by David Smith
‘I’ll pay you the twenty thousand we originally agreed, but the receivers tell me that we won’t even get one cent per share. I’m going to make a big loss on this one’ said the Chief ruefully.
‘Stuff the twenty thousand’ growled Vainatolo ‘You owe me a ship!’
The Chief gulped. Maybe Manny wasn’t going to take it that well after all. ‘Now take it easy Manny, I can’t be expected to cover everything. If you want to share the reward, you have to share the risks . . . ‘
‘Who’s sharing man? You’ve lost a few credits, I’ve lost my livelihood!’
The situation was getting tense again, but without consciously thinking things through, the Chief defused it. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll get you a ship. I don’t know how, or where from, but I’ll get you a ship.’
The Chief sat back, not quite believing the words that had come out of his mouth. Had he just offered to give someone a spaceship?
‘In that case I think I’ll hang around for a while’ said Vainatolo, sizing up the Chief’s two henchmen to let them know he wasn’t afraid of them.
‘Yeah, good idea Manny. You do that’ said the Chief still worried by his own sudden and unexpected act of contrition. Where the hell did that come from? Was he developing a conscience??
Vainatolo got up and left the office and the Chief breathed a sigh of relief. That had been awkward.
He’d get Vainatolo a ship. Somewhere down the line an opportunity was bound to present itself. It always did, and the Chief prided himself on his ability to spot an opportunity and turn it into a profit. He’d make good on his promise.
He dismissed the two henchmen and sat in his office ruminating on the other matter that was causing him concern. He’d never admit to being a clever man, but the Chief’s IQ was far higher than most people gave him credit for.
He also wouldn’t admit to being something of a follower of current developments in physics, although he was. What was secretly causing him as much discomfort as actually losing money on the deal was the fact that he didn’t even know if he was in the right universe.
Had they changed the future as Manny had suggested? Or had some quantum effect caused a divergence of reality, where the real him was sat in this office having decided not to try screwing with the past?
He sighed. He’d never know. His only consolation lay in his personal philosophy. What had gone before didn’t really matter. Success was all about maximising your opportunities.
The past is gone. Every day is a fresh start: find the opportunity, do your best to maximise it. Which universe you were in was a moot point.
--------------------
Outside the stores complex, Manny stopped at a comms station and called the Tiger’s Captain.
‘Hey Hollins, I been thinking about it. If that offer’s still open, I’d like to sign up.’
‘That’s great news, Manny. Welcome aboard!’
Chapter 4: ‘Observations’
Study Log: Operative Chavak Da’Lann
Imperial Date, HM20976.19 - H’Vaar Dynasty
I continue to observe the species that identifies itself as ‘Humanity’.
I have taken on the physical form of a Terran, constructed on a template of a mature Caucasian male, with the assumed identity Petty Officer David Mann. I serve aboard a starship in the of the fleet of one of this dimensions larger geo-political entities, the United Federation of Planets. Whilst this has given me the chance to interact with the species directly and observe at first hand their strengths and weaknesses, I still find it difficult to integrate with them fully.
Their language in particular is inefficient and inconsistent. Most speak a language known as ‘English’, which is an ancient tongue that has evolved continuously. During this evolution, it has absorbed elements from several other Terran languages such as French, German, a variety of Scandinavian and Asian sources and even long-dead languages such as Latin.
Complicating matters further, the current version of the English language contains a plethora of sub-dialects and accents. Worse still, each sub-dialect and accent has its own slang and colloquialisms that are completely incomprehensible and often incompatible with other sub-dialects.
Only yesterday, a conversation with Crewman Phaedra Hart (who defines herself as ‘American’) suggested that the words ‘Phat’ and ‘Stoopid’ were complementary terms.
Unfortunately, when I attempted to utilise these terms to complement my opposite number at the change of shifts, I was physically assaulted. It seems these words have different connotations in Europe.
That response reinforces my previous conjecture that Terrans are essentially still primitive.
