Soundless Conflicts

by S. Walker

  And every purchase was authenticated by Timothy Siers, Captain. With personal guarantee.

  Jamet wiped the display again, leaving the ceiling the flat gray of industrial paint. "List purchases, grouped by category, tagged by dollar amount." She rested both hands on her stomach as results blazed to life. It was a huge range of purchases, everything from heavy machinery to medical. Even personnel contracts bought and moved, or work crews expanded in some cases. It almost looked like... she snapped as the realization hit. "It's setup purchases. Investments. Everywhere the Kipper goes, they're putting money into infrastructure and people. But... but where's the profit? Where's the bottom line?" Every Corporation branch watched their profits like they were counting individual atoms. This kind of expenditure had to be balanced with a giant green credit symbol somewhere.

  She checked, looking for income. The system politely told her to get authorization first: It turned out some things were sensitive, after all.

  Perplexed, Jamet spent the next half hour idly scrolling through purchases, looking for patterns and shooting down theory after theory. She was pursuing a line of purchases on entertainment consoles (including a two million credit, zero interest loan for something called "Performances in Parks") when the console beeped urgently, a bright red indicator popping from the top of the display.

  She tapped it, irritation turning to concern as her calendar expanded to the current date, with a brand new meeting reminder front and center. With Captain Siers, in... she checked local time. Twenty minutes. How was it past supper already?

  "Oh shit." Her stomach growled.

  Chapter 5

  The Right Positions

  Twenty minutes is not a lot of time for potentially career-assisted suicide.

  Jamet had just enough time to grab a spare uniform, sprint to the sanitation room down the corridor and stuff dirty clothes into a recycler. She only paused once, staring critically at the rack of awards pinned to her overcoat with a vague feeling of annoyance. Janson's comment about sharing one of her biggest accolades still smarted; if there was more time she'd look into swapping out the little strips of colored plastic until she was sure no one else had the same configuration.

  The console beeped. "I know!" She stormed out, then-- once again-- stormed right back in for a nervous hair and wrinkle check.

  Back in the corridor she hustled mid-ship, heading towards the ambassador's quarters. She remembered the route clearly but this blasted oversized ship caused problems at every turn. Why did everything have to be so far apart? With less than a minute to spare she was in place, tugging seams straight and taking several huge breaths. With a cough that doubled as a breath check she hit the announcement toggle next to the hatch and waited.

  Half a minute passed. Jamet knew because after the first several eternities she snuck a glance at the ship's time, prominently displayed on a nearby public console. She put a hand out, hesitated, then decisively hit the announcer again. Hopefully this wouldn't cross some mysterious line of irritation. There were some Uppers that liked to make underlings wait just to exert power over them. Maybe Captain Siers was one of them.

  The last few seconds clicked down to nothing. The ship politely sent a ping her way to notify a missed appointment. "What! I'm right here, you stupid-"

  Jamet right-faced and drove heelbeats into the deck marching to the nearest public use console. A savage swipe and ID later her calendar was on-screen, the captain's appointment highlighted bright red and listing a missed appearance at-

  She blinked. "The captain's quarters?" A quick glance confirmed she was, in fact, still at the ambassador's receiving room. Where she'd last seen Captain Siers. Which, Jamet assured herself repeatedly while sprinting hell-bent back the way she came, was entirely reasonable to assume a meeting would take place at. "Why wouldn't a sane, reasonable person think that?!" She took a corner with both arms furiously pumping, awards bouncing left and right alarmingly. The emergency hatch between the mid-line and bow section was almost too much to take at full speed; one elbow smashed painfully into the bulkhead going through. Seconds later she flew past her own quarters, headed farther toward the bow near the bridge area. It should be right about-

  Jamet overshot a hatch with a prominent gold 'Siers, Timothy Capt' nameplate, feet stutter-stepping and arms flailing wildly for balance while reversing course. She bent over, out of breath, one hand on her trouser knee with a supporting palm on the hatch itself. Stray black hair stuck to every patch of sweaty skin. She wheezed twice like a faulty air recycler, trying to get breathing and heartbeat back under control and probably doing nothing but making her complexion turn red.

  And, of course, that's when the hatch swished open. "You're late." Jamet practically pitched forward into the room.

  "It wasn't- hee- intentional- huh- sir." With a huge gasp of air she forced herself upright, falling into attention with bright spots dancing merrily through her vision. "Lieutenant Reals, reporting as ordered!" As a presentation went, it was rather spoiled by immediately hacking for breath. She couldn't see, blast it.

  "At ease, lieutenant. Take a seat before you collapse." He didn't sound upset. "I'm highly interested in how you came to be running wind sprints through the ship, but take your time if you need it."

