He slipped a proprietary arm about her shoulders. "Well, now that you're back in civilization, I think you'll rediscover the benefits of being around people... more like yourself." He added quietly, "I look forward to renewing our... special relationship."
Kaya sighed thinly. "We didn't have a special relationship, Sestus. We had sex. Once. I had sex before I met you, and I've had it since. Most of the time it was better. Occasionally," she said, removing his arm from around her, and going to recline against Metcalfe's shoulder, "it was even an experience worth repeating."
For a moment, Blaurich's facade cracked. Kaya leered in a predatory fashion, reveling in his vulnerability. His confident air quickly returned, however. "Well," he said with amusement, "good for you, Metcalfe. I suppose, given your knowledge of animal husbandry, that you do have certain... primitive advantages."
Metcalfe opened his mouth, but Kaya was not relinquishing her place in the battle. "His 'primitive advantage' does have a few inches on yours, Sestus. That's one stereotype about Terrans to which Yank conforms. But he also knows how to use his primitive advantages. Maybe you should ask him for lessons."
With that, she turned and, patting Sestus lightly on the cheek, entered the officers' lounge without them.
* * *
Leftenant Phyn Darby looked old. By the standards of the Confederacy, where human life expectancy exceeded century, he actually wasn't. He was just one of those people who looked old. No doubt he had looked old since he was a teenager. For one thing, his forest-sandy hair was thin. No one in the Inner Worlds went bald unintentionally. Male pattern baldness had been conquered, genetically, before the first humans left Earth. Terrans were still bald or balding, but that was only because they did not avail themselves of the benefits of scientific progress.
Still, Phyn Darby's hair looked as if it needed only the gentlest of breezes to free it from his head and cast it, lost forever, on the solar winds of some forgotten star system. He also had a thin, pinched nose, which sat a bit higher on his face than it should have. His black eyes were beady. His jowls drew his mouth permanently into an expression which was half shock, half disapproval.
Sestus Blaurich strode up to the Deputy Captain, who was helping himself to coffee from a well-appointed buffet table. "The midshipmen, reporting as ordered, Captain."
"Very good, Mister Blaurich, thank you."
Blaurich nodded curtly, giving the impression that Darby should, indeed, be grateful for any service he offered, and also helped himself to coffee. Darby's gaze lingered, approvingly.
"Wow," muttered Carson. "Someone has a hard-on for Five."
"He does not have an erection, Carson," Cernaq whispered.
"I didn't mean it literally."
"I know that. I can explain what you meant better than you can."
"It's bad manners to read my mind."
"Yes, but in your case, it's necessary, since your ability to frame your thoughts into spoken language is so lacking that you're in danger of being declared non-responsive and placed on life support."
"Gentlemen," said Darby loudly, obviously annoyed at the private exchange in his presence. He looked to Kaya and added, with a smile that was too conscious of her parentage, "And lady. I am Titan's Deputy Captain, Phyn Darby."
"Excuse me, Leftenant," said Metcalfe.
Darby cleared his throat loudly, and waited, expectantly. Whatever he was expecting didn't happen.
Blaurich looked at Metcalfe pointedly. "It is considered polite to refer to the Deputy Captain by his acting rank. Thus, we should address our superior as 'Captain Darby.'"
Metcalfe blinked, digesting this.
"Did you have a question, Mister...?"
"Metcalfe. Yes, I had a question. Why – "
"Sir."
"Sir?"
"Sir. 'Yes, I had a question, Sir."
"You had a question, Mister Darby?"
"Captain Darby."
"You had a question, Captain Darby?"
"Yes, I – No! Dammit, Mister Metcalfe, you had a question! And it is expected that, when asking a question of a superior officer, you append 'Sir' to the end of said question. Is that quite clear?"
"I believe so, sir."
"Good. What is your question?"
"What was the emergency? Sir?"
"Eh? What emergency?"
"Captain Darby... sir... you sent Scutley to retrieve us several hours before our leave ended," said Kaya. "We assumed there was an emergency situation."
