"That's right, sir."
"That's wrong, Mister Kendall," Atal frowned. "I ordered that rations for the casual crew match the rations for my officers and the marine contingent."
Kendall shifted on his feet. Atal knew the poor boy was trapped between a rock and a hard place. "Sir... respectfully... the quartermaster's mate felt we didn't have the storage for all those supplies."
"Is the quartermaster's mate suggesting that I don't know the storage specs for my own ship?" Atal asked pleasantly.
"Oh, no sir! At least... I don't think so. It's just... well, Captain, it's customary to feed the casuals..." Kendall's face indicated he was searching for the words.
"Garbage?" supplied Atal.
"Storage efficient foodstuffs," finished Kendall.
Atal put his hand gently on Kendall's shoulder. "Mister Kendall, would you pass a message to the quartermaster's mate for me? Tell him that I ate grade K nutrient packs for sixteen straight months during the war with the Qraitian Empire. Tell him they taste like human excrement, and look worse. Tell him I won't ask anyone working for me to dine on excrement, unless he cares to volunteer to do so himself."
Kendall swallowed.
"Can you tell him that for me? And tell him to feel free to bring any questions he may have to my attention."
Kendall nodded. "Yes sir," he muttered, and began to walk away.
"Sir," said Flynn, "I believe –"
Atal held up his hand and called after Kendall. "Mister Kendall? Also tell your boss to check his personal inbox. There'll be a commendation there for you from the Captain, for exemplary conduct in dealing with a very demanding superior officer."
Kendall grinned and blushed. "Thank you, sir."
Atal turned back to Flynn. "You were saying?"
"You were saying," Celia reminded Atal. "You were saying 'what if Aer'La is a feral?' I believe you've shocked Romney."
"Have I shocked you?" asked Atal.
"Are you seriously proposing that no action be taken against her?" asked Flynn. His tone was shrill.
Atal shrugged. "She's committed no crime."
"She's stolen property!" cried Flynn.
"How do you figure?" asked Atal. "Who stole her?"
"A Varthan feral is legally the property of her owner, just as an animal would be. If she escapes custody, well... it's the same as if you'd picked up someone's pet. If you keep her here, knowing her real, legal status, Captain... you've stolen her."
"You really believe that?" demanded Celia.
"It's not a question of what I believe," said Flynn. "It's a question of law."
"By Confederate law," said Atal, "no sentient being may own another."
"By Confederate law," Flynn reminded him, "the laws of member worlds take precedence, provided they do not threaten the safety of other member worlds. Varthan law allows the ownership of ferals."
"But we're not in Varthan Freespace," said Atal. "We're in the Quintil system. The seat of the Confederacy, and bastion of human freedom."
"The Admiralty will not see it that way, Captain. The Varthan trade lobby is powerful –"
"The Admiralty won't know," said Atal.
Flynn drew himself up to his full height. "I'm afraid they will, sir. As I have discovered the girl's origins, it is ultimately my responsibility to alert the Admiralty of a possible interstellar incident."
"You need only alert me," said Atal.
"No sir. I need only alert you if you're willing to report my discovery. If you don't report it, the responsibility falls, again, to me. I will not risk court martial to protect this feral of yours."
"And if I order you to keep it quiet?" asked Atal.
"You would stand trial yourself," said Flynn levelly, "for obstruction of justice."
"Flynn, you bastard," hissed Celia Faulkner. "You know what the Admiralty will do, in the name of 'interstellar harmony.' They'll hand Aer'La over to the Varthans! She'll be killed, or worse!"
"If she's a feral," Flynn said smugly.
"And if she's not," said Atal, "she'll have been replaced aboard Titan while the investigation was conducted. She'll lose her rank." He paused, considering the implications for his Bos'n. "You're taking a pretty big chance with someone's future, Flynn."
"It's my duty, Captain," said Flynn gravely.
"And your economic interest, no doubt," Celia observed. "Tell me, Romney, how many of your investments depend on slave labor?"
