by Robert Culp
Then Twelia steps to the line. I do not want to be on the same boarder repel team with her. Three of twelve? Ugh!
Aria calls, “Cease fire on the line, firers lock and clear all weapons. Today’s exercise is complete. All of you, these are your weapons. Take them to your cabins. Clean and store them. In your spare time practice your dry fire drills. If it is available, you may use this room for practice. You can access the scheduling database through any holoCom on the ship. The armorer will give you cleaning kits as you leave. The TMs are all in the ship library and I urge you to study them. Pay particular attention to the immediate action drills. When you hear the alert—and you will know it when you do—don your APE suit, grab your weapon and head to your alert station. We will do this again in twenty-two hours. Dismissed.” The only thing Twelia looks at as she leaves is the deck plating.
I accept my cleaning kit from the armorer and hurry to catch her out in the corridor. “Twelia, wait up for a second.” She stops and turns; she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. I don’t want to embarrass her any more so I lower my voice. “I saw you fumbling with the rapid reload. An old boyfriend of mine used to practice changing magazines with the lights out or blindfolded. He said your eyes will trick you. You have to trust your fingers. Your eyes will mislead you but your hands know where they need to go. Practice it a bit. I’m sure you’ll get it.” I give her my best “you got this” smile.
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe I’m sincere. “I’ll try it. Thanks.” She turns away then turns back. “Wait, it’s Sonia, right? You look like the girls I knew back in the day, but you aren’t like them, are you? I wasn’t the pretty or the popular girl. I was the one that girls like you, I mean girls that looked like you, picked on, but you really want to help me don’t you?”
“Yes, Twelia, I do. And no, I’m not like them. To be honest, once upon a time I was one of those girls, and when my mom found out she whacked me a good one. But since then I’ve spent too much time getting my hands dirty to get wrapped up in drama like that anymore. We’re shipmates. You’ve got my back and I’ve got yours. It’s the only plan that works every time.” I smile; she smiles. She holds her fist up. A fist bump isn’t a handshake, but it’s a first step. We go our separate ways.
I take my shotgun to my room, wipe it down and lock it up. I remember what Mack said about having it handy, but I’m not proficient yet, so I’d be a bigger danger to the crew than I would a help. Once everything is back where it belongs and I’ve stowed my cleaning kit, I return to Engineering. Mack is making his rounds. “How’d it go?” he asks.
“Not horrible. I only got captured, raped, mutilated and/or murdered seven out of twenty one times. A shotgun though? Pray tell why?”
I don’t know Gorb is behind me until I hear his gasp. “Shownya! You got hurt?”
Mack snickers but then realizes how upset he is. “No Gorb, she had Small Arms training this morning. Don’t worry, Sonia. You’ll get it down. A shotgun is the best shipboard weapon. If anyone is wearing armor, you can forget a pistol. And the self-propelled ammo of a poorly aimed assault rifle will do more damage to the ship than the boarders. That SP-10 can be loaded with seven different rounds. Some will defeat armor, some won’t. But all will deliver a hefty ballistic shock. Check the specs out tonight. And since you’re back, I’ve got work to do. See you later. Oh, by the way, has anyone shown you the lounge? It’s on deck C, area three forward. Good booze and plenty of socializing. But limit your drinking. Give yourself at least four and preferably six hours between play and work.”
“If you say so. And no one has said anything to me about a lounge. Deck C, area three forward? I’ll give it a look-see.”
I still have several hours until my shift is over. Mack left me a stack of work orders. A wide range of fixes takes me to each corner of the maneuver drive room. They also get me familiar with practically everything in the tool locker. As we aren’t always in eyesight of one another, Gorb and I have short-range intercom headsets.
“Shownya?” I hear Gorb crackle in my ear, “I’m going to get lunch, I’ll be back later.” Do I…no, it’s not set to always on. Then he didn’t hear me—directly—cursing that bolt that wouldn’t break free.
I key my microphone. “Okay, Gorb.” When he gets back I go.