Darby sniffed. "An urgent situation, yes. I activated the Scutley program because members of the press were aboard Titan... and four of my five midshipmen were not. It looked quite bad."
"It is a matter for grave concern, Captain" agreed Cernaq. "Were you expecting us aboard before the end of our leave?"
"I damned well was, Mister Cernaq. This isn't Border Patrol, dammit! It's the Inner Worlds! And in the Inner Worlds, we do not go gallivanting about, drinking and carousing, until the last minute!"
"Shit!" Carson whispered urgently to Metcalfe. "We were supposed to carouse! We forgot to carouse!"
"Mister Metcalfe!" Darby roared.
"He's Mister Carson, Captain."
"Yes, but I don't know his name."
"May I introduce Midshipman Carson, sir?"
"No, you may not! Now, if we may maintain some sense of the decorum befitting officers, let me make a few things clear. While you are on shore leave, on any world, but particularly in our home port, you are expected to be always available to me. Is that clear?"
"We came as soon as you called, Captain," said Cernaq.
"Yes, but you should have checked in with me before I called you."
"Why, sir?" asked Metcalfe.
"Because the press was here! Didn't you expect the media to want to cover the launch of the Navy's flagship?"
"Of course we did, sir," said Cernaq. "But we didn't expect the media to be allowed aboard until all officers were present. And we expected all officers were only expected to be present at the end of their assigned leaves."
"Well, the media arrived early," said Darby. "And you should have anticipated that, as well."
"If I may, sir, why were the media allowed aboard ahead of schedule?" asked Metcalfe.
"Because it doesn't do to make enemies among the press, Mister Metcalfe!" Darby shot back.
"So... you let the media aboard early... and that's our fault?"
"Do not take that tone with me, Metcalfe! It is not unreasonable of a captain to expect his crew to anticipate his orders and his wishes. You will all consider yourselves so advised. Now..." He stopped to sip his coffee, and gave an unpleasant expression when he tasted it. "We don't have time to waste. I must be available to lead tours of the ship for our guests, and all of you must be available to assist me. First, you will review your pre-departure orders, filed in your personal in-boxes."
Each of them triggered his or her data implant, and reviewed the orders according to their established preferences. Cernaq, already accustomed to bypassing his five senses, allowed the data to flow directly to his cerebral cortex. The others used either a visual display, the words appearing as holograms before their eyes, or audio, with a quietly regenerated waveform playing just by their ears.
None of them had used the data implants aboard Arbiter, although they all had experience with them. Atal was not enamored of them, and they were controversial for the potential they offered for violation of privacy, even though they could be nominally switched off by the user. Those stationed close to the Inner Worlds, however, used implants almost exclusively for communication. Pragmatism had forced the former Arbiter crew members to re-adopt the abandoned technology.
After giving them insufficient time to study the orders, Darby said, "In future, you will remember that midshipmen report directly to the Deputy Captain. You work for me, and laxness in the chain of command will not be tolerated. Those of you accustomed to more... informal arrangements will need to bear in mind that this means direct access to the Captain is stri
ctly limited to those occasions when I grant such access."
"Excuse me, sir," said Metcalfe, "I don't believe you have the authority –"
"Once again, Mister Metcalfe, this is not Border duty!" Darby hissed. "Here the Captain has important matters to attend to, and cannot be bothered with the type of petty concerns that more junior officers are apt to raise. This is a very prominent job –"
"And we can't have filthy Terrans soiling the Captain's promenade," Carson muttered.
"Mister Carson, I'm well aware that you space lawyers specialize in claiming discrimination," snapped Darby. "You may avail yourself of all of your legal options, but you will not find me easily intimidated. Is that clear?"
"Pretty transparent, sir."
"Mister Darby," said Metcalfe, "to begin with, regulations allow all officers access to the captain –"
" – Upon notification of the captain's deputy or executive officer," Darby finished for him. "But you will find me... displeased... if I am too frequently disturbed with such matters. Now," he stopped and smiled at Blaurich. "Since I am eager to engender a spirit of cooperation between us, I am allowing Mister Blaurich the discretion to speak to the Captain without notification or prior approval. Since he is the senior midshipman – "
"Sir," Metcalfe said, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice.
