Instead of sending just to the last two reviewers;
Yes, with three breweries in three different systems, I can see them rolling in dough before too long.
The idea of the 'patent' as used here was a favorite way to reward people who already had titles. As an example, Thomas Howard Viscount Bindon had one for the importation of Madeira wine into England. That was used to fund the infamous Roanoke Colony.
As for the commerce, I felt 'we're pretending to be a merchie, so act like one'. While DW has never commented on the Solarian Commercial Code, I am willing to bet he'd love my reg considering how the Solarians act in the Fringe.
And wait until you hear the name of the Brewery on Torch...
Suprising Revelations
Rebecca was glad to finally get away from the foursome chattering happy as a box of birds about the brewery to be. There was a Manticoran Legation, but it was more a Hauptmann Cartel operation, like one of Beowulf's Trade delegations inside the League, so she knew if there were any dispatches for her, they wouldn't have been left there. Instead she went to the residence occupied by her erstwhile employer.
Jaeger looked happy. If the man ever really was, she had no clue. He bowed to her, and took her into the library. Once the quarters of the old Manpower head of applied research for Beacon, it had been turned over to Jinhua and Fenghua pretty much intact.
The Grafin was in the study. Before her was a small chip case marked with the bloodthirsty admonition ONI flunkies seemed to love, and Jinhua glanced up, then motioned to it. The captain picked it up, and frowned as it opened at her touch.
"I see you have already read it." She said
"No." Jinhua's forehead furrowed, and she tapped the keyboard. "I received it two days ago from a Manticoran officer courier from the embassy on Erewhon. Since there is no secure storage here, as yet, he had been told to deliver it to you, the senior Manticoran officer in system, and failing that, to me; still sealed. Your Lieutenant Huggins is on patrol at the wormhole, so she could neither receive nor store it. So he came here, Hermes coming down from Olympus with warnings that Zeus would strike me down if I dare to open Pandora's Box."
She looked up, the twinkle of deviltry in her eyes. "Which, if you must know, is like handing a recovering alcoholic a glass of whiskey, and asking them to hold it while you use the facilities." She shrugged. "I had hoped your secure cases would be better protected, though."
"So." Rebecca sat, pulling a chip reader over. "Anything interesting in them?"
Jinhua sighed. "There are times when you show a scintilla of worth as an Intelligence agent, but you still don't know how the game is played. If I were an officer invited to a party thrown by one of your embassies, of course I would keep an eye out for any data that had been left laying around. If only to assure that housekeeping did their job."
'So you are still spying on us?" Rebecca reacted with faux horror. "We have been allies for years, and mainly friendly rivals for centuries! I am appalled!"
"Keep you friends close, but your enemy closer." Jinhua replied. "The first rule of intelligence, is that you spy on everyone, friends and enemies. You're just more polite to your friends and don't rub their noses in it like a puppy." She grinned. "Though when your Dame Honor Harrington came to Silesia commanding her Merchant Cruisers back during the first Haven War, we did show some of our hand to her just to prove that point.
"Back when you still had Admiral Jurgensen in charge of your ONI, I would have read everything in that update without a qualm. After all someone that stupid might say something they would have not been wanting us to hear. But your Admiral Givens knows I am here, that there is no secure storage on Torch, and that I am here officially operating as an agent of my Empire. She also knows we are friends and play well together, so if there is anything you think might interest me, you would probably tell me."
Rebecca slid the case and reader across. "Then have at."
Jinhua shook her head, and made tsk tsk noises. "Again, you don't know how to play the game. If I were to have read those documents, even at your offer, I am breaking the rules. There might be things within that case my government need not know as yet, though I doubt Admiral Givens would have sent anything she did not wish us to know. She knows the rules as well as I do, so she knows I will not peek."
"Really?"
Jinhua raised her right hand as if swearing an oath. "On my honor as a spy."
Rebecca shook her head, fed the chip into the reader, and leaned back. She nodded politely to Jaeger when he brought her one of Dollaryde's best, but beyond that, the two women sat in companionable silence.
"Have you files on Admiral Gold Peak?" she asked suddenly.
