Free Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) by Christopher Nuttall Page B

welcomed the idea of a private chat with the first middy about as much as George herself.  “I’ll remain here.”
     
    She watched Fraser and Nathan leave the room, then opened her holdall and emptied it out onto the bunk.  Her two spare uniforms were easy enough to hang up in the locker, but it was harder to sort out her underwear and the handful of personal effects she’d brought with her until she realised she was meant to just leave them on the bottom.  It didn't strike her as being very efficient, but naval uniforms were designed to be durable as well as uncomfortable.  She slotted a photograph of her parents and sister into the locker door, then reached for the chocolate on the bunk, just as the hatch reopened.
     
    “Ah, chocolate,” Fraser said.  “Put it in the general stash.”
     
    George stared at him.  “I bought it ...”
     
    “And now it’s in the general stash,” Fraser said.  He inspected her locker, his eyes darkening at something .  “Anything sent to us from Earth goes into the general stash.  We’ll share it out later today.”
     
    He smiled at her shocked expression.  “Come with me,” he ordered.  “We’ll give Bosworth his chance to open his bag and hide his stash.”
     
    “Yes, sir,” George said.  There was no point in arguing, she suspected.  “Where are we going?”
     
    Fraser led her through the hatch, down the corridor and into a small compartment.  A table, chair and terminal sat, perched against the far corner; the remainder of the room was barren, completely bare.  There weren’t even any pictures on the bulkheads.  The hatch hissed closed behind them; Fraser caught her, spun her around and pushed her against the bulkhead.  She tensed, unsure if she should try to fight or not, as he glowered down at her.  Up close, all alone, he was far more intimidating.  She would have thought that was impossible.
     
    “I want you to understand something,” he growled.  “Your family name means nothing on this ship.  I don’t give a damn if you’re the heir to the Barony of Cockatrice or the next in line to inherit Buckingham Palace.  Your name means nothing here.  Do you understand me?”
     
    “Yes, sir,” George stammered.
     
    “I am the first middy,” Fraser said.  He loomed over her, far too close for comfort.  “That means you do as I say, whatever it is.  I am god , as far as you are concerned.  I don’t give a shit if you like me or not.  My job is ensuring you fit into the crew before you make a typical maggot mistake and get someone killed.  Do you understand me?”
     
    “Yes, sir,” George managed.
     
    “You are young, absurdly young,” Fraser added.  “Your family probably saw to it that you entered the academy early, even though the recruiters prefer prospective cadets to complete their basic schooling and enter the academy at eighteen.  Don’t expect any respect from me, or any of the other midshipmen, until you earn it.  Do you understand me?”
     
    George merely nodded, fighting to keep her legs from trembling.  Her uncle had never told her about this , never implied that she would be intimidated by the first middy.  And yet, some of the stories she’d read from the wet-navy era had been far worse.  Midshipmen could be whipped to a bloody pulp by their superiors, if their superiors were having a bad day.
     
    “If I catch you being derelict in your duties, or using your family name as a weapon, I will administer punishment duty,” Fraser said.  “Space is unforgiving, Fitzwilliam ; this isn't Rustbucket , where the worst that can happen is you getting roundly mocked by your peers or kicked out for gross stupidity.  A mistake here ... well, you’ll be lucky if all that happens is you meet the wrong end of my fists.”
     
    He stepped backwards.  “Did you manage to unpack everything before I collected you?”
     
    “Yes, sir,” George said.  It was hard, so hard, to keep her voice level, but she