” While Blaine turned to hurry his crew along, she left the bridge to go hide in her cabin.
Rod made another call. “Commander Sinclair. Let me know if there’s any delay out there.” If Frenzi slowed him down, Blaine just might be able to get him shot. He’d certainly try . . . long ago he’d daydreamed of having Frenzi shot.
The reports came in. Cargill came onto the bridge with a sheaf of transfer orders and a satisfied look. MacArthur ’s boatswains, copies of the priority message in hand, had gone looking for the best men on Brigit.
New crew and old hands swarmed around the ship, yanking out damaged equipment and hurriedly thrusting in spares from Brigit’s supply depot, running checkout procedures and rushing to the next job. Other replacement parts were stored as they arrived. Later they could be used to replace Sinclair’s melted-looking jury rigs . . . if anyone could figure out how. It was difficult enough telling what was inside one of those standardized black boxes. Rod spotted a microwave heater and routed it to the wardroom; Cargill would like that.
When the fueling was nearly finished, Rod donned his pressure suit and went outside. His inspection wasn’t needed, but it helped crew morale to know that the Old Man was
Frenzi peered around the bridge, his jaw thrust forward. “Ah. Blaine. Where’s Captain Cziller?”
“On New Chicago,” Rod said pleasantly. “I’m master of MacArthur now.” He swiveled so that Frenzi could see the four rings on each sleeve.
Frenzi’s face became more craggy. His lips drooped.
“Congratulations.” Long pause. “Sir.”
“Thanks, Romeo. Still takes getting used to myself.”
“Well, I’ll go out and tell the troops not to hurry about the fueling, shall I?” Frenzi said. He turned to go.
“What the hell do you mean, not to hurry? I’ve got a double-A-one priority. Want to see the message?”
“I’ve seen it. They relayed a copy through my station, Blaine—uh, Captain. But the message makes it clear that Admiral Cranston thinks Cziller is still in command of MacArthur . I respectfully suggest, sir, that he would not have sent this ship to intercept a possible alien if he knew that her master was—was a young officer with his first command. Sir.”
Before Blaine could answer, Sally spoke. “I’ve seen the message, Commander, and it was addressed to MacArthur , not Cziller. And it gives the ship refueling priority...”
Frenzi regarded her coldly. “ Lermontov will be quite adequate for this intercept, I think. If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must get back to my station.” He glared at Sally again. “I didn’t know they were taking females out of uniform as midshipmen.”
“I happen to be Senator Fowler’s niece and aboard this ship under Admiralty orders, Commander,” she told him sternly. “I am astonished at your lack of manners. My family is not accustomed to such treatment, and I am certain my friends at Court will be shocked to find that an Imperial officer could be so rude.”
Frenzi blushed and looked around wildly. “My apologies, my lady. No insult intended, I assure you. . . I was merely surprised we don’t very often see girls aboard warships certainly not young ladies as attractive as you I beg your pardon...” His voice trailed off, still without punctuation, as he withdrew from the bridge.
“Now why couldn’t you react like that?” Sally wondered aloud.
Rod grinned at her, then jumped from his seat. “He’ll signal Cranston that I’m in command here! We have what, about an hour for a message to get to New Scotland, another for it to get back.” Rod stabbed at the intercom controls. “ALL HANDS. THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. LIFT-OFF IN ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. LIFT-OFF IN ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. IF YOU’RE NOT ABOARD WE’LL LEAVE YOU BEHIND.”
“That’s the way,” Sally shouted as encouragement. “Let him send his messages.” While Blaine turned to hurry his crew along, she left the bridge to go hide in her cabin.
Rod made another call. “Commander Sinclair. Let me know if there’s any delay out there.” If Frenzi slowed him down, Blaine just might be able to get him shot. He’d certainly try . . . long ago he’d daydreamed of having Frenzi shot.
The reports came in. Cargill came onto the bridge with a sheaf of transfer orders and a satisfied look. MacArthur ’s boatswains, copies of the priority message in hand, had gone looking for the best men on Brigit.
New crew and old hands swarmed around the ship, yanking out damaged equipment and hurriedly thrusting in spares from Brigit’s supply depot, running checkout procedures and rushing to the next job. Other replacement parts were stored as they arrived. Later they could be used to replace Sinclair’s melted-looking jury rigs . . . if anyone could figure out how. It was difficult enough telling what was inside one of those standardized black boxes. Rod spotted a microwave heater and routed it to the wardroom; Cargill would like that.
When the fueling was nearly finished, Rod donned his pressure suit and went outside. His inspection wasn’t needed, but it helped crew morale to know that the Old Man was
Similar Books