Jinhua began to recited pedantically. "Gloria Michelle Samantha Evelyn Henke; Mike to her friends. Born 1859 PD. Eldest daughter of Edward Henke, and Duchess Caitrin Winton-Henke the younger sister of the late King Roger III. Older brother Calvin and father killed in an assassination attempt directed against Queen Elizabeth and Protector Benjamin by Masadan Terrorists. Upon their deaths, she became Countess Gold Peake and is fifth in line for the throne. Presently Commander of 10th Fleet mobile units in the Talbot Quadrant."
Jinhua looked up. "Do you want specific details? I can recite her scores in her first year at Saganami Island, tell you who her favorite authors and composers are, list every ship she has served on and medal she has received. Even give you the pet name she gave her first pair of Treecat slippers. Minie and Moe. Not very original, I will grant you. But she was only three T years old at the time."
"Do you know everything about everyone?"
"I am an intelligence officer, not a god, my friend. When it comes to those who may oppose you in trade or war, you always keep track of who you are and will perhaps one day deal with. Our navy, like yours, has files of known officers in the other navies we might face, so we can plan accordingly. Any officer of interest is in our records, and files are updated constantly, usually through simple clipping services in most cases, but if they are special... Your Admirals White Haven, Harrington-Alexander, Admiral Gold Peak. We go to further lengths.
"It usually begins when they reach Captain, or for officers who are not in the line, around the time they reach Lieutenant Commander in their speciality. Some earlier; our friend Lanzecki for example, some much later. Take Admiral Duchess Honor Harrington-Alexander. Being of yeoman birth, she wasn't of much interest to us until she commanded the light cruiser HMS Fearless at First Basilisk.
"Afterward we looked at a good light cruiser design hamstrung by a poorly considered 'upgrade', and her captain, facing a ship almost as powerful as a battlecruiser of the time, and defeating it. She was suddenly someone very important for an observer to understand; especially when her next command; the new heavy cruiser Fearless was assigned to Silesia."
Rebecca grinned. "I must have one as well then."
"Of course. Now."
"What do you mean, now?"
Jinhua sighed. "Oh your file was started back when you first made lieutenant, but primarily because of your family's political stance, which is rare among the nobles on your home world. Your assignments before that; destroyer command, ATC, HMS Loki didn't show that spark high command would have worried about. It wasn't until our last voyage that you became someone we felt we had to watch. But that does not explain why you asked about Admiral Gold Peak."
"When we fought at Capwell, I used her actions at New Tuscany to measure my attack. Five hundred missiles for each SD, 280 for each battlecruiser, and so on."
"Go on."
"If I am I correct, the Mjolnir was designed to try to match our original Mk16?"
"Actually the warhead is a bit more powerful than your own Mk23s."
"Did your R&D try a cruiser weight warhead on it when you stole the design for the Mk23?"
"Your R&D people gave everything we had not 'deduced' or 'acquired' to us after the Alliance." She replied levelly. "Why?"
Rebecca motioned to the document she was reading. "The ONI report about the an encounter in the Saltash system, just outside the Talbot Quadrant. An OFS system governor tried the usual routine of coercion. Seized two of our merchantmen, held the crew hostage in 'quarantine' to make us knuckle under. We destroyed the lion share of the enemy warships in the system before rescuing them. Four battlecruisers."
"The Manticorans have always tended to get a little... testy when people do that, and I clearly remember you threatening a space station in Copperplate, not to mention destroying a lot of Sollie ships in Capwell too."
"Yes." She looked up. "But I didn't kill those ships with nothing but destroyers." She held up the pad. "Five Roland class destroyers fired combined salvoes of 120 Mk16Es each at the battlecruisers. Since they assumed they would damage but not destroy them, and the enemy was closing rapidly, they fired all four salvoes as rapidly as possible per procedure. After the first ship was destroyed, the Sollie Admiral, via a Hermes bouy, tried to surrender, but there was too little time to self destruct even one of the launches."
Jinhua looked at her for a long moment, then reached out, and took the offered pad. She scrolled back up, reading the entire after action report. "This suggests that the Sollie ships are either more weakly armored than anyone assumed, or your new generation of warheads is that much more efficient."
"We both know that the Solarian Navy, like our own is in Janes, but they publish what the builders tell them are the specifications. I know we give them a lot of information amd a lot of it is actually true.