After my shift, I make my way forward and up to the lounge. It’s not far from my stateroom. That’s convenient. The lounge is very nice and tastefully decorated, bigger than I would have expected. There are murals on the walls depicting several battles. I’m guessing Night Searcher was involved in them. These are the maps and charts, but there are a few photographs also. There are also several portraits, most likely famous Captains and/or beloved crewmen. The image of the stars streaking by the forward window—view port—is mesmerizing.
Looking around, I see two women sitting by the wall. Two guys that look like techies share a table in the middle, and a group of seven men and women sit around a large table in the upper area that looks out over the bow. That is the noisiest crowd.
The bartender is a very cute brunette with short, stylish hair. “What can I get you, honey? I’m Rachel.” She sets the obligatory napkin on the bar.
“Hi, I’m Sonia. Have any stouts? If not, anything dark and fermented is good. Preferably at room temperature.” She brings the drink. I’m impressed, the glass is not warm, but it isn’t cold. “Thanks. So who does a new girl approach for conversation without having to worry about fighting off an octopus later?”
We shake hands across the bar. “Not inclined to visit the broom closet? Well, that rules out the boys at the upper table. But should you change your mind, I guess you can take your pick of them. Those two techies over there, Ron and Johan, don’t like girls if you catch my meaning, but they are really nice guys. And they are actually fun to be around. Those two women over there are about as snobby as women get, but really good pilots.”
I dip my hand absentmindedly into a bowl of peanuts on the bar. “When I came aboard, I saw a man with metal gloves and boots. He had a respirator strapped across his throat. I haven’t seen him since, but I noticed Aria practically kowtow to him. Who is he?”
“Oh, that’s Captain Prowse. Good man. Don’t let that hooded tunic stuff mess with your head. I mean take him seriously, of course. He literally holds the power of life and death over everyone aboard. But he isn’t a gothic monstrosity. Rumor is he got caught in a serious plasma accident years ago. He also wears some sort of a bio unit that helps him breathe. I think he opted for the hood because what hair he still has is pretty thin. And with the scars he gets stared at either way. Perhaps he thinks fear and awe are better than compassion and pity. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some drinks to pour.”
Rachel gets busy when about a dozen more people come in. I’ll take a chance with Ron and Johan, so I approach their table. “Hi guys, my name is Sonia. Do you mind if I join you?”
They stand and we all shake hands. “Please do, I’m Ron, this is Johan. Is that a stout? That’s an unusual drink for a woman.”
Ron looks like Joe Average, but Johan is definitely making a fashion statement. His scalp is shaved except for a strip of hair two inches wide that creeps from his eyebrows to the base of his skull. And the shade of yellow dye doesn’t occur in nature, at least not among mammals. He snips at Ron, “Like you would know anything about what women like. Hi Sonia, welcome to Night Searcher. I suppose you came aboard at Tammuz?” I sit, they sit.
“I did. I’m in the Engineering department. And I like stouts. I think they are best when warm. I find it brings out the flavors to their maximum potential. Anybody can drink them cold. So what’s life like on Night Searcher?”
“It’s pretty exciting, actually,” Ron says. “We do a lot of different missions. I handle the robots and targeting systems. Johan works on the computer displays and the occasional auxiliary system here and there.”
Johan adds, “You’re likely to see me anywhere. I work for Controls And Instrumentation.
Except for robotics. Those people are just too cranky.” Ron makes a face at him.
“Well, if they break or need upgrades you may or may not see my smiling face. Help a sister out, just looking around, I see more than the occasional infantry type. Does the ship do a lot of fighting?” Another group of Troopers has come in. Before Ron can answer, one of the biggest stops by our table.
In a deep booming voice, he says, “Ron and Johan, my favorite butt-buddies! Who’s the hot bimbo?” Bimbo? Oh, no he didn’t. I fix him with a withering glare. To his credit, he returns it just as evenly.
“Beat it Jackson. Don’t make me call your sergeant again.” Johan hasn’t yelled. He hasn’t physically done anything even remotely threatening. He barely looked up from his drink. But the Trooper raises his hands, backs away and quickly joins his friends. What happened when he did call the sergeant? I can’t help but wonder.