Flynn ignored her, and said to the Captain, "Remember, if you don't report it to the Admiralty. I will."
He walked away.
"Detestable man," said Celia Faulkner. "If I weren't a white witch, there are a dozen ways I could drop him in his tracks."
"Well," sighed Atal. "It looks like the jig is up. I suppose Aer'La was going to be found out, sooner or later. I just thought I could keep her secret until we were better prepared to defend her."
"I tried to keep her secret from you, back on Arbiter," said Celia. "We know how that turned out."
Arbiter...
Atal had always thought it one of the great ironies of the Confederate Naval history that the ship named for the highest office in that part of space, the elected office of Arbiter, was one of the humblest, if not indeed the most squalid, in the service. An Arbiter of the Confederacy was one of a handful of individuals who made law which influenced countless worlds. The CNV Arbiter, on the other hand, did the kind of dirty work (with the kind of dirty people) that genteel folk didn't like to hear about. It was a great atmosphere for keeping secrets.
Atal, when he'd assumed command, had guessed right away that his new Bos'n was keeping secrets. He'd attempted to learn more from the only other seasoned officer aboard Arbiter, Celia Faulkner. The attempt had not gone as he'd hoped...
* * *
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're getting at, Captain," Celia Faulkner said politely. "You think there's something wrong with Bos'n Aer'La?"
"Not wrong, exactly –"
" – there's nothing wrong with her. She's very good at her job, and she's a delightful girl."
"I agree with you," said Atal, stifling his impulse to be too placating with this woman who was twice his age. "But she doesn't look like anyone's idea of a Bos'n. And that's my first problem – she's too young and pretty."
"I wasn't aware that that was a problem, Captain."
"It's just out of place, that's all. Bos'ns are supposed to be big, gruff, intimidating characters."
"She's more than she appears to be."
"I'll say she is," agreed Atal. "The first time she opened her mouth in front of me, the only non-profane words she uttered were 'the' and 'is.' Some of the curses she bandied about were words I'd never heard."
"Yes, Aer'La swears like a sailor. Did you ever meet a bos'n who didn't? A Border crew is composed largely of undesirables, Captain. Hard cases and malcontents. The malcontents are those who stand a chance of getting out. The hard cases actually like it here. The hardest cases are the former malcontents."
Atal smiled. "Which are you, Doctor?"
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"It's unusual for someone born and raised on Hecate to leave home for more than a short trip. I believe you've been on Arbiter for quite a few years. Why would a follower of Wicca choose to live out here among the gentiles? Aren't you normally a pretty cloistered lot?"
"Yes, we are. The rest is none of your damned business, Captain."
"Fair enough."
"And, if you'll pardon my bluntness, Aer'La's secrets – if she has any – are her business as well, not yours."
Atal sighed. "Doctor, I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts. Despite living in a culture that urges us to not judge a book by its cover, I've lived enough years to realize that, when I sniff something wrong about a person, there usually is something wrong. And I sniff something wrong about Aer'La. Or maybe I should say something too right. She's like a little china doll, enhanced with a foulmouthed talk unit. So why are the casuals so afraid
of her?"
Celia shrugged.
"Do you deny they are afraid of her?"
"I don't deny the obvious, Captain. Neither do I question it too intensely. People on border patrol distrust outsiders. I've learned not to ask too many questions."
"One might say you're being defensive, Doctor. Are you hiding something you know about Aer'La?"
"I –"
"Like, perhaps, her age? How old is she?
"That is a matter of record, Captain. Why ask me? Consult her records. For that matter, consult your predecessor's logs."
"I've checked the records," said Atal. "And Miles's logs. They tell me she's an orphan from New Bedford, her childhood records destroyed. She was pressed into service at age fifteen –"
" – 'Pressed into service,' Captain? I don't believe I've ever heard a career officer utter the phrase."
"You'll find I'm plain spoken, Doctor. Whether the Admiralty wants to admit it or not, the majority of the casual crew are blackmailed or otherwise forced into serving aboard our ships by paid recruiters. Sometimes they come here to avoid jail time they fully deserve. Sometimes they're framed. Either way, the process stinks, and I will not attempt to perfume its stench."