"We may find out-" There was a bleek, and Rebecca looked up as Fenghua came running in, chasing a treecat she had not yet met. Then she squawked in dismay as the beast leaped, landed on the desk almost spilling her drink (Saved because a flashing true hand caught the glass, setting it back upright) then leaped past Jinhua to dive under the desk. Fenghua charged around, diving under the desk after him. Jinhua merely slid further back, ignoring the interruption.
The cat shot across the rug, back out the door, and Rebecca looked down as Fenghua slithered out to pursue. "Fenghua." The girl looked guilty, then at her mother, who had not even looked away from the screen. "What have I told you and Che about using the office as an obstacle course?"
"That the next time we did, you would make him into mittens, and send me to boarding school." The girl replied.
"And did the both of you think I would not carry out that threat?"
"He says you would need someone who can sew to make him into mittens, and we both know sending me to a boarding school would be like letting an Uber Bear loose in a feedlot."
Jinhua looked up mildly. "I have just the boarding school in mind, Mein Schatz. The same one I went to before I went to Junker-Schule. Every member of the staff of both, from the Headmaster to the cooks and gardeners are ex-intelligence. They were organized by Imperiales Generalstab-Intelligenz-Büro, and know just how to...channel such exuberance. And there is a woman there who sews excellent fur mittens. Do you take my point?"
"I really hate when you go all... Gross Admiral with me, Mutti." The girl sighed. "All right, I will behave."
"I expect you to behave badly, Mein Schatz, But in moderation, please." The girl trudged out.
Rebecca merely shook her head, going back to the files
Ready for some R&R
The LACs of Composite Squadron 1175 moved toward home, and there wasn't a member of their crews not relieved. The original Cimeterres had an endurance of only a few days, thanks to their fusion plants compared to three weeks for the Grayson fission driven designs that the Alliance had adopted. But that extended endurance came with a price. That price was simply wastage.
This was noticed first when mankind developed the submarine, the closest they came to an actual space craft back before the space age. While an LAC was as large as a battleship of Old Earth's Pre-First World War era, most of that internal space was weapons, reactor, impellers, and other necessary equipment, leaving the ten men of her crew only a little more space than one of those first submarines.
Quintain had become fascinated about the old U Boats during the time they had been on patrol. Back then there was not enough room in the holds for all of the food necessary for an extended combat voyage, so they would stuff it into whatever space there was; fresh bread, fruits, vegetables, and sausages were merely hung in nets and strings from wherever they could. Much of the fresh foods had to be eaten in the first week or so merely because every speck of food that was not eaten was something you had to throw away when it spoiled.
The bread and sausage survived the longest, but the air aboard became moist from the crew breathing, and that caused mold to form on it. In one of the more realistic portrayals, one of the crewmen crew was slicing off molded or rotting portions from that store just to reach something still edible. Illness from something as simple as Ergot, a mold which forms on rye breads were a serious danger. Thankfully with modern refrigeration that wasn't as much of a problem. But the LACs still had problems. The storage for food was large enough for a three week cruise, but for over two months?
Take water for example. An LAC carried approximately fifty liters of water per crewman per day of endurance. While that sounds like a lot, it isn't really because it includes drinking, washing, cooking and flushing. Even with low flow systems first created in the 21st Century CE, it isn't a lot; the average shower can waste as much as thirty of those liters.
For a Republican design, that wasn't so bad, but for the Alliance ones, it was a serious problem. That is 500 liters a day, 10500 for the standard three weeks of their longest design deployment. That is as much storage as the average aviation fuel tanker of the 20th century. Ocean going ships of that era would limit showers and eventually ration water.
Some can be recycled. The washing water after running through an osmosis system returned about 90 percent of it for future use, but a small ship rapidly runs into the law of diminishing returns. Too much ends up in the sanitary tank as human waste and byproducts of cleansers used, and that required the full up capabilities of a star ship to process.
The Sidemore Navy had considered this with their own LACs. Even with the extended cruising ability bestowed by replacing the fusion plant they still had only enough stowage for less than a week, so they were actually storing food like the old U-Boats did; just more canned goods, less water storage so they needed to shower only every other day, and had even smaller sanitary tanks.
Considering their love of history, they worked out a solution that was more... retrograde. On each of their CLACs they had two LACs modified as, in their own term 'Milch Cows', after the old Nazi German Navy's supply submarines that carried not weapons, but all of the stores necessary to keep their combat U Boats operational for really extended cruises back when three months was still on the edge of human endurance.
