Free The War Machine: Crisis of Empire III by Roger MacBride Allen, David Drake

clowns were running this ship for six standard months. Who knows how much damage they might have done?”
    “Granted, but everything we’ve found so far has been quite minor.”
    “So far. Kerad tore out one bulkhead in my stateroom and moved it back a meter, God knows why. Then she decided she liked it better where it was and put it back. One of the members of the work crew that did the job reported it to Chief Engineer Wellingham, and his hair practically turned white on the spot. If the Duncan had fired her engines while that bulkhead was out of position, at the very least the captain’s cabin would have collapsed. No great loss if Kerad was in it—but nowadays it’s me there. What else have they done without logging it? And most of these modifications have taken place in officer’s country. What did they do in the cabin next to yours that we don’t know about? Is there a pressurized standpipe they banged into? An electrical cable they tapped into and then didn’t reinsulate properly?
    “You’re right, it’s a close call as to whether or not we should do the work ourselves in orbit—but it seems to me the risks of landing the ship are known, and therefore controllable—whereas—”
    “Whereas continuing to fly the ship when it’s full of random potential faults is possibly more dangerous, and an open-ended danger. Very well, I see your point.” Tallen nodded, seemingly satisfied.
    “Good, but that’s practically a side issue,” Spencer said. “What about your taking the Banquo?”
    Tallen leaned back in his chair and thought for a long moment. He wanted to command, desperately. All his life he had dreamed of having his own ship. Even if it had to be a destroyer, and not a cruiser. But was he capable of it? Spencer was right, he did tend to underestimate himself—but suppose this time he was as unworthy as he felt? Goddammit, there was no way to know unless he took the chance—and took the lives of the Banquo’s three hundred crew into his hands. “Very well,” Tallen said at last. “I can’t refuse a direct order. But could we possibly make it on a trial basis? Maybe for ninety days? Make it a brevet promotion. Let me write out a letter of resignation right now, and date it for then. At the end of the ninety days, you can accept or reject my resignation as you see fit.”
    Spencer smiled, pulled open a desk drawer, removed paper and pen, and shoved them across the desk. “Fair enough. Write it up the old-fashioned way, in long-hand. That way it will stay off all the computer systems until the ninety days are up and you come back in here to watch me tear it up.”
    Tallen took up the pen, scribbled a few lines on it, dated it, signed it, and stamped his thumb down on the ID corner, leaving behind his thumbprint as proof he had written the document. Swallowing hard, he shoved the piece of paper back to Spencer.
    “Thank you,” Spencer said, smiling. He pulled a flat box out of the same drawer, stood, and stepped around the desk drawer. “Please rise,” he said. Tallen got to his feet and stood at rigid attention as Spencer opened the box, removed the commander’s insignia, and pinned them to Tallen’ uniform. He removed the Lieutenant Commander’s insignia and pocketed them. “I’ll just hang on to these myself, in case you suddenly decide to resign the brevet promotion too,” Spencer said. “You’ll have to come to me for the tabs, and I can talk you out of it.” He drew himself up to full attention and saluted Tallen. “Congratulations—Commander. In ninety days we’ll have a proper promotion ceremony—but right now the Banquo is waiting for her new master.”
    Tallen looked startled. “Sir?”
    “My AID heard me issue a direct order,” he said, grinning. “And my guess is my AID is smart enough to act on that order. AID, have you done so?”
    “The crew of the Banquo have been notified, a work crew is packing Commander Deyi’s belongings, and a gig is being fueled and