Quarus (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 6)

by S J MacDonald

  That was the regular Fleet all over, Alex mused. All about hammering square pegs into round holes and being surprised when they resented it. And all you had to do, really, was make the hole flexible enough so any peg would fit into it comfortably. Shion had handled that well, and O/S Gwyn would be just fine. Alex took another drink of his own coffee and sat back again, savouring the taste and the happy buzz about the ship… it was so good to be home.

  Three

  They had their first operations briefing the following morning, with all the officers gathered around the command table and everyone else watching on shipwide comms.

  ‘Our focus, obviously, is on training,’ Alex said. ‘Swimming and language courses are available as from today, and have been given operational status as a requirement for anyone intending to apply for groundside duties.’

  There was a ripple of pleasure through the ship. Everyone knew that a VR swim-tank had been installed in the frigate’s gym, and that they had taken delivery of enough kit-issue swim rigs and swim masks for all of them. It hadn’t been clear, though, whether diving lessons would be open to all of them straight away or whether the officers and those already in line for groundside duties would be prioritised.

  ‘The five-unit course on quarian history and culture is mandatory for everyone,’ Alex said. ‘That has already been scheduled into everybody’s standby allocation.’

  That was no surprise. All Fleet ships operated the standby watch system – generally speaking, only half of any watch was actually needed to be working around the ship, with the other half on call if additional work was in hand, or to give those at manned stations a break. There were still a few ships out there, considered appallingly old fashioned even by the regular Fleet, which insisted on crew on standby just hanging around at ‘on call’ stations, not even allowed to read to pass the time. On most ships, though, people were allowed to use the on-call time for approved study and on the more progressive they might be scheduled for training sessions during that time.

  In the Fourth, it was the standby time which was the priority, with the routine work of the ship accommodated around people’s training needs rather than the other way around. They had a very much wider range of approved study, too, including personal development courses in arts, crafts and music.

  ‘There will be additional modules for anyone wishing to extend their knowledge in a particular area,’ Alex continued, ‘But anyone attempting to access the Diplomatic Corps training material for Quarus will find that it has been blocked as advanced material, only available to those who’ve already taken our own course. This isn’t because it’s particularly difficult. It’s just that over the years the Diplomatic Corps has formed their own views of quarian culture and their own policies in advising people who are going there. There is simply no point in us absorbing their views and their policies and going there to do things just the way they have for the last ninety years – clearly, that isn’t working and it’s our role to explore different ideas and a different approach. Which brings me to…’ he grinned at Silvie, ‘empath training. That does not mean that we are going to train you all to be empaths, though those of you who are interested in developing whatever empathic ability you have will find a study group being led by Dr Tekawa.’

  Everyone around the table looked at Rangi Tekawa, who beamed happily. He had researched long and widely to put together his empathy-development course and had been thrilled when it made it to operational-training status. The skipper had always allowed him to offer meditation groups, aromatherapy sessions and other alternative healing therapies, but they’d always been rated as personal pursuits, on the same basis as clubs and hobbies.

  ‘The important thing for us,’ Alex said, ‘is that we are all completely comfortable being around quarians, even those of us not going groundside, as we will be inviting them to visit and to move freely around the ship. Most of us know Silvie, of course, and all of you have met her.’

  They had actually been screened by her, as Silvie had been asked to meet all the new people before they came aboard and to tell Alex if there were any of them she had concerns about taking to Quarus. It hadn’t come to that because as a result of those encounters, the two people she had concerns about had withdrawn voluntarily and exchanged with crew aboard the Minnow.

  ‘But what many of you may not appreciate,’ said Alex, ‘is how hard Silvie has worked to learn about our culture. Concepts of privacy and tact, of social lies, of deception of any kind, are completely alien to quarians and Silvie is, in fact, the only one of her people ever to have mastered them.’

  He looked at her with a sense of warm pride in her accomplishments, to which Silvie responded by huffing on her fingernails and polishing them on her sleeve with an artless, impish look. There were a few guffaws around the ship, notably from people who remembered how she’d been when she first came aboard.

  ‘Silvie has very kindly agreed,’ said Alex, ‘to assist us by providing empath drills. This means that she will interact with us just the way that any ordinary quarian might during a visit to the ship. You should regard her, in this role, in just the same way as a chaos-maker in operational drills.’

  There was more laughter at that, as Silvie could certainly generate chaos far more effectively than the crew who were detailed to go about slapping casualty tags on people and tech-failure notices on equipment.

  ‘Hey,’ said Silvie, grinning but pointing a finger with mock severity at one of the younger officers, who’d laughed. ‘You just bear in mind,’ she warned, ‘that where we’re going, you’re the bonkers ones.’

  ‘True,’ Alex agreed, with a chuckle. ‘And we, all of us, are just going to accept that and be happily bonkers, rather than trying, as the Diplomats do, to convince the quarians that we are sane.’ He looked back at Silvie, who was giving a spluttering pvvvv to that dismally futile endeavour. ‘To make it clear when the situation is an empath drill, Silvie will wear…’ he grinned at her, ‘a chaos-maker hat.’

  Silvie produced a soft folded cap from her pocket, shook it out and pulled it onto her head. It was bright red, with a silver lightning-bolt motif.

  ‘Oh boy,’ she said, laughing again at the involuntary twangs of apprehension amongst the watching officers. ‘This is going to be fun.’ She singled out one of the new Sub-lts, looking at him significantly. Physical discomfort was not just loud and obvious to quarians, it was in itself uncomfortable for them to be around.

