by S. Walker
"Role purge." Jamet winced sympathetically; when Upper decided to go through the contracts-- usually to improve their bottom line, but sometimes an Exec wanted to make a name for themselves-- it was usually a bloodbath for everyone below. "They tossed anyone with a disability who didn't have a guaranteed sponsor. I had to throw my contract on the open market."
Jamet tried to hide a flinch, but with her visor on Emilia didn't miss much. "You too, huh? Fuck us both, then." She turned and headed for the hatch, slapping the release and the lights at the same time. "See you around, Princess."
"Wait." Then, hesitantly: "Please."
Emilia stopped without looking back. "Yeah?"
"How'd you end up here? On the Kipper?"
She seemed to consider it for a long time, standing just outside the room with her head tilted downward in thought. Finally she shook, just once, a bitter left and right of negation.
"Ask the Captain. He saved your ass too, after all."
The hatch whooshed shut, leaving Jamet more concerned than she'd been in her life.
Chapter 3
Baked In Habits
Lieutenant Reals stared at the closed hatch with serious misgivings. Why did she have the feeling that could have gone better? She could message the irate technician and demand she come back, but what would that accomplish and worse-- what if Emilia flat out refused? Jamet had a bad feeling this assignment was operating on different rules and no one bothered to tell her what they were. "But that's not possible," she muttered, then caught the sound of her own voice and remembered Emilia's mocking threat about a nickname. Both hands fisted. "I do not have a verbal tic."
She would open a disciplinary file. The stars knew no one deserved it more than that arrogant, mocking, entitled, disrespectful, diminutive technician. Now that her system access was restored-
Her system access! Jamet almost dove for the console charging station, slapping her trunk closed as an afterthought. "Yes! Yesyesyes! Finally!" The console's welcome screen was open, unlocked and ready for operation. Although her preferences were wiped, leaving only the high-level menu icons on display. But that was a solvable problem.
Jamet kneed the controls next to the bunk to collapse it into couch shape, then parked herself and got to work drilling through menus and setting up a working space. Communications got its own priority shortcut, then a flurry of links to the social networks beneath got tossed on top and combined. She blazed through the Personal and Occupation information trees in a torrent of bookmarking, then hopped over to Property for a storm of tapping and swipes. A quick trip through Authority rounded out the current setup. Grouping the topics together, Jamet waited impatiently for several seconds as search algorithms combined and indexed everything into an interface.
With a smug sound the console display reorganized, providing an access dashboard across the bottom and a workspace above. Best yet: Every single icon related to ship access had the bright gold border of priority control. She grinned in delight, eyes flicking left to right. "Now, let's see what the hell is wrong here."
Jamet flicked the console's output onto the wall and eagerly got to work.
Fifteen minutes later serious misgivings began setting in. She started taking notes; a whole To Read Later file accumulated.
At the half hour mark Read Later wasn't cutting it. Jamet separated it into Urgent Now and Priority Later, then grimly started filling up both.
Closing in on a full hour she stood up, threw both hands in the air to clear the workspace and began pacing. "This is- this is all wrong! All of it!" She scooped towards the Ship Systems icon, framing it with both hands. The console obligingly threw it onto display with full resolution, showing an outline schematic of the entire ship.
It was different. Wildly so. She'd been on a dozen Cruiser-class ships and equivalents, not to mention the Academy course on common Corporate Navy designs. There were variations on every template, of course, but this was mind blowing. The Krepsfield Singularity Engine was on the schematic just aft of middle, but it was absolutely massive-- at least twice as big as normal, with operational icons for not one or two but a full three artificial black holes, all clustered ahead of the bow and ripping at a fantastic pace through space.
Being oversized was a theme everywhere, in fact. The CES Kipper didn't just have a sensor suite: It had a beast of arrays that ate up most of the superstructure and could probably diagnose a skin rash from planetary orbit. Automated maintenance and repair systems were layered to an insane degree, two or three redundancies deep in some cases. "The repair drones have their own repair bays?" Her jaw dropped. "Why! Why?? They can just fix each other! The cost alone-"
She broke off, suddenly in a cold sweat. The cost. Corporate never missed a chance to cut corners, sometimes so hard they lost a few workers to dodgy accidents every year. After all Indentures and Proles were cheap to replace, but quarterly savings translated into big bonuses for everyone. If a single credit could be squeezed at any point there was always some eager Low or Middle Management officer there making it cry.
But not here. Not on the Kipper. In a daze Jamet tapped randomly on the schematic, zooming and highlighting with a growing sense of unease. Life Support and Environmental were megaliths of dense systems, dovetailing heavily into Engineering. Reactor indicators actually broke down into two separate systems, fore and aft, balanced and each big enough to power the singularity drive entirely on its own. Even the hull was enlarged, like a steroid-boosted Agro animal that bulged in every direction to contain the potential within.