"Mister Metcalfe, you have a decidedly irritating tendency to interrupt! I do hope we can expect this to improve from this day forward."
"It's just that the... Deputy Captain... seems to be unaware of certain portions of my orders."
"What?" Darby demanded. "I assure you, I reviewed the orders thoroughly!"
"Then you know that I am Captain Atal's executive officer, and thus am empowered –"
"What?" Darby demanded. "This is impossible!"
"It's in my orders, sir," said Metcalfe. "If you'd like to check."
Darby checked, then sniffed with great displeasure.
"I see," he said quietly. "Surely I missed it because it's so... unprecedented. An executive officer, on a ship of Titan's size, is usually a leftenant."
"A midshipman can act as a leftenant," said Kaya. "Just as," she added with a small grin, "a leftenant can act as a captain."
Darby swallowed and squared his shoulders definitively. "Very well. We have our orders, and, as officers, must follow them. Mister Metcalfe, you are the Captain's executive, whatever I may think of the arrangement. But you will await the Captain's pleasure, and speak when spoken to." He glared at Metcalfe, who glared back.
"But," Darby went on, "one's official title is not the measure of one's character. I think you will find Mr. Blaurich a valuable resource. Indeed, were I a young midshipman, I would consider myself privileged indeed to serve with someone of his caliber. I would attempt to learn all that I could from him. Now, if you will –"
The door opened, and Dr. Flynn strode in purposefully. Not noticing the midshipmen, he came up to Darby.
"Phyn, I'm going to need your strong support against that –"
"I wonder," Darby interrupted too loudly, "if the midshipmen have met Doctor Flynn."
"We have," said Metcalfe coldly.
Flynn regarded them with equal chill. "Ah. Yes. Sorry, Phyn, I didn't know you were... meeting." He lowered his voice. "I've just come from the Captain. We must act, and act decisively."
Darby looked pained but interested at the interruption. "Quite," he said. "The midshipmen are dismissed. You all know your orders."
As they filed out, Metcalfe listened closely to the mutterings behind them. Apparently, Flynn was too agitated to wait until the door closed to speak.
"I told Atal I'd submitted the report. He's threatening –"
"You submitted it?" Darby demanded. "You should have come to me first! I might have limited your exposure to – "
" – Well, whatever you can do, do it now. He's threatening to have me transferred!"
"We'll see who's –"
The door closed, obscuring the remainder of the exchange.
When Blaurich was out of earshot, Metcalfe asked Cernaq, "What the hell was that about?"
"I attempted not to pry," said the young Phaetonian.
"Dammit, Cern –"
" – But I couldn't help picking up that it was about Aer'La."
* * *
Titan had several cargo holds. Some were squeezed into spaces left unclaimed by other ship's functions. Some – particularly the largest hold – had been planned from the outset. Cargo space could be supplemented by coupling cargo containment along the ship's exterior, since Titan need not be aerodynamic. In cases of extraordinary need, the ship was capable of towing barges.
Most space cargo was indifferent to gravity, and thus the largest holds were in the zero-G sections of the ship, outside the passenger sphere and its spin. There were holds inside the sphere, and consequently, they were at full G. It was in one of these small holds that Aer'La had been ordered to meet with her new crew for the first time.
The fact that she was ordered to meet them in full-G concerned her. Experienced spacers were more comfortable in reduced or zero-G. They avoided full-G whenever possible, beyond the minimum exposure necessary to prevent their bodies from becoming permanently acclimated to lower-G environs. Once that happened, returning planetside was no longer an option. The fact that they awaited her in a full-G area suggested that these were not experienced spacers.
Aer'La tried hard to focus on that concern. It was all she could do not to think of Flynn's smug face as he'd taunted her, of the horrors his threats brought to her mind...