It has taken the K’Vorr over a hundred thousand years to develop from being primitive to our current multi-dimensional technological state. Along the way, we have evolved both naturally and artificially, eliminating undesirable traits and perfecting our genome. I take pride in the fact that I was constructed from the genes of seventeen of the finest K’Vorr ever to have lived, and was grown in the premier laboratory of the Jivan Prefecture.
Terran technology has advanced at an astonishing rate, but their physiology lags far behind. While they are now technologically an interstellar race, they are physiologically still hunter-gatherers who would be better suited to chasing wildebeest across the veldt.
This fact has introduced several challenges to my mission. Although I retain the intellectual and mental faculties of a Senior Operative of the Imperial Fleet of the K’Vorr Empire, I am physically a ‘human being’ and suffer from all the inefficiencies and defects inherent in the physiology of that species.
I am infested with something called ‘hair’ that requires constant grooming, and my gut is full of symbiotic bacteria that can react quite violently to sudden changes in diet or the introduction of external bacteria and viruses.
On a recent team bonding exercise (which Chief Amiss referred to as a ‘piss-up’) I attempted to engage with my crew-mates to learn more about their customs and mannerisms.
However, all I discovered was that large volumes of the alcoholic beverage known as ‘beer’ followed by an Asian dish called ‘Chicken Vindaloo’ has a devastating effect on my gut symbiotes. Most of them opted to leave my body the following morning, which ruined several sets of my uniform.
However, by far the most peculiar and disconcerting aspect of this human body is its susceptibility to its own primitive, instinctual urges.
Terrans are obsessed with breeding.
More accurately they’re obsessed with the initiation of the process of breeding.
From a personal perspective I can only partially understand this. Whilst I can find nothing appealing about any of my colleagues in the Phaser Operation Reserve Team, it would seem that the endocrine system of my body does.
I recently entered the starboard Phaser Control Room to find Petty Officer Mercedes Bent partially naked and indulging in gratuitous copulation with a member of the Engineering team.
I did nothing other than remind her of her duties, but she apparently took offence to my observation of the Terran copulation process.
My statement that she was in breach of Regulations 4, 6, 17 and 22 of the Fleet Disciplinary code brought about a physical assault, and I was ejected from the compartment for approximately five minutes while she finished what she was doing.
Her comments while ejecting me were as confusing as the English language can allow. She questioned my personal hygiene, suggested that I too had been copulating (ridiculous!) and also questioned my birth status, all within a single phrase.
Once I had recovered outside the compartment, I reviewed my physical status with some alarm. Although I have been repeatedly assaulted, my body had never responded in this manner before. I found that my mind was locked into a continual cyclic review of the act of copulation, largely focusing on Petty Officers Bent’s naked body. My heart rate remained elevated, and the blow to my face resulted in a swelling of my left eye.
I assumed I must
also have been assaulted in the groin region, as I had a very worrying swelling there too. Fortunately this subsided a few minutes later with no obvious sign of lasting damage.
However, I later discovered that in fact this was a primitive response engendered by my endocrine system. I am concerned that while I remain a K’Vorr, I am exhibiting some very disturbing human traits.
--------------------
Petty Officer David Mann waited patiently for the rest of the Relief Phaser Operations Team to arrive in the Centre Phaser Control room.
As always, he’d been the first to arrive after the team-leader, Chief Sally Amiss. Mann knew that no matter what time the Chief called a meeting, she would arrive at least ten minutes early.
In exactly the same way, he knew that the rest of the team would arrive late. He checked the time and PO Jari Hirvonen turned up exactly one minute late, followed by Crewmen Andrei Makarov, Karen Walsh and Hannah Wright.
‘Come in, come in!’ smiled Amiss, and entirely predictably asked ‘Has anyone seen Holden? Or Staines?’
Crewman Karen Walsh had a mean-streak a mile wide and could never resist the chance to put someone down. ‘Holden’s busy resting before work tires her out and Staines is making use of his season-ticket for Sick-bay.’
