A Corsican's Gift

[Eppy]

Sarah joyfully popped her Admiral's bars from the collar of her uniform and slid them across Amirraglio Barilla's desk.

The Amirraglio chuckled. Thankless task, Senorita Dattaglia? He passed her the single silver pin an open cylinder that labeled her a Special Attache to his personal staff, essentially giving her a Captain's authority in all branches of the Navy. I've prepared your next assignment, pending authorization from the full Council.

She sat down in the chair facing the Ammiraglio's desk. So, when am I taking over this outfit? I'll need to review the current structure of this intelligence outfit ahead of time if I'm going to get it into shape. I tried to access it, but apparently an Admiral's security clearance doesn't go as far as it used to around here...

Barilla maintained his old man's smile, sliding a datacard across the desk. Everything about the structure and physical assets are in here. There are also a few items not on the list, some of which I think you'll remember from your duties administering Corsica.

She slid the card into her jacket pocket. I'll review that on my way out. Where am I going to be based out of? It isn't exactly made public knowledge where the director of Maltese Intelligence bases his headquarters.

Barilla stood up from his desk, stepping over to the glass wall that separated his Destroyer-borne office from the cold vacuum of Omicron Alpha. That is a point of interest. Santiani headquartered himself on his private yacht; however, I never considered that a suitable base to begin with, and his dependents- Barilla scoffed -are fighting over the blasted thing. So, we've got more appropriate options available for your selection. We'll review those once we make port at Corsica.

Understood. I take it the Director was not very good at his job. She stood and joined him at the window as the MNS Tolouse knifed into the cloud.

No. No, he was not. Barilla sighed. Last year, I was in the field in Eta on the bridge of the Sarah Caruso. That day, I watched three RM-1 Destroyers, twenty-four fighters, and the first two production run Tridente Gunboats all disappear into flaming hulks of superalloy and plasma. We dispatched that force on the expectation that the Corsair fleet on its way was based around two Osirises. Under normal circumstances, the Sarah Caruso's heavy weaponry, in conjunction with the Destroyers, would have been more than effective enough to take both Osirises out of commission very quickly without any losses. As it turned out, that information was two weeks out of date; because Santiani didn't bother to get up at a reasonable hour that morning and read his reports, we were two weeks behind on fleet data, when we could have had a report from the night before, and we showed up undergunned against a Corsair Dreadnought. The Dreadnought broke the line and the Sarah Caruso barely got away after losing her entire battlegroup, all because Santiani drank too much the night before. He turned back to his desk and sat down. I hate to take much pleasure from one of my colleague's death, but in this case I have to say it's going to be a welcome change of pace. Competence is rare; excellence is rarer still, and your performance as a staff officer in the Hellfire Legion was exemplary, as has been your organizational control of the 101st. I firmly believe you're the best person for this job; you're experienced well beyond your years and you're qualifications are outstanding. I expect your analytical skills will be a great asset to the effectiveness of the Intelligence department, not to mention you already come with the Council's approval.

Thank you, sir. She sat down again. I aim to please.

Oh, I know you will, Senorita.

*****

Sarah pored over the organizational informatino Barilla had given her, and she was displeased.

In fact, she was VERY displeased. What the hell was a 'Waterfowl Acquisition Officer?'

She tapped out the entire system (if you could call it that) onto the holopad she'd had delivered from the Captain's quarters to the ready room she'd acquired for her private use while on the Destroyer. A mess of text and lines appeared in three dimensions over the large center table, which she stepped upon, raising herself into the mess. No, this wouldn't do at all. This thing wasn't an intelligence network, it was essentially a massive money laundering scam mixed with a party-making and alcohol-gathering engine. She swept her hand through one corner of the holomap and instantly eliminated a $450,000,000 black hole in the annual Coucinl of Don's budget.

Now, what do we have here...

She stared at what was left. Oh, this was a mess. He had everything delegated off to about 14 subordinate managers. Never a good sign, knowing Santiani there was nothing wrong with letting subordinates run things, but you had to micromanage the subordinates directly below you to make sure THEY made sure the people below them were doing their jobs, and, with Santiani's reputation for leaving what he thought was well enough alone and enjoying his lucrative Cardamine plantation's profits, this whole thing was probably not going to do. There were four levels of communication between Santiani's lieutenants and the handlers on the simplest of the trees, nine of them on the most complex, and between Teirs 9, 11, and 4 there were these strange lines where they intertwined at their fifth and sixth levels, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but they were essentially unrelated the Internal Economics department, the Tau Espionage department and the Liberty Economics department, which really wasn't justified at those levels that kind of transmission should be handled higher up. She shuffled these around before merging Teir 5 with Teir 7, and reorganized each into one to four levels of communication between the departmental heads and the handlers and organizers.

The door hissed open, flooding the dimly starlit room with a bright, syntheitc tone from the bridge as the Ammiraglio stepped in. How many people have lost their jobs today, Senorita? The door hissed closed, reverting the room to its dimmer natural state.

She jumped down and saluted. 192, sir. I'm assuming some of them are good people, we should reassign the personnel drawn from the military and evaluate all of the rest. If they prove worthwhile I can find places to reintroduce the best of them, and the rest should be reassigned to some menial managing position. This was a tad arbitrary, but this thing is a mess and I think you understand more than most how important the efficiency of this apparatus is.

Barilla nodded gravely. Indeed. Not a pleasant thing to do, but such is the duty of an officer. I have your Special Commission papers ready and your revised personnel file for the Council of Dons. If we need to make any changes, now would be the best time to do it, Senorita. He placed a datapad down on the table; it flickered to life, displaying her personnel information.

It looks appropriate, sir, she nodded. Sarah Clairon Eliza Dattaglia. Age: 24. Height: 155 Centimeters. Hair: Mahogany, 25.3 Centimeters. Eyes: Medium Blue. Skin: Pale, Unblemished. Rank(s): Special (NAVAL), Director (INTEL). From thereon it detailed her history, born to the rich Eppstein-Whitacre family that had originally made a fortune in Planetform before becoming involved with the Maltese somewhere back a hundred and fifty years and intermarrying, and how she'd run away to join the circus, so to speak, at the age of thirteen the Lane Hackers had been happy to take her organizational skills, where over the next five years she worked her way to the Second in Command of the Hellfire Legion, in command of a brilliantly hijacked Mako-class Battleship, and how said ship had been subsequently destroyed along with its entire battlegroup by some kind of rogue AI vessels, how her fiance' had died that same day in the attack, and how she had shortly thereafter been spirited away to Malta to fly with her full-Outcast cousins as a member of the 101st, and, after four more years, taken on the unfortunate position of Admiral on the understanding that it would be temporary after the unnanounced suicide of the previous commander, as all the officers above her had managed to cycle through command at an alarming rate.

Everything is correct, Senorita Dattaglia, I trust? Barilla smiled his characteristic old man's smile.

Hm, she mused for a moment Change one thing. My name should be Whitacre. Sarah Clairon Eliza Whitacre. People will know me here as a Dattaglia.

A true statement. Barilla tapped in the change. Three hours till we make port, Senorita Whitacre. I suggest you get some rest, you've done more than enough here today. He gestured at the hologram floating above the table. She saluted and he left promptly.

At that she pulled out one of the chairs around the table and dropped herself in, pondering what had compelled her to change her name once again.

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.