quick, unhappy laugh. “All right, Commander. I have a few minutes before I have to be at the Tubes.”
“Sir, even if the werewolf doesn't directly damage anything in there—which would be extraordinary luck—then her enchantment aura is screwing with the thaumaturgical balance in ways I can't understand or repair. Soon she'll knock out the ftl capacity, just by being there.”
“Sounds like I should have told Dobbler ten minutes, instead of fifteen.”
“Sir. All due respect, your place is not the Tubes, it's the bridge. My place is the Tubes, repairing that damage. Except it's too dangerous, for me and my team.”
“Well. It's a dangerous job sometimes.”
“Sir, I know you love Lieutenant Summers. And I'll mourn her, too. But we've got to blow the Tubes.”
“Blaine, we can end this discussion now. This ship does not leave crew members behind, and it does not kill its crew members either, not even for the greater good. Unless you're prepared to mutiny over it?”
She surprised herself, with the length of her pause. Finally, she said, “Sir, I'm trying to stop you from creating a situation where others might make that choice.”
Farraday blinked a few times, but otherwise his face betrayed nothing. “We all do what we have to, Commander Blaine.”
“Sir, you are my captain that I've sworn to obey. Sworn by the Fleet, which means more to me than anything. With all due respect, and within the privacy of this room, your endangerment of this ship and its mission, for personal reasons, risks making you unworthy of that oath.”
Farraday's face grew even stiller. Only an incipient curl to his lip, and a mysterious vibrating charge in the air between them, gave evidence how angry he was. “Is that your place to say, Commander?”
“It shouldn't be, sir. But there's no more Fleet Command to take grievances and concerns to. So I think we need to all be careful what we do, because the whole crew is working without a net, ethically speaking.”
“Well, we've all managed to rebel once, so you know you're capable if you decide that's what you must do. Shooting Summers out the airlock is the Provisional's standing order, after all, so I guess you can choose between obeying a government you don't approve of or a captain you don't like.” At last he began to move past her to the door, saying as he went, “Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll be killed in the Tubes, and then you can be captain....”
“Don't you say that to me, sir,” she snarled. The material of his uniform sleeve was bunched in her fist. “Don't you say that to me.”
He stared at her. She stared down at her own hand like it was a foreign object, shocked. She dropped it, hung her head, and stepped back. “I apologize, sir,” she murmured. “That's the kind of behavior I'd recommend a court-martial for.”
For another moment Farraday only stared at her from behind the cold, inscrutable mask of his face. Then its features thawed; he dropped his eyes, and when he brought them back up again to hers she could see how weary they were. “Val,” he said. “I understand that you're trying to do what's best for the crew. So am I. For all of them, each individual—including Jennifer Summers.”
“Sir. Again, with all due respect. It's hard to believe that you'd react this way if it were any other member of the crew, sir.”
“That's where you're wrong, Val. Dead wrong. Hopefully we'll never have a chance for me to prove it to you, so for now you'll have to just trust me.” He raised his wrist to check his chronometer, grimaced, sighed, looked back at her. “Listen. How long do you and your tech-mage think we have, before Summers's bio-thaumaturgy critically distorts the normal thaumaturgical waves in the Tubes?”
“It could happen at any moment, sir....”
“Right, and Earth's sun could blow up at any moment, but we think it'll be a few billion years. How long do you think we have, Commander?”
Honestly, she thought they'd be pretty
“Sir, even if the werewolf doesn't directly damage anything in there—which would be extraordinary luck—then her enchantment aura is screwing with the thaumaturgical balance in ways I can't understand or repair. Soon she'll knock out the ftl capacity, just by being there.”
“Sounds like I should have told Dobbler ten minutes, instead of fifteen.”
“Sir. All due respect, your place is not the Tubes, it's the bridge. My place is the Tubes, repairing that damage. Except it's too dangerous, for me and my team.”
“Well. It's a dangerous job sometimes.”
“Sir, I know you love Lieutenant Summers. And I'll mourn her, too. But we've got to blow the Tubes.”
“Blaine, we can end this discussion now. This ship does not leave crew members behind, and it does not kill its crew members either, not even for the greater good. Unless you're prepared to mutiny over it?”
She surprised herself, with the length of her pause. Finally, she said, “Sir, I'm trying to stop you from creating a situation where others might make that choice.”
Farraday blinked a few times, but otherwise his face betrayed nothing. “We all do what we have to, Commander Blaine.”
“Sir, you are my captain that I've sworn to obey. Sworn by the Fleet, which means more to me than anything. With all due respect, and within the privacy of this room, your endangerment of this ship and its mission, for personal reasons, risks making you unworthy of that oath.”
Farraday's face grew even stiller. Only an incipient curl to his lip, and a mysterious vibrating charge in the air between them, gave evidence how angry he was. “Is that your place to say, Commander?”
“It shouldn't be, sir. But there's no more Fleet Command to take grievances and concerns to. So I think we need to all be careful what we do, because the whole crew is working without a net, ethically speaking.”
“Well, we've all managed to rebel once, so you know you're capable if you decide that's what you must do. Shooting Summers out the airlock is the Provisional's standing order, after all, so I guess you can choose between obeying a government you don't approve of or a captain you don't like.” At last he began to move past her to the door, saying as he went, “Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll be killed in the Tubes, and then you can be captain....”
“Don't you say that to me, sir,” she snarled. The material of his uniform sleeve was bunched in her fist. “Don't you say that to me.”
He stared at her. She stared down at her own hand like it was a foreign object, shocked. She dropped it, hung her head, and stepped back. “I apologize, sir,” she murmured. “That's the kind of behavior I'd recommend a court-martial for.”
For another moment Farraday only stared at her from behind the cold, inscrutable mask of his face. Then its features thawed; he dropped his eyes, and when he brought them back up again to hers she could see how weary they were. “Val,” he said. “I understand that you're trying to do what's best for the crew. So am I. For all of them, each individual—including Jennifer Summers.”
“Sir. Again, with all due respect. It's hard to believe that you'd react this way if it were any other member of the crew, sir.”
“That's where you're wrong, Val. Dead wrong. Hopefully we'll never have a chance for me to prove it to you, so for now you'll have to just trust me.” He raised his wrist to check his chronometer, grimaced, sighed, looked back at her. “Listen. How long do you and your tech-mage think we have, before Summers's bio-thaumaturgy critically distorts the normal thaumaturgical waves in the Tubes?”
“It could happen at any moment, sir....”
“Right, and Earth's sun could blow up at any moment, but we think it'll be a few billion years. How long do you think we have, Commander?”
Honestly, she thought they'd be pretty
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