These would load up, and head out to rendevous with the squadron that had taken sole responsibility for the wormhole, and would transfer not only food air and water one way, but all of the waste products the other, which almost eliminated the problems with odors. This was good for operations, but bad for the crews of the detached command; there was no way anyone could leave their ships except in an emergency, and secondary effects had begun to creep in. Five members of the squadron had been replaced by volunteers from the Sidemore contingents due to signs of cabin fever, and the rate had begun to accellerate.
So after nine weeks of being stuffed into those tight quarters, seeing the same faces every day, having the same conversations every day, the same arguments every day, the news that Witch Maiden was back, and there were finally enough crews from Torch to take over was greeted like a child waking up on Christmas day. Fitzhugh Lee now slowed to a halt as two squadrons of her LACs moved away to take their positions. Lee had been renamed TRMS Amistad after the ship that sparked a legal battle in the old United States when the slaves aboard freed themselves, then were tried for murder, piracy, and an odd note theft of themselves as property in Federal Court. The case went to the Supreme Court where former president John Quincy Adams gained them their freedom at last.
Of course Quintain only knew that because Reba Sanders, one of the LAC commanders of the Torch Navy who had been on the 'milk runs' was a chatterbox. Though she was an attractive chatterbox.
The turnover wasn't smooth; while they were willing and had been trained, they didn't have the snap of well trained crews. But they'd get there. Once they had been tied into the recon drone net, Amistad had shut down her impellers, and signaled the LACs of Witch Maiden that they assumed the post.
Where it had taken almost seven hours for the CLAC to get there, it had taken less than three for the LACs to get back home, and begin approaching for docking. The evolution went smoothly, each LAC sliding into their docking bays as if they had left the day before.
Quintain gathered his crew and everyone went to the pub, because the captain had ordered a day of rest before the debriefing. He had made a lot of progress, and the term 'Bossman' had last been used ten days earlier. The desired 'Skipper' had started to come into play only a couple of days ago, but was becoming more frequent, at least.
Mark O'Donnel, the 1st class that was engineer for his boat was just entering when 1st class Missleman Winslow strolled by, and commented, "Have fun while the real work was going on, flyboy?"
"What did you say?"
"That I'd love a cushy feather merchant berth-"
O'Donnel, who was not a large man at 1.7 meters tall, but with a temper to match his fiery red hair spun, and laid the rating out.
"Stand down!" Quintain roared. He stalked back, glaring at the two. "What is this about?"
"That twerp hit me, sir!"
"He did?" Quintain looked at his rating, who, puffing like a steam locomotive straightened, nodded. "And why did he hit you?"
"All I said was did he have fun while the rest of us were working, sir." as he got up.
"Is that true, O'Donnel?"
"He accused me of being a feather merchant too, sir."
Quintain looked at the man, then at his rating. "Mick, I see you need some training." He spun, punching the missileman in the stomach instead of the jaw, dropping the man to his knees gasping. "If you're going to brawl, remember to hit them where it will hurt, not where everyone else has already beaten him nerve dead."
As the ship's police arrived, the kid grinned. "Sure thing, skipper."
The explanations had barely started when someone shouted, "Attention on Deck!"
Rebecca looked at the crowd of flight crews, the ready guards, and the Master at Arms. She stood there silently for a moment, then looked at Chief Campbell.
"Problems, Master at Arms?"
"Brawling, Ma'am."
"Brawling, on my ship? What started it? And who hit whom?"
"I hadn't gotten that far yet, ma'am."
She nodded. "All right, gentlemen, who is going to tell me the first whopping great lie?"
The words poured out, and part of her wanted to bump heads until they got some sense. Another part wanted to congratulate Quintain when O'Donnel mentioned that the 'skipper decked him'. But the largest part wanted to laugh in delight.
She clasped hands between her back, rocking on her heels as she watched their faces. "So let me be clear on this," She said as the verbal well finally ran dry. "You, Winslow, made a sarcastic remark to the engineering rating, and compared his berth to being a feather merchant, whereupon you, O'Donnel." she pointed at O'Donnel, "Punched him in the jaw knocking him down. Then you, lieutenant," this time she pointed at Quintain, "broke it up, and upon hearing what had been said then struck the missileman in the stomach." Each man as she had spoken had nodded.
