“As the captain wishes,” Tracy said.
“Let me introduce you.” De Vilbiss keyed his ScoopRing. “Mr. Yamamoto, please report to my office.”
De Vilbiss returned to his chair. “As for your more official duties, we’ll clearly be utilizing your talents in Weapons, although I may have you take a turn on the bridge in Navigation as well.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The door chime sounded. “Come in, Akihiko,” de Vilbiss called.
A young man entered. He looked to be in his late twenties and he was a very handsome man with dark ivory skin, a classically straight nose, and thickly lashed black eyes. The affection in the captain’s eyes was unmistakable. Tracy looked up at the bulkhead so he could pretend he hadn’t seen. Fraternization was accepted between officers, but was frowned upon between officers and enlisted men. Clearly the rule was being ignored aboard the Triunfo.
“Akihiko, this is Lieutenant Thracius Belmanor. He’s the singer that my friend Jeffery told me about. He’s going to be joining you during the evening meals.”
“Very good, sir.” Yamamoto saluted Tracy who returned the salute. “I look forward to performing with you.”
“Knowing Jeffery, you’ve had your head filled with the classical repertoire,” de Vilbiss said with an indulgent smile. “Akihiko will get you up to speed on the music I enjoy.”
“Very good, sir,” Tracy said.
The captain looked down at a new message that had arrived on his tap-pad. Tracy and Yamamoto stood at attention. After a few moments de Vilbiss looked up.
“Oh, yes.” He gave a casual wave. “You’re dismissed.”
Out in the corridor Tracy and Yamamoto evaluated each other. “Baritone?” the enlisted man asked.
“Yeah. What kind of music does he like?”
“Jazz. Swing. He’s very big on the music of the thirties and forties. Nineteen thirties and forties,” Akihiko added. “He finds it romantic.”
“Well, at least he didn’t want me to rap. Or do Hindu pop.”
“Or Tiponi warble.”
“Do Flutes sing? And how would you tell? Their language sounds like pipes,” Tracy said. They shared a smile.
“I can’t imagine there’s a race that doesn’t have music,” Yamamoto said. “They must have something that’s music and not just conversation.”
“Can you get me some music?” Tracy asked.
“Yes, we should probably practice at least once before we have to perform.”
“Sounds good. Let me get settled and report for duty.”
They exchanged ping codes and Tracy went in search of Weapons. He didn’t worry about getting settled in his quarters. Donnel would handle that. This having a personal servant was one perk of military life he really liked. He wasn’t sure he felt the same about becoming the captain’s personal chanteur.
8
SING FOR YOUR SUPPER
“Belmanor, eh?” Lieutenant-Commander Golden grunted as he read the transfer orders projected by his ScoopRing.
“Yes, sir.”
The Weapons deck was quiet apart from the hum from the computers and the click of keys as techs calibrated and ran checks of the various weaponry that lurked in missile tubes or bristled on the skin of the big battle cruiser.
“Impressive grades.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Not a compliment. That’s classroom bullshit. Out here is what matters. It’s gotta count when we use these weapons.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” If there was one thing three years at the academy had taught him it was that you always agreed, and in as few words as possible.
“I’m assigning you to Captain-Lieutenant Lord Westley’s unit.” Tracy remained silent. “You’ll find him in the wardroom. Dismissed.”
Tracy saluted and left. He hadn’t been able to download a schematic of the Triunfo. It was a warship and details weren’t just randomly placed on the net. He thought about asking some of the passing hombres, but realized they might not know the location of the officers’ wardroom, and as an officer Tracy didn’t like to seem lost or confused in front of enlisted personnel. He spotted a Hajin. The alien kept having to press himself against the wall of the corridor as humans passed, which gave Tracy time to catch up. The batBEM would certainly know the location of the officers’ wardroom.
“You there.” The Hajin rolled a terrified eye toward him. Tracy, acting more out of instinct than thought, held up a soothing hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mentally Tracy kicked himself because the tepid apology had drawn startled looks from the passing human soldiers. Three years rubbing elbows with the FFH and he still didn’t know how to act with proper hauteur toward alien servants.