For the first time, Celia Faulkner actually smiled. It softened a face which otherwise seemed to be carved in granite. "The legendary Atal pragmatism rears its head."
"I make no claims to being a legend."
"You don't have to. You are. Trust me, I've been a legend for some decades."
"I know," said Atal, relaxing for the first time in her presence. "The Old Witch of the Navy."
"Accurate on all three counts, though the stories of my mystical powers are largely exaggerated. I've never turned a crewman into a toad, for instance."
"But they're never sure you can't," said Atal. "And that, Doctor, makes you an excellent candidate to keep secrets for someone who has something to hide."
"Back to business. For a moment there, we almost managed to be civil."
"I'm rarely uncivil, Doctor; but I do insist on cooperation. If the girl is underage to serve here –"
"Captain, age is no guarantee of maturity. Some very old people can be exceedingly childish, as I'm frequently reminded by my children and grandchildren. And my younger husbands."
"Agreed. Still, I have no tolerance for the militarization of children. Soldiery is a necessary profession, but not a game to which the immature should be indoctrinated. I've found mature-looking twelve-year-olds in my crew before. I sent them home, or at least to a place of safety where they could get an education other than the harsh one of non-commissioned service."
She regarded him impassively. "How nice. Shall I commission a medal for you?"
"Why are you fighting me, Doctor?"
"I'm not, Captain, not really. I'm just suggesting you get the lay of the land before you take any action."
"I always do. And I'm a quick study, I hope. For instance, I take your suggestion to mean that Aer'La is underage?"
"Not any more."
"Hmph. Okay. Thanks for being honest. I suppose there's no need to ship her out retroactively. She's extraordinarily young for the job she's doing, but... she is doing it well. I never imagined a Border crew could be managed so tightly. How did my predecessor ever think to put her in as Bos'n?"
"She... displayed a knack," Celia said carefully. "Against a couple of skulls, when two of the casuals tried to rape her the first week she was here. Miles made her bos'n's mate. Then the bos'n left –"
"A mate usually follows her Master."
"Aer'La... let's just say her loyalty was to Captain Miles. He took care of her. In exchange..."
"Oh. Oh. It's like that."
"Some of us don't have the luxury of following the conventional path to promotion, Captain. It doesn't make us less valuable as officers. Or people." Her tone was hard, icy, even. Atal felt as if he'd failed a very critical test, given by a very demanding teacher.
"Doctor, I don't –"
"Just give the girl a chance, Captain. Not all questions deserve answers – not even the Captain's." She stood and smoothed the physician's smock she wore. "Excuse me. I need to get back to work."
* * *
Celia's defensiveness about Aer'La had only intensified Atal's curiosity. He'd kept a close eye on her. He was not alone. Most of the male (and a few of the female) members of the crew kept a close eye on her as well. He suspected their motives were less pure than his own. One could not help but be aware of one's self as a sexual being in her presence. He noted that she rarely returned to her quarters alone at shift's end.
He also noted that Aer'La wore strong perfume, and used it liberally. This was unusual in the Confederacy, where such a high level of control over the human body's functions had been achieved. Body odor was self-regulated, not masked by perfumes and colognes. It was true that some, especially those in the sex industry, spent a great deal of money having their body chemistry tailored to produce a certain scent, but cosmetic perfumes were common now only on Terra and other worlds with non-engineered populations.
Ship's gossip had it that she slept around, that she was sexually insatiable. No one gossiped to the captain, of course, nor did Atal place much stock in ship's gossip. Still, he'd long made a point of hearing it whenever he could. Just as the mythology of a culture can be as important to an understanding of its identity as is its recorded history, so can the bits of slander and bile that make the gossip circuit be a telling indicator of the state of mind of a group. Atal consequently kept his ears open when rounding corners, and he walked softly. He'd heard some interesting things in the course of his career.
In Aer'La's case, what he heard was hardly unusual: a pretty young girl, assigned to a ship crewed by misfits with questionable morals, was seeing a lot of sexual action.