"Gentlemen we have gymnasia aboard where you can relieve your testosterone build up by boxing, wrestling or the Coup, with an excellent medical staff at need. I would rather you didn't use my passagways and compartments as sparring rings. Is that clear?"
They answered with yes ma'am.
"Now I see no reason to have a captain's mast in this matter, we will merely go on to the punishment. So, you, Mr. O'Donnel are fined one day's pay. You, Mr. Winslow, for your intemperate remark, will buy the crew of Legate one round of drinks."
"But Captain!"
She looked at him, and he wilted. "I am sorry, Missileman. Did I hear you just say you wished to buy the squadron a round?" He shook his head. "I didn't think so. Now, Mister Quintain, I cannot have my officers physically beating my crewmen. This is not the Andermanii navy after all. Therefore, you will stand the squadron to a round after Mr. Winslow's." She shooed them ahead with her hands. "But we cannot have our drinks until we get inside. Go on."
"Sir, how did you know my friends call me Mick?" O'Donnel asked
Quintain had paid attention in the last weeks, but he couldn't tell the man that. "When they give us independent commands they also infuse us with godlike powers."
He didn't notice the captain's sudden grin.
Someone Has to have some fun...
Witch Maiden moved in her orbit as shuttles brought up tons of supplies. Rebecca was busy for the weeks while it was happening, and almost ignored the request by Dollaryde to come down for the opening of the brewery. In fact she found herself confronted by Oscelli who brought her dress uniform and found herself getting dressed to go below, now at a Royal command. She met Dollaryde and the twins at the shuttle, and wondered why they were all grinning.
The shuttle dropped not at the landing field but at a cleared area with a refurbished warehouse. Hundreds of locals were already there before them. The Dollarydes' went to the large doors in the front where a ribbon had been strung. The captain was directed to a row of chairs beside the door. She had taken her seat just as a ground car arrived. She stood as two treecat bearing guards first dismounted, then Queen Berry and Hugh Arai climbed out, followed by Thandi Palane Ruth Winton. They all approached as the crowd cheered, and Berry took a while to reach it because she sauntered, stopping to pass the time with her people as if she were just another citizen. Thanks to the treecats, the Mesans would need a sniper to kill her, and that had been seen to.
She'd read the girl's file. Rebecca knew the Berry had started life as a ragged child surviving as best she could to feed herself and her brother in the heart of the League's capital of Chicago. But you would never have known it from her easy manner. She saw someone well loved by her people, and comfortable with them, and the crown they had bestowed on her.
And that love she had for her people was returned in spades. Huge hulking men of Manpower's heavy labor lines like her consort broke into shy grins and blushes as she clasped their hands, and chatted with them as if they'd just met in the street back in Landing, and they responded in kind.
Finally she reached the entry way, taking Hugh's arm as she faced her people. She waved at the crowd, then raised her hands for silence, and after a time, she got it. "I thank you all for coming today." She grinned. "Though I think it was because you have tried this man's brew, and hoped he'd give us samples." The crowd laughed, and a lot of them shouted that it was exactly why they had come. "Well if he doesn't, I promise to buy the first vats to give to you, my people. That is, if you don't mind me having some too."
There were cheers again. She took a large pair of shears, walking to the ribbon. She cut it, and as it fell away the Twins, who had moved to opposite sides of the doors pulled on ropes attached to the shroud over the sign. Berry turned, then stopped as the crowd roared with laughter. She turned back, looking up.
Yeoman Pankowski had struck again. The round sign had a mouse in a full gown with crown looking a little tiddly, sitting in a highbacked chair, holding a beer stein as if to propose a toast. On right and left were the Twins in German style barmaid uniforms with deep cleavage, bending down to await her pleasure, With Francis standing behind her, drawing beer from an old fashioned wooden keg.
The logo above it read:
QUEEN BERRY'S PREMIUM RESERVE
and below it:
ESTABLISHED IN THE FIFTH YEAR OF HER INCISORSHIP'S REIGN
Rebecca looked at Berry, not sure how she was going to take it. She didn't have to worry. Berry was laughing hysterically, clapping her hands.