loud.
Ægir was also the god in charge of brewing beer.
Normally on military evolutions no consumption of alcohol was allowed on board. But as had been repeatedly drummed into him, this was not a military patrol, but a civilian expedition that was merely using military transport.
So why the hell not?
“How fortuitous for us,” he said with a grin.
“Doubly fortuitous, Kapitan ,” Zubkin said slyly, “because we will be crossing the date line into yesterday, and therefore we are able to celebrate Midsummer twice!”
Nikolai chuckled. Or at least able to have a do-over with no alcohol involved. “Has the galley secured provisions fit for such an illustrious celebration?” he asked.
“Absolutely, sir. A steel beach barbecue is planned—weather permitting—with American-style ribs courtesy of Praporshchik Edwards, and liquid refreshments provided by the Swedish professor.” Zubkin waggled his eyebrows.
This had obviously been planned well in advance. “Sounds like you have everything in hand, Praporshchik Zubkin. Keep me informed.”
“You can count on me, sir.”
Of that, Nikolai had no doubt.
He handed back the charts, checked the control room clock, then turned to the JOOD. “ Starshina Borovsky, I am expecting Miss Severin shortly. I’ll be taking her up to the bridge to use her satellite phone. Call me when she arrives, will you? I’ll be in engineering.”
Borovsky nodded vigorously. “Da , Kapitan.”
As soon as Nikolai was through the watertight door to the neighboring compartment, excited conversation erupted behind him. It carried an edge of gleeful anticipation.
He was in fact pleased with his men’s initiative. Whatever the plan was, it would be good for camaraderie on board. And an excellent idea to have the barbecue at the beginning of the voyage instead of waiting nearly a week. Scientists and crew would form an early bond, forged in ritual and celebration. Afterward, they would be transformed from a disparate conglomeration of different people from different countries, with vastly different backgrounds, into members of a single tribe sharing a rare and unique common experience.
Even his little shpion .
Which was not a bad thing when he thought about it. Forcing her to take part in such a bonding ceremony would try her growing friendship and allegiance to the scientists and crew. And hopefully make her feel good and guilty as she prepared to betray them all. . . .
With a flourish, Julie finished typing the last sentence of her feature article, read it over, and saved it to the satellite phone’s micro storage card—coincidentally the same type of SD card as the one she was searching for. If Nikolai thought he was being clever making her prove her reporter chops, he was in for a real disappointment.
She’d started out working as a journalist after college and had been a damn good one. On top of that, she was interested in and passionate about the expedition projects—at least the ones she’d learned about so far. It was no hardship at all to write about them in glowing terms. Plus, as part of her cover her boss had arranged for anything she sent in to be published by the newspaper she used to work for—minus a few prearranged code words carefully included in the text.
Yeah, that proved she wasn’t a spy.
Along with the news story, she would upload a zip file of the photos she’d taken so far. They’d be run past an expert in case the word-and-object-recognition program on her laptop had missed something important. She didn’t have a lot of hope that would be the case. So far, the software had seemed to recognize everything in the photos. But it had discerned no SD card. And nothing called a crown, or anything remotely close to that word.
In her news article, she’d highlighted the CO, Captain First Rank Nikolai Kirillovich Romanov, with a coded alert, letting her boss know he’d been tipped off to her from day one. Which still worried her. Where had he gotten his
Ægir was also the god in charge of brewing beer.
Normally on military evolutions no consumption of alcohol was allowed on board. But as had been repeatedly drummed into him, this was not a military patrol, but a civilian expedition that was merely using military transport.
So why the hell not?
“How fortuitous for us,” he said with a grin.
“Doubly fortuitous, Kapitan ,” Zubkin said slyly, “because we will be crossing the date line into yesterday, and therefore we are able to celebrate Midsummer twice!”
Nikolai chuckled. Or at least able to have a do-over with no alcohol involved. “Has the galley secured provisions fit for such an illustrious celebration?” he asked.
“Absolutely, sir. A steel beach barbecue is planned—weather permitting—with American-style ribs courtesy of Praporshchik Edwards, and liquid refreshments provided by the Swedish professor.” Zubkin waggled his eyebrows.
This had obviously been planned well in advance. “Sounds like you have everything in hand, Praporshchik Zubkin. Keep me informed.”
“You can count on me, sir.”
Of that, Nikolai had no doubt.
He handed back the charts, checked the control room clock, then turned to the JOOD. “ Starshina Borovsky, I am expecting Miss Severin shortly. I’ll be taking her up to the bridge to use her satellite phone. Call me when she arrives, will you? I’ll be in engineering.”
Borovsky nodded vigorously. “Da , Kapitan.”
As soon as Nikolai was through the watertight door to the neighboring compartment, excited conversation erupted behind him. It carried an edge of gleeful anticipation.
He was in fact pleased with his men’s initiative. Whatever the plan was, it would be good for camaraderie on board. And an excellent idea to have the barbecue at the beginning of the voyage instead of waiting nearly a week. Scientists and crew would form an early bond, forged in ritual and celebration. Afterward, they would be transformed from a disparate conglomeration of different people from different countries, with vastly different backgrounds, into members of a single tribe sharing a rare and unique common experience.
Even his little shpion .
Which was not a bad thing when he thought about it. Forcing her to take part in such a bonding ceremony would try her growing friendship and allegiance to the scientists and crew. And hopefully make her feel good and guilty as she prepared to betray them all. . . .
With a flourish, Julie finished typing the last sentence of her feature article, read it over, and saved it to the satellite phone’s micro storage card—coincidentally the same type of SD card as the one she was searching for. If Nikolai thought he was being clever making her prove her reporter chops, he was in for a real disappointment.
She’d started out working as a journalist after college and had been a damn good one. On top of that, she was interested in and passionate about the expedition projects—at least the ones she’d learned about so far. It was no hardship at all to write about them in glowing terms. Plus, as part of her cover her boss had arranged for anything she sent in to be published by the newspaper she used to work for—minus a few prearranged code words carefully included in the text.
Yeah, that proved she wasn’t a spy.
Along with the news story, she would upload a zip file of the photos she’d taken so far. They’d be run past an expert in case the word-and-object-recognition program on her laptop had missed something important. She didn’t have a lot of hope that would be the case. So far, the software had seemed to recognize everything in the photos. But it had discerned no SD card. And nothing called a crown, or anything remotely close to that word.
In her news article, she’d highlighted the CO, Captain First Rank Nikolai Kirillovich Romanov, with a coded alert, letting her boss know he’d been tipped off to her from day one. Which still worried her. Where had he gotten his
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