The Hajin bowed. “My apologies, milord. Forgive this foolish one’s behavior.” The creature was clearly terrified.
“Really, it’s fine. I just need some directions.” Tracy smiled. The Hajin’s frightened expression didn’t ease.
“Of course, sir. Allow me to guide you, milord. Where did you wish to go?”
“The wardroom. And just tell me. I need to get my bearings.”
“Oh, no, milord. My master would flay me if—”
“I’m not planning on telling him. And I don’t know who he might be anyway. I just arrived.”
The Hajin rolled a frightened eye at the passing humans. Tracy gave a mental sigh. Clearly the pony thought someone would rat him out to whatever officer he served. As if a human would care that much. “Fine. Take me.”
The wardroom turned out to be one deck below. Apparently deck four was officers’ territory, with the wardroom, captain’s dining room, quarters for the officers and the officers’ gym. The wardroom divided the cabins serving as a demarcation line, with lieutenants and lieutenant-commanders on one side and commanders’ and captains’ berths on the other. The cabins of the superior officers were closest to the elevators and manual ladders for quicker access to the bridge and weaponry.
Tracy had done his third-year tour aboard a small frigate. That wardroom had all the ambiance of a bus station restaurant. This wardroom looked more like a gentlemen’s club, with deep armchairs, bolted down of course but still plush, a long polished wood dining table, china and crystal in a tall cabinet, a billiard table, and a large vid screen on one wall. A group of young officers were chatting. There was the thrum and crack of billiard balls rolling and colliding, taunts and jibes from the two players and the onlookers.
One of the group noticed Tracy hesitating just inside the door, hat turning nervously in his hands. The man broke away from the group and approached. Tracy quickly evaluated the rank device, tucked his hat beneath his left arm, and snapped off a salute.
It was lazily returned then the man thrust out a hand. “Lieutenant-Commander Marquis Xiang-Loredo.”
“Lieutenant Belmanor.”
“J.G.,” someone from the crowd drawled. Tracy felt his jaw tighten painfully.
“I’m one of the wardroom XOs. We need to arrange for your dues to be deducted.”
“Of course,” Tracy said. They keyed their rings and the automatic withdrawal was set up. It was much higher than the frigate.
“Are you married?” Chen asked.
“No, sir.”
“Then we won’t have to be worrying about baby gifts for a while,” Chen said with a smile.
“No, sir.”
“What can we do for you?”
“I was told to report to Captain-Lieutenant Westley.”
“Westley, get over here,” Chen called. One of the spectators of the billiards game pushed away from the wall and sauntered over. He was an ordinary-looking man with brown hair, brown eyes, and brown skin, who looked to be in his late twenties. His bearing was anything but ordinary. He swaggered and the look he gave Tracy was reminiscent of a man inspecting a bug. “Here’s your new transfer.”
Wesley inspected Tracy’s rank device and gave him a condescending smile. “Just finished OCS, hombre?”
Tracy was offended by the suggestion that he was an enlisted man who had been jumped up to officer. “No. I just graduated from the High Ground.”
Westley’s expression was that of a man who’d just discovered dog shit on his shoe. “Great, I get sent the reject who barely scraped through and couldn’t even make full lieutenant.”
Tracy told himself to let it pass. Take it. Nod and smile. Say yes sir and eat the shit and thank the pompous asshole for it. Instead he said, “I graduated second in the class. The demotion was so my competence wouldn’t damage any fragile FFH egos.”
“You are out of order, Belmanor! You will stand the middle watch until further notice. You are dismissed.”
Tracy came to attention, snapped off a salute, spun on his heel and left. It was going to suck doing night after night of the midnight to four a.m. watch but it had been worth it to stuff it up the asshole’s nose.
