Free Lt. Leary, Commanding by David Drake Page B

"Your new Dress Whites aren't going to be ready inside a week unless I squeeze Sadlack harder than I've done so far," he said. "Have we got a week, do you figure?"
    Hogg was shortish, plumpish, and balding, although he was only in his forties. He was neither a gentleman's valet nor the typical naval servant, an enlisted crewmen who looked after one of the officers for an additional stipend paid from the officer's purse.
    "A week?" Daniel repeated. Ordinarily it might take a week or even longer for sailing orders to make their labyrinthine way through the Navy Office, but the brusque certainty of Daniel's own appointment suggested there was nothing ordinary about this business. "Not a chance, Hogg. I've just told Mon to have the Sissie ready for liftoff in six hours if possible. It'll take two days to gather a crew, but that's the only delay I expect. I suppose I'll have to make do with my grays."
    Hogg had watched over Daniel while he was growing up on Bantry. Nurses and tutors had come and gone. Mother was a gentle presence in the background, and Corder Leary made flying visits from the city to dispense commands, punishment, and occasional praise before returning to the things he found important.
    Hogg was always there, teaching what he knew: about wildlife and women and cards, about how to hold your liquor and when to hold your tongue; about loyalty and courage and the history of the Learys of Bantry. As much as anyone can teach another, Hogg had taught Daniel how to be a man.
    "Naw, I'll just lean on the snooty bastard a little harder," Hogg said, sounding more pleased than not. He was a countryman who'd learned city ways well enough to profit by them—in Hell, Hogg would probably win all the pitchforks with the three-card trick—but who would never lose his distaste for tradesmen with polished accents. "You'll not be going out on your first permanent command without a dress uniform, Master Daniel."
    Daniel wondered exactly what "lean harder" meant in this context. He decided he didn't want to know. He needed Dress Whites to replace the set he'd lost on Kostroma—and he too had found Sadlack, Gentleman's Outfitter, to be a snooty bastard. If the fellow was going to tailor 1st Class uniforms for officers of the RCN, then he could damned well work the way naval officers did: all the hours the clock had, until the task was accomplished.
    Hogg went back to his own room whistling cheerfully. Daniel lifted the handset again and jumped down the address rota to Adele's personal number. He pressed SEND and waited, looking out the window at the greenery.
    Daniel had a naval command helmet on which he could make calls more easily than with the civilian instrument which was now less familiar to him. He didn't because of the view out the window: it would be disconcerting to use the helmet but see verdure instead of a gray-surfaced bulkhead in front of him.
    Hogg returned, checking the action of a folding skinning knife. He dropped it into his side pocket.
    Daniel's call brought no response until it cycled automatically to Adele's apartment phone. There was a click of connection but the screen stayed blank. Naval phones didn't waste bandwidth on visuals; Mon had been only a voice when Daniel spoke to him a moment before. In the case of Adele, or rather her servant, the emptiness was a matter of choice.
    "Yes?" said Tovera, her voice as flat as a machine's. It wasn't a receptionist's greeting, but Daniel wasn't the one to complain. Hogg was as apt as not to say, "And who's this that's calling, then?" when he answered the phone.
    "Tovera, please let your mistress know that we'll be getting sailing orders very shortly," Daniel said. "That is, the Princess Cecile will shortly be sailing under my command. Also I'd like her help in putting together a crew. She'll be able to get me real discipline records on spacers I don't know personally, the information I won't learn from their present captains."
    "Ms. Mundy is out, Lieutenant," Tovera