“I think you might say that, Sir.”

“Good,” Bachfisch grunted, but then he waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “But once you’ve made that clear to him—and once you’re sure that you have—that’s the end of it.” He pretended not to notice the very slight relaxation of Layson’s shoulders. “He shouldn’t have let it happen, but you’re right; he did exactly what his superior officer ordered him to do. Which is the problem. When a noncom of Del Conte’s seniority deliberately lets his officer shoot his own foot off that spectacularly, that officer’s usefulness is exactly nil. And it’s also the most damning condemnation possible. Even if I weren’t afraid that something like this might happen again, I don’t want any King’s officer who can drive his own personnel to a reaction like that in my ship or anywhere near her.”

“I don’t blame you, Sir. And I don’t want him in War Maiden, either. But we’re stuck with him.”

“Oh, no, we’re not,” Bachfisch said grimly. “We still haven’t sent Gryphon’s Pride home. I believe that Lieutenant Santino has just earned himself a berth as her prize master.”

Layson’s eyes widened, and he started to open his mouth, then stopped. There were two reasons for a captain to assign one of his officers to command a prize ship. One was to reward that officer by giving him a shot at the sort of independent command which might bring him to the notice of the Lords of Admiralty. The other was for the captain to rid himself of someone whose competence he distrusted. Layson doubted that anyone could possibly fail to understand which reason was operating in this case, and he certainly couldn’t fault Bachfisch’s obvious determination to rid himself of Santino. But as War Maiden’s executive officer, the possibility presented him with a definite problem.

“Excuse me, Sir,” the exec said after a moment, “but however weak he may be as a tac officer, he’s the only assistant Janice has. If we send him away…”

He let his voice trail off, and Bachfisch nodded. Ideally, War Maiden should have carried two assistant tactical officers. Under normal circumstances, Hirake would have had both Santino and a junior-grade lieutenant or an ensign to back him up. The chronic shorthandedness of the expanding Manticoran Navy had caught the captain’s ship short this time, and he drummed his fingers on his desktop while he considered his options. None of them were especially palatable, but—

“I don’t care about shorthandedness,” he said. “Not if it means keeping Santino aboard. Janice will just have to manage without him.”

“But, Sir—” Layson began almost desperately, only to break off as Bachfisch raised a hand.

“He’s gone, Abner,” he said, and he spoke in the captain’s voice that cut off all debate. “That part of the decision is already made.”

“Yes, Sir,” Layson said, and Bachfisch relented sufficiently to show him a small smile of sympathy.

“I know this is going to be a pain in the ass for you in some ways, Abner, and I’m sorry for that. But what you need to do is concentrate on how nice it will be to have Elvis Santino a hundred light-years away from us and then figure out a way to work around the hole.”

“I’ll try to bear that in mind, Sir. Ah, would the Captain care to suggest a way in which that particular hole might be worked around?”

“Actually, and bearing in mind an earlier conversation of ours, I believe I do,” Bachfisch told him. “I would suggest that we seriously consider promoting Ms. Midshipwoman Harrington to the position of acting assistant tactical officer.”

“Are you sure about that, Sir?” Layson asked. The captain raised an eyebrow at him, and the exec shrugged. “She’s worked out very well so far, Sir. But she is a snotty.”

“I agree that she’s short on experience,” Bachfisch replied. “That’s why we send middies on their snotty cruises in the first place, after all. But I believe she’s clearly demonstrated that she has the raw ability to handle the assistant tac officer’s slot, and she’s certainly a lot brighter and more reliable than Santino ever was.”

“I can’t argue with any of that, Sir. But since you’ve mentioned our conversation, remember what you said then about North Hollow and his clique. If they really did pull strings to put Santino aboard as OCTO and you not only relieve him of that duty, but then heave him completely off your bridge, and then take the midshipwoman they probably put him here specifically to get and put her into his slot—” He shook his head.

“You’re right. That will piss them off, won’t it?” Bachfisch murmured cheerfully.

“What it may do,” Layson said in an exasperated tone, “is put you right beside her on their enemies list, Sir.”

“Well, if it does, I could be in a lot worse company, couldn’t I? And whether that happens or not doesn’t really have any bearing on the specific problem which you and I have to solve right here and right now. So putting aside all other considerations, is there anyone in the ship’s company who you think would be better qualified as an acting assistant tactical officer than Harrington would?”

“Of course there isn’t. I’m not sure that putting her into the slot will be easy to justify if BuPers decides to get nasty about it—or not on paper, at least—but there’s no question in my mind that she’s the best choice, taken strictly on the basis of her merits. Which, I hasten to add, doesn’t mean that I won’t make sure that Janice rides very close herd on her. Or that I won’t be doing exactly the same thing myself, for that matter.”

“Excellent!” This time there was nothing small about Bachfisch’s huge grin. “And while you’re thinking about all the extra work this is going to make for you and Janice, think about how Harrington is going to feel when she finds out what sort of responsibility we’re dumping on her! I think it will be rather informative to see just how panicked she gets when you break the word to her. And just to be sure that she doesn’t get a swelled head about her temporary elevation over her fellow snotties, you might point out to her that while the exigencies of the King’s service require that she assume those additional responsibilities, we can hardly excuse her from her training duties.”

“You mean—?” Layson’s eyes began to dance, and Bachfisch nodded cheerfully.

“Exactly, Commander. You and Janice will have to keep a close eye on her, but I feel that we should regard that not as an additional onerous responsibility, but rather as an opportunity. Consider it a chance to give her a personal tutorial in the fine art of ship-to-ship tactics and all the thousand and one ways in which devious enemies can surprise, bedevil, and defeat even the finest tactical officer. Really throw yourself into designing the very best possible training simulations for her. And be sure you tell her about all the extra effort you and Janice will be making on her behalf.”

“That’s evil, Sir,” Layson said admiringly.

“I am shocked—shocked—that you could even think such a thing, Commander Layson!”

“Of course you are, Sir.”

“Well, I suppose ‘shocked’ might be putting it just a tiny bit strongly,” Bachfisch conceded. “But, seriously, Abner, I do want to take the opportunity to see how hard and how far we can push her. I think Raoul might just have been right when he told me how good he thought she could become, so let’s see if we can’t get her started on the right foot.”

“Certainly, Sir. And I do believe that I’d like to see how far and how fast she can go, too. Not, of course,” he smiled at his captain, “that I expect her to appreciate all of the effort and sacrifices Janice and I will be making when we devote our time to designing special sims just for her.”

“Of course she won’t. She is on her snotty cruise, Abner! But if she begins to exhaust your and Janice’s inventiveness, let me know. I’d be happy to put together one or two modest little simulations for her myself.”