As though nothing happened, Ron says, “Some fights, maybe more than our share. But mostly salvage missions that no one else wants to take on.”
“Or can. Some of our missions are pretty tough nuts to crack.” Johan adds. “Wasn’t that how we lost our last Chief Sergeant?”
Ron nods.
“Why do some people have ranks or titles but others don’t?” I ask.
“The Captain and some of his senior staff have titles. Commander this, Lieutenant that.” Ron explains, “The Troopers have a military-ish system, so they use ranks. Trooper, Sergeant, Chief Sergeant, but they try to keep it minimal. For them it’s a sort of command and control thing. For us lowly star-faring workaday types, it’s more functional than anything. A department head will use the title ‘chief.’ Or educational titles, like Dr. Sinnair, your boss. He is the number one engineer aboard, so he gets the title ‘Chief Engineer.’”
Johan points a thumb at the retreating Trooper. “Oh, and don’t mind Jackson, he’s as dumb a grunt as they come,” he opines. “But he’ll do anything for you.”
“Granted,” Ron chimes in. “Of course, you’ll have to listen to him brag about coming to your rescue. Often.”
“It’s the curse of being a pretty girl. There’s always some knuckle-dragger waiting around to make life miserable. Anyway, it sounds like it’s going to be an adventure. Thanks for the company, boys, but it’s time for me to get some shuteye. Catch you later?”
Both of them stand. “I hope so, maybe we could discuss super conductor theories over a cold beer one day?” asks Ron.
“Or which Troopers aren’t attached.” Johan catches the immediate glare from Ron. “What?”
6 SAXON
“Engineering,” Aria’s voice is in my earpiece, “we are reading a temperature fluctuation among the Transit drives.”
I see it, Aria. I do some quick coolant flow direction control so the drives cool uniformly. “Roger, Bridge, I’ve got it handled. We’re green to secure from Transit.”
I switch to the private channel. “Gorb! 469B is showing a drop in the coolant pressure. Can you find out what caused it please?”
“Okay Shownya.” The roar dies down. Night Searcher is no longer in Transit. Gorb and I each take off our helmets. I run a hand through my hair, I’m sure I look like a…well, something that had its head stuck in a helmet for several hours. The post-Transit diagnostics begin. I direct the computer to send a copy of the results to my notebook. That fluctuation Aria mentioned isn’t a catastrophe, and I’m not going to let it become one. When I get some time I’m going to find out why it happened and what needs to be corrected.
My workstation holoCom beeps. It’s Mack. “Yeah, Boss?”
Mack’s face fills the screen “When you get the Transit drives put to bed, I need you to come to the LEO.” He’s not looking so good. Must be something going on I don’t know about.
“Roger.” After shutting down the holoCom channel, I nail down a few more interlocks and double check the computer’s diagnostic routine of the engines. I tell Gorb where I’m going and he gives me a thumbs up. He’ll finish a few details then get started on that coolant issue. If the engines aren’t engaged, it’s time to fix whatever may be broken. And there is always something that needs to be inspected, repaired, or replaced.
Preventative maintenance procedures typically have three categories: Before, During, and After. Each is conducted at the appropriate time with respect to the apparatus. We’ll do the After maintenance checks when the engines are cold. When we get the warning order that Transit is approaching we’ll do the Before inspections.
I knock on the door and obey the “Enter!” bellowed from inside the LEO. Mack has one bare foot in a tub of ice and water. “Hey,” he says and looks up at me. “Wow, you look like hell. I need you to go down with the shore party and do the Engineering shopping. I would go, but I sprained my ankle. Here’s the list and the credit chip.” He hands me a pocket sized digital clipboard and the chip.
I look over the parts list. There’s nothing I don’t recognize; I asked for over half of it. “My first trip on a starship and I get to go on the shore party? My lucky stars must be ascending. I’ve never done this before but I’m sure I can handle it. Where do I need to be, when do I need to be there, and besides the list and chip, what do I need to have? And if I come across any terrific bargains, do I have any discretionary money to spend?”