About the only thing the Kipper didn't have was crew space. All those systems and complexity had to come with a giant cost for manpower and effort. A typical Cruiser's maintenance was the daily work of thirty or more individuals, with associated support staff for the actual trained technicians. It was just cheaper that way: People always cost less than purpose-built systems. Kipper defied this at every turn, trading personnel quarters for automation machinery or raw material storage.
Then she got to Weapons. The ship schematic had to reload, switching to an entire inventory of hair-raising lethality, all grayed out and politely noted that full CEO access was a requirement.
This wasn't a Cruiser.
She had no idea what this was. Beyond horrifically, impossibly expensive that is.
"I-" Jamet realized she'd been standing dead center of the room staring at the display for long enough her feet were complaining. "I need to talk to-" To who? Emilia was out: She'd rather crawl on glass than beg another favor. Tall, lanky Paul was a definite no as well. The way he angrily stalked off didn't offer much optimism for an extended question and answer session. She thought of Captain Siers, hungover and irate: Another definite non-starter.
A huge red beard and baritone laughter leapt to mind. "Janson." The large Engineer was a good bet. Jamet clapped both hands to clear the display, then hurriedly swiped through Personnel links until she found the locator for Janson Parks. He was currently idling in-
She facepalmed. "Does anyone ever leave the break room? Really? These people are impossible!"
Lieutenant Jamet Reals stormed out. Then right back in again to consult the mirror, fix her uniform and spot check for wrinkles before exiting again with a determined look.
With an intact ship map finding her way to the communal room was much more streamlined. Two long corridors, a transfer mid-ship through emergency bulkheads and then a quick ramp downwards put her at the hatch. It opened with a familiar whoosh, disgorging an interesting cloud of smells and low, off-key singing. Janson was preoccupied at the equipment along the far wall, his big frame and overalls shifting between preparation units with familiar ease.
"Ey! Li' early for lunch, but I'll have summat ready soon. Take a seat."
Jamet coughed pointedly. Janson turned, glanced over one large shoulder and looked surprised for a moment. "Oy, ey. Ma'am." He sketched a bare salute, two fingers tapping his hairline. Some sort of batter dripped onto his collar. "Wasn't expectin' you, but welcom
e all the same. 'ave a seat. Hungry?"
"Yes, actually. But I need to ask some questions first." She took a seat, carefully avoiding discarded meal wrappers. Did they never clean this place?
Janson's grin did interesting things to that large beard. "Sure, LT. What's on 'ur mind?" Big hands moved in easy motions, combining ingredients into a large bowl and applying a mixing spoon.
"The ship. Kipper. It's too big, too over engineered, too-" she struggled to describe it. "Too expensive. This isn't a normal vessel, it's something else. The combined cost for this single ship must have been insane, I've seen entire station operating budgets that probably had less zeroes involved! This much funding shouldn't even be possible, at least not without a dozen Corporate fiscal monitors and an entire budgetary oversight committee." This was reaching rant proportions. "But it's all just- just wasted! On four people! And not just any four: A group of maladjusted, ungrateful, regulation-dodging, disrespectful, bottom line ignorant idiots!"
She abruptly realized Janson was right there, looking at her with amused eyes. "No offense."
"Feel better?" He tilted the bowl over a metal tray with small indents at regular intervals, filling them in one at a time with brown gloop.
Jamet fought an unwarranted sense of embarrassment. She was in the right, here. It was obvious. "A bit, yes."
He laughed. Janson had a good laugh, deep and wide, encouraging without being judgmental. "Ah suppose we deserved that, a bit anyways. Nasty trick on you an' all. But maybe I 'eard wrong, was there a question somewhere in that?" He pulled open a small metal door, letting a billow of heat roll across the room for a moment as he jammed the metal tray inside.
Jamet leaned away from the heat. "What are you doing?"
"Cookin'?" He glanced between the closed door and her confused face.
Her mouth dropped open (really needed to look into that stretching routine). "Why! Wait, by hand? There is absolutely no way there isn't an autoprep here! Probably five, with a redundant dozen in storage!"
"Eh," he shrugged, grin firmly in place. "Ah needed a hobby. Keeps my hands busy, smoothes my mind. Peaceful like." He snagged two mugs from a cabinet, thrust them into the caf maker and deposited one in front of Jamet. "There yuh go."
She took it on instinct, still perplexed. "Why not just- I don't know, play with the prep unit? Adjust settings or ingredients? It's the same thing!" Her elbow came down on a wrapper with a crinkling sound. She brushed it away with a disgusted look. "And less messy."
Janson shrugged easily and pulled a chair out. He didn't just sit: He sort of engulfed the seat in a gentle motion that left every part at rest without once knocking the table on edge. "The ship?"
