The Sirens of Space by Jeffrey Caminsky Page B

a
half-dozen blistering and long overdue memos to subordinates, as
well as two or three letters to friends in Covington. Venting his
frustrations in a constructive fashion always made him feel better,
even if it didn’t really solve the underlying problem.
    After an hour, he buzzed his receptionist
and told the young man to order something from the officer’s mess
and schedule a staff meeting for later in the day. There was lots
to do, he told the lad, and it promised to be a long day. From the
tone of the admiral’s voice, the receptionist knew that it would be
a long day for all of them.

    Peering through the open library door,
Weatherlee saw the young midshipman sitting at a table. Charts and
textbooks were strewn everywhere, apparently at random, and the boy
looked lost in thought. Commodore Weatherlee paused before he
stepped inside, and he closed the door behind him. He knew he’d
embarrassed the young man that afternoon, backing him into a corner
and teasing him about his home planet. But the tactics seminar the
commodore had come to attend was more than a mere formality before
his elevation to admiral. He really did need a live opponent for
the simulator, to show that he’d mastered this last hurdle. And
he’d actually intended the invitation as a compliment to the
boy—who, the commodore sensed, was something of a loner. Just like
another lonely midshipmen he remembered from his own past.
    “ Preparing for our contest
tomorrow, I see,” he said cheerfully. Walking down the aisle from
the entrance, Weatherlee came to sit on the table, four feet away
from the young man who’d be his opponent on the simulator the
following day.
    The boy looked up; to Weatherlee’s
astonishment, the lad did not bolt to his feet, as any other
academy student would have done. Few would have been aware that
libraries were one of the few places on campus where most protocols
of deference did not apply; even fewer would have dared to remain
seated when a superior officer popped in, unannounced. For an
instant, Weatherlee thought he saw a flash of disdain cross the
young man’s face, but he dismissed the thought at once. Midshipmen
did not treat commodores with contempt, he sneered inwardly;
especially not commodores who were already admiral-designates. The
lad’s reply came like a blow to the commodore’s stomach.
    “ Not really,” yawned the
student, leaning back in his chair. “I’m tutoring a friend in
Advanced Navigation, and needed to unravel the textbooks they’re
using in class before I try to explain it to her.”
    “ I’d think you’d have your
mind on our upcoming simulator duel,” Weatherlee smiled. “I’m sure
your own plans aren’t quite fully developed. I could have some of
my staff help you with a few of the details if you like, since you
really haven’t had much time to get ready. But Advanced Navigation
is a senior’s elective. Aren’t you studying it
yourself?”
    “ Actually, I placed out of
Navigation entirely on the entrance exam,” the boy replied;
Weatherlee could see a smirk forming on the boy’s lips. “And I’ve
already prepared all I need to, for our little exercise
tomorrow.”
    “ You know,” the commodore
smiled, stepping closer to the young man. “I really shouldn’t have
made that crack about your home. I’m sure that Isis is a wonderful
place for a bright and handsome young man like you to—”
    “ Distractions won’t work
on this midshipman, Commodore,” the young man interrupted sharply;
Weatherlee could feel the arrogance in the boy’s voice, and saw his
pretty eyes narrow with condescension.
    “ Besides, I’ve looked over
our scenario, Commodore. I’m on defense, which means that my plan
is really quite simple: I’ll just be disrupting whatever it is
you’re planning to do, and striking wherever you leave yourself
open. So my advice to you is to worry more about your own plans
than about mine, because I’ll be doing my level best to blow yours
up, once we