“Easy girl. Sit. Stay. Good girl.” He grins. I look for something to throw at him. He moves his clipboard out of my reach. “Be in the Commons at 1900, Aria will give a briefing and one of the Troopers will lead the party. There’s two million on that chip. You may charge hotels, meals, and any parts not on the list that you can get for a good deal, but be prepared to defend your decisions.”
“Wilco, Boss. And thanks.”
I get to the brief a little early. I have the company chip in one pocket and my personal chip in another, just to make it harder for me to get them mixed up. There are already four people in the Commons, two men and a woman I don’t know are with Aria. Since I’m the last to arrive, the meeting starts on time. “If you do not all know each other, Sonia MacTaggert from Engineering, Needa Williams from Medical, and Troopers Freddie Call and Stanley McQueen.” She points as she introduces us. “Listen up: You have a maximum of two days but are subject to earlier recall. If you finish sooner, by all means return. Everyone has his or her shopping list. Freddie, you and Sonia will pair up. Ladies, these men are with you for your protection, so do what they say when they say it. Get all the items your departments have ordered and get it back here. You are authorized side arms to be carried openly. The law level is pretty liberal, and you should not need to leave the starport. But if you must, then use your best judgment. Should you run into any trouble that the Troopers cannot handle the duress code is ‘Debi.’ And do not run afoul of the local constabulary. We do not have the time to work out your legal problems and will depart without you. Questions?”
I raise my hand and say, “I may be the only person who doesn’t know, but what’s a duress code?”
“If you’re taken at gun point,” Stan explains, “or are in some other kind of danger, it’s a code word you’ll use to let us know you’re in trouble but the bad guy won’t know we know.”
“Just ask about ‘Debi’,” Aria says. “Any other questions?” There are none. “See you in forty eight or less.” She has a status board in place showing our assets. There is a launch prepared. We have a dedicated pilot, but just in case, Stanley and Needa are both small boat qualified.
As I leave, Freddie snarls at me “Small Craft bay in one hour. Don’t be late.”
“I was early for this, wasn’t I?”
“So?”
“So I’ll be on time for the launch.” I get the feeling he and I are going to bump heads. Often. Hopefully, there will be minimum fallout and decreasing regularity. I’m not wasting a smile on him. Huffing, he heads for the door. The meeting’s over and everyone heads for their rooms to get overnight bags and side arms.
Needa pulls me to one side “Hey, Sonia, don’t wo
rry. These two are top notch. Ex-Special Forces, both of them. Well, former Special Forces. I don’t think there’s any such thing as ‘ex-Special Forces.’”
“Hi Needa. I feel safe, no doubt. This is all so new to me though; I’m almost giddy. I’m babbling, aren’t I? Okay, I’ll be quiet now. I’ll see you in the Small Craft bay.” I go to my room, strap on a shoulder holster, do a quick function check on my pistol, top off the magazines, and pack an overnight bag. I make a quick pit stop in the ’fresher before heading to the Small Craft bay. One of Da’s rules: Never take predicted presence of a porcelain pot for granted. I display the data on Saxon from the library on my perCom:
SAXON:
Size: B.
ATMOSPHERIC: pressure is 1.03 kilogram per cubic centimeter. Roughly 19% oxygen.
HYDROLOGY: 45%
POPULATION: 66 Billion
LAW LEVEL: Established police forces at all levels of government but there is little cooperation between departments/agencies.
GOVERNMENT: Participating Democracy
STARPORT(s): 2. Parrukoo and Solorrom
Orbital Stations: 2 (1 Naval and 1 resort)
Moon(s): 2 (Astra and Leenor)
Saxon is roughly 11,000 miles in diameter. It has a moderate climate in the equatorial areas that are the locations for most of the cities, and cool to cold in the northern and southern regions.
Saxon’s primary sources of revenue are slavery, wheat, precious stones, and uronium. About 22% of the population is employed in the mining industry.
The two moons are Astra and Leenor. Astra is a Research Station and Disease Colony, and Leenor is Militarily Restricted.