"Oh. Right. I went through the schematics and the Kipper just isn't poss-" He grinned over the edge of the mug. Jamet switched mid-word with a glare. "Unlikely. It's too expensive! Who budgets for this? Who pays? Who are we accountable to?"
"S'easy, those are all the same person-- the Cap'n."
She blinked. Blinked again. "Wait, which one?"
"All 'em. He paid for the Kipper, pays the budget, we report to 'im. S'easy," he repeated again.
For the second time that day Lieutenant Jamet Reals felt like she'd fallen into cold water without a bottom, too deep to even get to the surface again. She flailed mentally. "That's. That's..." There was affluence: She knew affluent people. Middle Management, mostly. It was a large group that competed in cutthroat budgetary meetings and schemed on the daily to shove everyone else down. That was her strata, her place, she knew it.
Above them were the Rich, capital 'R'-- a smaller group of Upper Management and bottom tier Executives fallen from grace but with too much dirt on everyone to really go out of the game. They kept a lid on everyone downrank, kept the attrition going and occasionally doled out bonuses. Everyone in Middle had dreams to move to that level someday, it was the goal for a lifetimes' worth of backroom dealing and treachery.
But somewhere far, far above that was true Wealth, that near-mythical status where money becomes an abstract concept and the players traded favors on scales that moved system populations. Generations of Upper Executives lived there full time, rubbing elbows with Corporate Board members and (presumably) the anonymous, elusive Shareholders.
It wasn't just about being able to afford a custom Cruiser like Kipper. That might be possible, especially if several Upper Management moguls somehow agreed with each other long enough to pool a budget together. But the Kipper wasn't just a purchase, a toy, someone's private recreation vehicle: It was a registered Corporate Navy vessel, part of the Military Economics branch, with assigned Navy personnel and everything. She assumed so, anyways-- who else ran around in an armed Cruiser and no one batted an eye?
But under the control of a single person. Therefore, that person practically owned the local branch of the CN... or had enough power over the entire local Executive group that it didn't matter.
Jamet's face felt numb. "Captain Siers owns and operates the Kipper."
"Yup. Easy now, 'ur looking a little gray 'round the edges." Janson patted her arm sympathetically. "Deep breaths, now. Helps me."
She took the plunge, barely feeling the words: "Is he Board?"
He shrugged. "Never asked. Whoa, ey!" He grabbed her moments before Jamet would have gone over sideways. "Careful, there!"
"Don't touch me." Was there an oxygen leak? Why weren't the alarms going off? It took both hands to hold the table down while the room tried to sling her off.
"Alright." Janson raised both hands, huge palms opened harmlessly. "If'n you like, ma'am."
She regrouped, forcing everything back into order by raw willpower until it felt like she could talk again without gasping like a dying fish. "What's the purpose? The mission. Our orders. What are we doing?"
"Eh, checkups mostly. Go 'ere, go there. Visit places, sometimes drop off or pick someone up. Captain figures it out as we go." He seemed oblivious to how nonchalantly he was detonating bombs on her sense of career advancement. "S'good life. Fun, like. Caf too hot for you? I can cool it off a bit."
Jamet wrapped both hands protectively around the drink. "No, it's- it's fine." She was going to throw up and ruin her uniform. Zero chance of that not happening. "Can we change the subject?"
"Mmhmm." A timer buzzed nearby. "Oop, jus' a moment. I'll get that." He reversed his seating trick with deft speed, hundreds of muscled pounds and overalls gracefully disengaging the table. Throwing open the cooker he used a dry piece of cloth to pull the sizzling metal sheet out, setting it on the counter with a critical eye. "Eh. Heat too high, but might be salvageable. Want one?"
Janson seemed hopeful, but one look at the blackened remains decided her. "I'd rather not."
"Aw." He claimed the chair again, visibly deflated. "Sorry, forgot what 'ur question was."
She veered away from asking about Kipper or the Captain. What else was there? "Engineering."
"Eh? What about it?" He dunked something black and crusty into the caf mug, then navigated the remains into his beard and, presumably, his mouth.
She seized on the topic. "You're the only Engineer? And the only Maintainer? How is that possible?"
"Eh, s'easy most of the time. Just 'ave to stay on top of it. Why? Something wrong with 'ur quarters?"
"No. Wait," he was offering, after all. "Yes. I'd appreciate another display shelf."
He flicked a glance up, then to one side. "Alrighty, doin' it now."
"You mean later."
"Nah, now." He tapped one thick finger against the back of his neck. "Got a drone on it."
If she hadn't been seated already Jamet might have fallen down. "You're chipped?" That was ludicrous; mind-machine interface was so astronomically expensive it was nearly unheard of at her level. There was no 'one size fits all' when it came to the human brain-- every implant had to be custom made and firmware created specifically for the person and the system involved. "Wait, you're in the entire Engineering system all at once, even the maintenance drones?"<
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