  Jamet fumbled forward, banging into a chair and nearly falling into it. The stars were receding, now. "Wrong- room."

  She could hear him moving now, voice transiting around the room. A moment later a cold glass thrust itself into her hand, condensation feeling blissfully good on her fingers. Jamet chugged gratefully, then exploded everything right back into the glass as some sort of earthy liquor ravaged her throat. "Hnngkt?!"

  "Not the typical way to enjoy that, but to each their own. Towel on your right if you need it." His voice moved away and lowered; sitting, perhaps.

  Desperate grabbing motions netted the offered towel. Jamet coughed violently into it for a full minute, intermittently wiping tears and silently cursing everything she could think of. Forget presenting a professional look: Her first meeting was giving the captain rich blackmail material in spades. And he didn't even seem to have planned it as far as she could tell-- she'd been to ambush meetings before and none were quite this slapdash.

  When she could finally see again things did not take a turn for the better. From her previous meeting she'd expected a disaster of a room; empty bottles and wrecked furniture over stained carpet. Perhaps with uniform pieces flung haphazardly over every upright surface. This was the exact opposite: Captain Siers presided behind an immaculate working desk, uniform neat and clean, jawline shaved around a neat mustache with every hair set in place. The carpet was deep Corporate Navy gray, the CN seal prominent in the middle just beneath a set of visitor’s chairs-- one of which she occupied. A small open doorway to the right presumably led to attached living quarters, a luxury only top-ranking ship officers were accustomed to.

  Every single wall of his receiving area was packed with display shelves, showing off a wild collection of mementoes that spanned every culture she'd ever heard of. Quite a few with glass bottles, filled with amber or brown liquid and boasting exotic labels.

  "Feel better?" He seemed to be working while she recovered, fingers tapping at a console display built right into the desk. Occasionally he swiped something or pulled a new menu, blue eyes jumping every now and then to check her way before returning to business.

  "Yes." Jamet set the glass on a nearby table, refusing to even entertain the idea of another sip. "I apologize for being late." She was starting this meeting with a negative score and knew it. Time to level the points a little. "I thought the meeting was for where we met earlier. To be honest after last time I was expecting this to be more," she hesitated, glancing artfully at the room. "Informal."

  Siers stopped typing, eyebrows slowly rising. After a moment he wiped the console and shut the lid, blending it seamlessly into the top of the desk in one smooth motion. He settled in place like a prize fighter sizing up a youthful challenger, o
ne hand cupped in the other and weight forward on both elbows. "Lieutenant Reals?"

  Ah, here came the threats. This meeting was back on track and Jamet knew the script: First came the stick, then allusions to carrots unseen, followed by expectations for performance. Perhaps a hint or two about rivals to eliminate along the way, carefully couched in Corporate non-speak. "Yes, sir?"

  "I've put a commendation into your performance file."

  "Of course, and I fully respect-" she blinked. "A what?"

  One hand went below the edge of the desk, then emerged again after a clinking sound. Captain Siers had his own glass now, half full. "Your performance file," he repeated. "It's a loophole in the evaluations system. Your last appraisal was abysmal, it looked like every single Exec from your level all the way to regional headquarters took a runny dump in it."

  Now that sounded like a threat, one she'd planned for. She ground both sets of molars together. "I can assure you, sir-"

  He stomped right over her without pause. "Future assignments are automatically generated based on your last three reports, so a bomb like that all but guarantees you'd be marginalized on some horrific system position for the next three yearly reports. That's assuming you had the funds to weather the sanctions and garnishments they slapped on top without becoming an indebted worker."

  From the back of her mind a heavy, sarcastic voice spoke up. For fiscal irresponsibility, it sneered with that slight pompous echo they put on every discipline meeting. And failure to safeguard Corporate bottom line, we hereby garnish all wages... "That didn't happen."

  "Not yet," he agreed. The glass suffered a long sip. "But once you have a single bad report, it's easier to get marked down on the next yearly appraisal. And so forth. It's a death spiral into Lower Management or worse."

  Which she knew already, goddammit. Was he trying to get her upset? Make her say something to use later? As opening threats went this was an advanced course. "But of course, sir, you can overlook that. I can guarantee my performance will-"

  He looked bored, the bags under each eye somehow becoming more prominent. "I'm taking care of it, lieutenant."

  "-never reflect badly on you, sir. In fact," her brain caught up to his words. "Pardon?"

  "It's a loophole in the report system. You can get only get one bad appraisal every year, but there's no limit on how fast you can be put in for a positive performance review." He tapped the desk, right over the closed console. "I've put one in. Mostly boilerplate, but I certified it and that counts. I'll put another in next month and a third the month after that. In a little over a quarter from now the assignment system will give you anything you like." He smiled in a tired way, one side of his mouth barely moving. "Congratulations."