The question nagging Atal was, amongst these jaded sensualists, why were Aer'La's exploits the stuff of conversation? Fortunately for his curiosity, he had an available spy for all matters sexual: Kevin Carson. While not outwardly interested in life itself, the boy was fiercely attractive to the majority of those his own age. Unlike the serious Metcalfe, whose intensity discouraged those who might otherwise approach him, Carson's lack of emotional involvement (an attribute which, in Atal's experience, cloaked a great deal of pain) was a magnet to sexual partners.
It was inevitable that Carson and Aer'La would at least entertain the idea of a liaison. He had only to wait. He kept his ears open, and soon the murmurings about the Boatswain and the "new kid" drifted into them.
And he called the "new kid" to his cabin.
* * *
"Sir, I... 'scuse me, but I'm not precisely sure what you're asking me."
Atal had given Carson permission to speak freely, made a little small talk, complimented him on his handling of L-space transmissions and monitoring during his first week. Then he'd stepped through the invisible wall between captain and crewman, teacher and pupil: he'd asked Carson to explain his relationship with Aer'La.
Kevin Carson didn't like to admit he had feelings. Beyond a certain level of machismo regarding his sexual conquests, and his continual irritation with Metcalfe, whom he nevertheless continued to shadow, he wanted it believed that he simply cared about nothing. Consequently, he didn't mention to anyone the names of sexual partners, and would never confess to being in "a relationship."
"I want to know," Atal said evenly, "if the rumors I'm hearing have any basis in fact."
Carson bit his lip thoughtfully. "I trust you have a very good reason to ask, sir."
With the wrong tone, it could have been a very impertinent question. It could have been downright insulting. Carson didn't use the wrong tone, however. He wasn't telling Atal to mind his own damned business; he was acknowledging his trust in his captain, that he would not ask a prying question without good reason. They both knew that Carson wouldn't have answered if were not for that trust. "I do have good reasons. And to protect Aer'La's privacy, I'm not going to share them with you
. Suffice it to say that I need to know as much about her as possible."
"She's a bit of an enigma, isn't she?" he grinned. "Yes, Captain, she and I have..."
"I understand," Atal interrupted. "Have you noticed anything... out of the ordinary?"
"You mean like, 'she's hiding the fact that she's really a man?'"
"Well, I don't suspect she's a man."
"No, she's emphatically not," he said. "But I haven't noticed anything other than..."
"Yes?"
"She's very... competent."
"Sexually?"
"Yes, sir. It's as if she studied or something."
Atal allowed himself the briefest smile. At the same time, Carson's words caught him and stayed with him. 'As if she studied...'
"Did you notice her perfume?"
"Yeah. Cheap stuff, too. I asked her why she wears so much. She just said she likes to – never had it on her home world. But she never lets it wear off. Never."
"Do you know if she has any trouble with the rest of the crew?"
"Never. She says they're all afraid of her."
"Did she say why?"
"No, sir. She just admits she knows they are. Is she in trouble, sir?"
Atal didn't answer. He was assembling the pieces of the puzzle in his mind, and formulating a plan of action.
Finally, dismissively, he said, "Thank you, Carson, I think you've told me exactly what I need to know."
* * *
Atal hated secrets. He didn't like keeping them, and he despised having them kept from him. He was accustomed to being up front with people, and expected them to be so in return. To his thinking, any organization in which the majority of relevant operational discussions were held behind closed doors was an organization in grave trouble.
He knocked at the door of Aer'La's cabin. Arbiter was an old ship. It had once had the same announcement systems that all ships in the fleet had. Once upon a time on this vessel, he would have pressed his thumb against an indentation in the door frame, his print would have been read, and a voice inside the cabin would have announced him. If necessary, that same voice would have informed him if there was no response, or if the cabin's occupant had instructed that he not be admitted. Or it might have told him to carry out an impossible reproductive act. The system was passive when it came to accepting instructions. It made no attempt to edit or interpret.
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