Amiss sighed and Mann wondered why she’d even bothered to ask. She knew full well that Holden was the laziest person in the fleet and the Staines had the worst sick record. Neither had turned up for the regular weekly team meeting in the two years he’d been aboard USS Tiger.
He checked the time again. Any second now . . .
The door slid open and Petty Officer Mercedes Bent stormed in. ‘Sorry I’m late. Have I missed anything?’
Mann observed her. Although his physical body was essentially human, all of its sensory organs had been significantly enhanced to facilitate his observations.
He could see that her skin was flushed and sweating, denoting strenuous physical activity. As usual when around PO Bent, his olfactory senses detected distinct traces of male pheromones (from more than one male, he noted) as well as several more basic body-fluids.
His enhanced hearing could detect that her heart rate was elevated and she was emitting several pheromones of her own. There was a familiar squelching sound as she sat down.
There was an awkward silence that persisted until Crewman Phaedra Hart arrived last (of those that would bother to turn up.)
The door closed behind her and as everyone stared at her she turned angrily; ‘WHAT??’
Everyone looked away and she slumped against a console at the rear of the compartment looking bored and sullen already.
‘Lovely!’ said Amiss with a bright and fragile smile before starting the briefing.
‘As you know the Captain plans to get underway in about three weeks time, so there’s lots to be done before then to get the ship fully operational. We all have to muck in and work hard to get things done, even though some of the tasks aren’t that much fun.’
There was a degree of fatalism among the team and they exchanged knowing, resigned glances as Amiss continued her briefing. ‘We’ve been allocated some particularly important tasks and the Captain is depending on us to complete them in a thorough and professional manner. I think it’s a bit of an honour that we’ve been chosen to undertake a complex and difficult . . . ’
Hart interrupted her with the thought that all of them were having. ‘We’ve been assigned to calibrate the bearings, haven’t we?’
Amiss paused, but couldn’t think of any other way in which to sugar-coat the bad news. ‘Um. Yes.’
There were groans all around the compartment. The whole team hated the calibration exercise that aligned the phasers to the ships sensors. It was a long, tiring and tedious exercise made worse by the fact that they had to work in close co-operation with the relief phaser engineering team. Even by Tiger’s standards, the relief phaser engineering team were a nightmare.
‘Oh come on, team! It’s a vital task and someone has to do it!’ pleaded Amiss.
Hart wasn’t impressed. ‘Yeah, but it’s always us, isn’t it? The primary phaser team can’t be assed so they do the software adjustments while we get the crappy left-over bits with that bunch of arse-wipes from Engineering.’
‘They’re not that bad. Really’ argued Amiss, sounding entirely unconvinced.
‘Well not all them, anyway’ she admitted quietly.
Mann looked around the compartment and didn’t need enhanced senses to determine how disappointed the team were. He himself was ambivalent. He found all humans fractious, tiresome, confusing and inconsistent, so working with the engineers didn’t particularly worry him.
‘So, I thought we’d mix things up a bit this time. You know, freshen things up a little . . . ‘ said Amiss blushing bright-red.
Everybody knew this was her half-hearted attempt to head-off the catastrophe that was looming: Their last attempt to undertake the calibration had been a complete and unmitigated disaster.
Everyone had their own version of events, but the salient point was that the calibration hadn’t been completed. They’d been forced to abandon the process after one of the phaser team and two of the engineers had ended up in Sick-bay. Everyone else apart from Amiss and Mann had ended up in the ship’s Brig.
Nobody looked impressed, but Amiss had no option other than to press on regardless. ‘I talked it through with Petty Officer Samir Hafeji . . . ‘
Mercedes Bent interrupted Amiss. ‘Aww what? Why isn’t Sanchez helping us?’
Amiss tried to give Bent a stern look, but her timid nature consigned this to appearing as a half-hearted, slightly apologetic shrug. ‘Because it’s become painfully apparent that you and Sanchez aren’t a very good team, Mercedes.’
‘Sanchez and me are fine! We get along like a house on fire!’ complained Bent.