* * *
A scrabbling overhead had Tracy’s head jerking up to see Donnel crawling across the ceiling just outside Tracy’s assigned berth. Apparently he’d been roosting up there to stay out of the way of the foot traffic in the corridor. The three-legged alien’s strange claw-like feet somehow gripped the metal as he made his way to the wall and walked down until he stood before Tracy.
“Well, congratulations. We haven’t been aboard an hour and you’ve already established your bona fides as a stiff-necked prick and all-round asshole… sir.”
“News travels fast,” Tracy replied casually, though inwardly he was a bit shocked and dismayed at how quickly news of his confrontation with Westley had spread. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that the alien servants always seemed to know everything before their human masters. Maybe he still had a chance to make a good impression? “And if you’re not happy you can quit,” Tracy added as he stepped around the alien toward the door.
“Oh, no, sir. Life with you is just too entertaining. I should warn you that I couldn’t get you a great bunk. The only one available was right next to the head.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s how to sleep anywhere, any time.” Tracy touched the panel on the wall to bring up the names of his suite mates. Gupta, Eklund, Bellard and Belmanor. He was surprised to find his name already added, but the Triunfo did seem to be efficient. “Any of them in there?”
“Eklund.”
Tracy entered.
A young man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties looked up. His rack had been folded out of the wall and he was kicked back reading. His ScoopRing projected the print and images in front of him. It appeared to be porn.
“Did no one teach you to knock?”
“You wouldn’t hear it through composite steel,” Tracy answered.
“Christ, literal much? There is a chime.”
“And I don’t normally ring to enter my own quarters.”
“So you’re Belmanor.”
“Yes.”
Eklund looked him up and down. Once again the gaze lingered on his J.G. insignia. “The intitulado.”
Tracy didn’t dignify that with a response. He moved to the bunk panel nearest the head. He opened his wall locker to find his uniforms hung and his kit laid out. He opened the door to the bathroom. The tiny space held just a toilet.
“Where are the showers?” he asked Eklund. No response. He turned to find Eklund standing directly behind him.
“My father is the Duque de Crédit-Faber. You will refer to me as milord—”
“No.”
“You’re refusing an order from a superior officer?”
“I’m pointing out that the officer must be unfamiliar with O-Trell’s regulations regarding honorifics. It would be a shame to point out this shocking deficit in that officer’s understanding to his superior officer.”
For a moment it hung in the balance then Eklund stepped back. “I won’t forget this,” he muttered as he returned to his bunk.
“Neither will I,” Tracy said under his breath and stepped into the head to take a piss.
He returned to the room to change out of his day uniform and into his duty dress, which was a T-shirt worn beneath a multi-pocketed jacket, and cargo-style pants with a multiplicity of pockets. While in duty dress he was required to carry a sidearm so he hooked the webbed belt and holster around his waist, checked that the safety was on and thrust the pistol into the holster.
He had just finished when his ScoopRing pricked his finger to indicate a message. It was an invitation to a welcome dinner at the captain’s table that evening. Dress uniform required. Perhaps life aboard the Triunfo wasn’t going to be all disdain and condescension.
* * *
The argument began immediately after Donnel smoothed Tracy’s jacket across his shoulders. The alien skittered around to face him. He was holding the box with the Distinguido Servicio Cruzar nestled in velvet.
“No.”
“You’re in full dress. Regulations say you wear your medals.”
“I’ll look like a conceited prat.”
“Right now they think you’re lowborn riffraff. This might help disabuse them of that idea.”
“I think this is more for you and your standing among the other batBEMs,” Tracy said with a chuckle.
Donnel’s four eyes held a look that Tracy had never before seen and it shook him a bit. “I am a Cara’ot. I have no need for that. My status is assured,” Donnel said.
“Wow. Superior much?”
Donnel didn’t reply, just pinned the medal onto Tracy’s coat.
Tracy met another of his roommates at the door. His name tag read Gupta and his eyes widened when he saw the Cruzar on Tracy’s breast. The surprise was quickly shaken off and the normal FFH sneer was slapped firmly into place.
“Ah, you’re the intitula—the J.G.”