  For a single, perfect instant Jamet felt an entire planet's worth of smothering despair slide from her shoulders. Even her back abruptly relaxed, vertebrae she hadn't even known were under stress popping in several places. She was saved! A future of doom, tumbling down the ranks into indentured (indebted, a nasty voice corrected) worker status averted in a single meeting.

  Then years of surviving Corporate dealings and backroom social knife fights reared its head. This was an incredible reversal of fortune and those never came without a price. Jamet was alone in a room with someone she was starting to believe had more power than an entire system of Upper Management executives. No witnesses, no recordings. His word against hers, if she even got a complaint past him to begin with and someone took her seriously.

  She schooled her face into neutrality, giving nothing away. "And in return, what do you expect from me?" Best to set some boundaries up front. "The Captain should know I won't accept a personal relationship."

  Both of his eyebrows crashed so hard his eyes nearly disappeared. Combined with that thick, trimmed mustache it made him look like some sort of hairy plant. Without a word he waved open his desk console, then tapped three times for a connection before speaking into the air towards the device. "Emilia?"

  The answer was immediate. "Yes, Captain?" Jamet blinked in surprise. She could hear someone-- Paul Noscome?-- reading something off in the background.

  Captain Siers made direct eye contact with Jamet. "You won the bet."

  An ecstatic whoop came over the console, followed immediately by Paul's atonal groan. Without waiting for more Siers cut the connection and folded the console back down into the desk surface. He smiled faintly over the desk at her, one finger pointing in the general direction of the corridor outside. "My sympathies are with Paul. It seems he's zero for two on wagers."

  Jamet blushed furiously. "If I may apologize: I misunderstood." Which was a concession all by itself; if he were recording this meeting that admission alone would get him off any number of fraternization charges.

  Captain Siers didn't seem to care. In fact, he waved it off. "My mistake, it's been... a while since I've had to deal with someone fresh out of Corporate. And never from the Academy. Let's consider it settled and move on."

  "I would greatly prefer it. Sir." She'd just been given her life back, then promptly insulted the man who'd done it by suggesting he wanted to get laid. Was there an airlock close enough to space herself out of? "If you could perhaps give me some idea of what I'll be doing..."

  He nodded agreeably. "I've read your file."

  "I can explain."

  "Your Academy file."

  "I no longer need to explain."

  He elided gracefully over the interruption. "In particular, your navigation and ship maneuvering scores. Including-- and this was interesting-- your elective additional courses in ship based combat and tactics. Which hasn't been a curriculum requirement in over a century."

  All of which she'd taken to partner up with a certain model-handsome snake. Who ended up dropping the courses in disgust when she took an interest and casually surpassed his every test score. Why do you have to make me look bad? I thought we were together, J. She frowned, fighting bad memories. "I recall those."

  "Good. You'll be taking over helm control and ship positioning from now on, alongside anything additional required." Captain Siers seemed happy with the decision. "Although there's an upcoming assignment you may be in line for, if everything turns out."

  None of that made sense: No one-- no one-- manually guided ships any more outside of entertainment streams. Even the smallest transit ship moved entirely by singularity drive, projecting contained black holes directly in front and riding the event horizon forward at fantastic speeds. When you messed with literal black holes the last thing you wanted was human reflexes whipping them about: Go from forward pull to a sharp starboard too fast and no amount of local gravity fields could save you. The Academy delighted in showing catastrophic recording of trainees ripping simulated ships in half, pieces scattered over virtual space. And that was with one singularity: Multiple projections compounded the problem as event horizons fought for primacy.

  The best (and safest) way was automated control: Plot a course, enter it, let the system smoothly accelerate, turn and slow. Which is why the manual courses fell out of favor so long ago: Too many accidents, too many losses to the bottom line.

  To be told she was here specifically because of high marks in obsolete classes was a bit like being told she'd landed a paying job doing string art. "Captain, I'm... unsure what to think about this."

  "Think what you will. Did you read over the ship's files? Are you familiar with the systems, can you navigate manually?"

  Not a chance in hell, but now Jamet knew what she'd be frantically relearning. "I will be. Is this going to be a... routine thing?"

  "Doubtful." She breathed easier. "Although we'll start tests at our next system layover." Jamet almost choked.

  "Hngh- excuse me. How long until layover, sir?" She'd need a week. Two weeks. Dear sovereign stars and budget surpluses there better be a simulator buried somewhere in the ship applications.

  He glanced at a clock, prominently situated in the middle of an enormous pile of knickknacks on a nearby shelf. "Six hour
s, give or take. Bridge watch thirty minutes before, the crew and I have a little ceremony we do every time we're in a new system."