Amiss sighed. ‘You may get along “fine”, Mercedes, but that’s not the same as working well together.’
There were chuckles all around the compartment. Petty Officer Alex Sanchez was a handsome, strapping Spaniard, whose incredible stamina was due to his regular cycle training. It was a well known ‘secret’ that he and Mercedes indulged in noisy and energetic sex on a regular basis, mostly whilst on duty.
Bent looked a little chastened, but tried again. ‘Dunno what you’re on about. I just get on well with Alex.’
Walsh snorted. ‘Don’t play innocent, Mercedes it really doesn’t suit you!’
‘Shut the fuck up, Walsh’ snapped Mercedes.
Karen Walsh couldn’t resist teasing other members of the team even though that resulted in regular visits to the disciplinary board, Sick-bay, or both. ‘What’s the matter Mercedes? Worried that he’ll find another bike to ride?’
Mercedes looked a bit awkward. ‘He’s a free man. He can do what he likes.’
‘Or who he likes’ smirked Walsh.
Mercedes straightened up and sounded quite defensive. ‘I gave him the best two minutes and thirty seconds of his life. Once they’ve had the best they won’t touch the rest. Well, not as often anyhow.’
‘Soooo . . . ‘ interrupted Amiss ‘my thinking was that this time around, perhaps Phaedra and Liz could assist David on the starboard bearing and PO Hafeji has assigned Walther Groenendall and James Nyambo from engineering to complete that team.’
Hart rolled her eyes. Mann simply raised an eyebrow. Holden would be late if she turned up at all, but Hart was actually quite a proficient member of the team. Groenendall and Nyambo were both competent engineers. They’d manage.
Amiss checked her list again. ‘Jari, you take Andrei and Karen to the Port bearing. Your engineering support will be Michel Gabilliard and Dimitar Mihailov.’
Jari nodded impassively. Mann knew that Jari didn’t normally work with Karen Walsh, but that was to keep her away from some of the other engineers. Walsh had already established an antagonistic relationship with many of the engineering staff, most of whom now refused to work with her. In truth, it would
be best for everyone if she didn’t show up at all: She wasn’t a fighter, but if anyone would start a fight, it would be her.
Amiss continued. ‘Mercedes, that leaves you with Hannah and Robin on the Centre bearing’ she blushed even brighter red as she added ‘I’m afraid that means you’ll have Wolf Gutzeit and Thaddeus York for engineering support.’
‘Awww what?? I hate them wankers!’ moaned Mercedes.
No-one else said a word. While they all sympathised with Bent, none of them would trade places with her. Gutzeit and York were undoubtedly the two most disliked members of the crew. Both were vicious fascists, overtly racist and totally out of step with the society around them. The only significant difference between them were their respective opinions that Germans or Americans were the superior race.
‘Oh they’re not so bad Mercedes!’ said Amiss hopefully. ‘Just don’t start talking about politics, or social issues. And don’t crack any jokes. Actually they’re probably a lot more tolerable if you don’t talk to them at all.’
‘It’s not that!’ moaned Bent. ‘They’re both . . . y’know . . . they won’t . . . ‘
Amiss rolled her eyes. ‘Mercedes, how many times must we go through this? You’re not allowed to have sex whilst on duty. Part of the reason that Gutzeit and York have been assigned to work with you is that they’re both gay, so you won’t be able to distract them from what they should be doing.’
‘Only takes two minutes’ grumbled Bent.
‘Or two and half in Sanchez’ case!’ snorted Karen Walsh.
Amiss tried to look stern and assertive but only managed to look vaguely constipated. ‘That’s neither here nor there Mercedes. I expect this team to be professional and efficient.’
The team stared at her in awe-struck amazement and Amiss had to realign her expectations. ‘Ok, that’s probably asking a bit much but can we at least try to get through this calibration without having anyone end up in the Brig. Or Sick-bay. Please?’
--------------------
On his next shift, Mann turned up at the correct time and waited patiently.