“Belmanor.”
Gupta ignored Tracy’s outstretched hand and pushed past him. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Well, at least there wasn’t a verbal insult this time, Tracy thought. Perhaps that could be considered progress.
He made his way across the deck to the captain’s private dining room. He touched the chime pad and the door slid open. He was bowed into the room by a white-coated human rather than an alien. That was a mark of either extreme discomfort about aliens by the captain or a signal of privilege that he could afford a human bat—Tracy broke off realizing the usual appellation didn’t apply. Batmen, that’s what they had been called when humans were confined to a single planet and had to subjugate each other rather than aliens.
Tracy removed his hat, braced and saluted the assembled men. His salute was returned languidly by the gaggle of high-ranking officers. Tracy noted that there was no one below the rank of lieutenant-commander present. It was a bit intimidating.
The dining room was even nicer than the officers’ wardroom. In place of wood panels it had mirrors. Tracy assumed that shielding would slide over the glass when the ship was in combat. There were spaces between the mirrors where paintings were displayed. A magnificent chandelier hung over a table that was draped with a white tablecloth, glittering with crystal and groaning under the weight of silver and china. A large epergne formed of winged rearing horses adorned the center of the table. Tracy gave himself a mental pat on the back for remembering the name for that kind of centerpiece. He had learned it the one time he was a visitor at the Talion home on Hissilek.
He looked for Talion and found him near an art deco bar where another white-coated servant was serving drinks. Talion held a champagne flute and was talking with a heavy-set man who also sported a number of facial scars. They formed a white web against his ebony skin. The cheerful, almost jolly smile that curved his lips didn’t seem to fit with the scars.
There was the soft sound of a guitar tuning. Yamamoto was seated on a small gilt chair. A pair of enameled screens formed an alcove so while he was present he wasn’t a focal point. He was surrounded by a gaggle of chaplains. There were two Christian priests with crosses on their sleeves above their insignia. T
racy assumed one was a Catholic and the other a Protestant—or perhaps a Mormon. One was small and slender with blue-black hair and skin that was paler than Tracy’s. The other was tall and balding. There was a Muslim officer with the crescent moon on his sleeves and collar. He had a neatly trimmed beard and rather terrifying bushy eyebrows. A rabbi with the Star of David rounded out the representatives of heaven. He leaned on a cane and Tracy noticed the sole of his left boot had been built up.
It seemed like a lot of holy in one place. At the High Ground there had only been Catholic services and every cadet was required to attend chapel regardless of personal faith. Since most of the students were part of the FFH, that wasn’t controversial. The nobility all tended to be members of the state religion. Even when Tracy had done his senior tour it had been on a small frigate that had only a priest. Now this ecumenical gathering. On a ship that held six thousand and the majority of crew not members of the FFH, Tracy supposed that it made sense to have a multiplicity of faiths represented. He’d have to find out which one was the Catholic.
Tracy moved to the bar and accepted a glass. Unlike the champagne on the transport, this was first rate. Cipriana entered. Tracy noticed that she was wearing her medal so he didn’t feel quite so conspicuous. Wessen was at her side, and Tracy’s eyes narrowed as he watched Wessen lay a hand on her shoulder, and how Cipriana shied away. Captain de Vilbiss carried a glass of champagne over to Cipriana. She accepted it with a smile and a half-curtsy, which drew an indulgent chuckle from several of the men.
“Well, now that we are all assembled allow me to make introductions.” De Vilbiss laid a hand on the shoulder of a slim man whose pencil mustache and slightly longer than regulation black hair gave him a piratical look. He was also older than the other men in the room. Arching brows over green eyes with slight epicanthic folds gave him a quizzical look. “My XO, Commander Anusanatha Sukarno.” Tracy noted the lack of a title after the rank and took a closer look at the tawny-skinned man. The other thing that stood out was the lack of dueling scars, unlike every other officer in the room. Sukarno was becoming more and more interesting and Tracy resolved to try and overcome his innate shyness and actually talk to the man.
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