She knew she wasn't in prime form to do her job, but she reminded herself that she could count on Atal. She also tried to remember that he must be able to count on her. She had to stay calm.
"How many of you have worked the hours needed for your zero-G badge?" Aer'La asked as she walked in front of the multi-layered lineup of her new crew. Introductions, extremely brief, were out of the way. That is, she had introduced herself to the men and women who would be working for her.
Only about half those in front of her raised a hand. Aer'La swore under her breath. "All right," she said, "how many of the rest of you know how many hours in zero-G you need to get your badge?" Two other hands went up. Aer'La swore again, out loud this time.
"What the hell are you doing here, if you don't know anything about the job?" she demanded.
No one answered. Aer'La wouldn't have known anything new if they had. She'd already been told that the game was played differently in the Inner Worlds. On the Border, casual crew were fairly hard to come by. The result was that Border crews were belligerent and stupid, but they knew something about taking care of themselves. Even though they didn't know the job at hand, she'd found most of them could be taught.
On Titan, however, the job of casual crew member was actually sought after by many. At least two-thirds of the available slots could be filled with volunteers. Most of these were young people, bereft of financial support of any other kind, looking for a way to get into space. They could be counted on to desert the ship at any of the nicer ports of call. They were more intelligent than the rabble that border patrol brought in, but they were less blessed with survival skills, less interested in the job, and, Aer'La was warned, were not willing to learn. They also did not mix well with those who filled the other third of the openings, who were a lot like what Aer'La was used to on the Border.
An important difference between the two groups was that most people on the Border were accustomed to the real rigors of space. It was the Border, after all. Nice people didn't live there. There were no comfortable, clean cities on Border worlds. If you lived on the Border, you didn't sit still for long. That meant you'd been in space a good deal. Since few on the Border were rich enough to afford passage on fancy liners, being in space meant riding in ships that did not have passenger spheres with planet-like gravity. Border people were pretty much born knowing zero-G.
In the Inner Worlds, even the scum of most plan
ets was comfortable enough to be able to stay on a planet, sometimes all their lives. Consequently, they didn't tend to know much about space.
"All right," she sighed. "We'll have to set up zero-G training for the rest of you. You can't do this job otherwise. I'll arrange for an instructor –"
"Bos'n?" a woman in the front row said, quietly, and even politely.
"Yeah?"
"I'm a certified zero-G instructor. I'll be happy to handle the classes."
Aer'La looked the woman over. She was middle-aged, a little heavyset. Too old to be one of those with the yearning to explore. Too clean, with too much awareness in her eyes to be one of the cons. They usually had a dull look, sly and defeated, all at the same time. This woman's expression was more open, if cautious.
"What's your name?" Aer'La asked.
"Smith, Bos'n. Ceres Smith."
"Smith..." Aer'La looked down her crew roster. "Here you are. Your cert's not listed."
"No one asked," Ceres Smith replied.
"When did you last teach?"
"A year or so ago. On the Titmouse. One of the Atal line."
Aer'La nodded. Atal Holdings' fleet was nearly as big as the Navy's. "Okay. I'll check out your references. If it looks good, the duty's yours."
"Instructor bonus?" the woman asked.
Aer'La approved. She didn't like people who offered something for nothing. They reminded her too much of her sisters in the barracks.
The barracks... where, all too soon, she might return... if she lived...
"A bonus, of course," she said. Aer'La made a note to speak to the woman later. There had to be a good reason that someone with credentials and obvious education was signed on as casual crew. She knew from experience, though, that people with secrets didn't like to be asked about them in public.
She turned back to the rest of the crew. "Those of you who aren't trained in zero-G will handle cleaning and maintenance in the sphere until you are trained. You won't be eligible for bonuses until –"
"That's not fair!" cried a young woman halfway down the line.
Aer'La walked down to her. She was only a little older than the Bos'n herself, though considerably taller. Pretty, but with a pouty expression about her that put Aer'La off. A spoiled child, perhaps, or just someone looking for a fight because she felt the universe hadn't treated her the way it should.
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