  ‘Er…’ Sub-lt Porter was only just twenty, on his first shipboard posting and quite horrified to find that everyone aboard the ship was now looking at him. But he pulled it together, demonstrating why he was on the tagged and flagged programme. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Yes. Constipated.’ His face was flaming with embarrassment, but he managed a grin, for which Silvie scored him a point in the air with her finger.

  ‘Well done, Mr Porter,’ Alex commended him too. ‘And thank you for demonstrating the open, honest and good humoured response that will score you top marks in this training.’

  Tom Porter stood a little taller, at that – he was aware of the laughter, but of the looks of approval from other officers, and of some sympathy from his mates, too – one of them gave him a surreptitious pat on the back, as comfort and support. And when Rangi Tekawa chipped in with a matter of fact ‘See me after the briefing,’ Tom joined in the laughter, too.

  ‘Thank you,’ Alex called them back to order, but with a nod of approval. ‘So…’ he was about to move on when he saw that one of the officers seated at the table had raised a hand. And it wasn’t, either, a tentative gesture asking the skipper for permission to speak. It was more of a stop signal, hand flung up, palm outward.

  ‘Yes,’ said Alex, ‘Ms Leavam?’

  The atmosphere around the table became one of polite resignation. Commander Leavam had been aboard the ship for only a few days but she had already made her presence and her personality very much felt in the wardroom.

  Commander Leavam’s first name was Henrietta. Friend
s, it was said, called her Hetty. But even her best friends would not be allowed to do so aboard ship. Commander Leavam worked for Internal Affairs – not in the part time way that IA had one serving officer on every ship undertake the task of being the ship’s Internal Affairs representative, but as a full time dedicated role. And Henrietta Leavam was nothing if not dedicated. She had been teaching at the Chartsey Academy and in command school for more than twenty years; generations of Fleet officers had passed through her hands. Alex von Strada had done so, too. Twice. The first time had been at the Academy. The second had been in command school.

  Now she was here. It was his own fault, Alex knew that. He had been saying for years that he would be perfectly happy and willing to have Internal Affairs officers on board as inspectors, that Third Lord Jennar could send anyone he wanted, that they had nothing to hide. He was on record, too, as saying that he felt it to be unfair to burden a working officer with the IA responsibilities, since these were far more time consuming on the Heron than they would be on any other ship.

  The result was Henrietta Leavam, appointed as a dedicated IA officer and reporting back directly to the Third Lord.

  You can’t have everything your own way, Alex reminded himself, and a stern voice added It can’t be all fun.

  ‘It is necessary to clarify, sir,’ said Henrietta Leavam, ‘what provision is made for personnel who choose not to take part in this training, which is not a course which can be imposed as mandatory under Fleet regulations.’

  ‘You are correct, of course,’ Alex acknowledged. He was aware out of the corner of his eye that Silvie was gazing at the IA officer with frank admiration. Silvie had stunned everyone by announcing, at meeting her, that Hetty was a very pretty lady.

  That was not the way any of her shipmates would have described her. Hetty Leavam could never have been considered conventionally attractive. She had a flat dish face with a sharp nose and a thin little mouth. Her voice was thin, too, a little too cultured and nasal. She gave the appearance of carrying a clipboard and ticking things off a checklist even when she was off duty. On duty, she was a human incarnation of Fleet regulation and protocol.

  ‘Although,’ said Alex, ‘all members of the ship’s company were briefed about the mission before accepting postings to the ship, during which they were advised that both training and the mission itself would involve deep and intimate invasion of personal privacy. The training is also mandatory in the sense that it is a requirement for any personnel going past X-Base Serenity. Though I will confirm, yes, that any member of the ship’s company may opt out of the training at any time, merely by stating their wish to do so. Anyone who does that will leave the ship at Serenity on a non-disciplinary basis.’

  Hetty Leavam gave a very slight sniff. It was hardly more than a slightly emphasised inhalation through those pinched nostrils, nothing so definite that it could be construed as non-verbal criticism. But it made the point, all the same. Disapproval radiated from her even with no perceptible change in her expression or her manner.

  ‘It is necessary to clarify such matters,’ she said, ‘for the logged record… and for the benefit of those of us who were not privy to pre-boarding briefings and procedures.’

  Alex gave her a look of mild surprise, detecting an edge to that remark.

  ‘You were,’ he reminded her, ‘invited to join us at the base.’

  Hetty would very much have liked to do that, if only for the opportunity to see the mission briefings and pre-boarding procedures there. Her orders, though, were extremely specific – ironically, it was the Senate Sub-Committee which had restricted her role strictly to that of shipboard observer, with no right to visit, inspect or report on the Fourth at their groundside base. Seeing that this had been done by their political friends, she was inclined to perceive it as suspicious. At the least, it had prevented her having full access to important information. And if it was something they didn’t want IA to see, what had they been doing?

  ‘My remit,’ she said tightly, ‘did not extend to the base.’

  ‘Well, never mind,’ Alex said, seeing that this was a sore point. ‘You have full access now to all our records of pre-mission training, briefings and the selection process. And you are of course, if it needs to be said, entitled to raise any issues of concern to you, at any time.’

  Hetty gave a magisterial inclination of her head, acknowledging that she did indeed have that right.

  ‘As, of course,’ Alex glanced around at all of the officers, from Buzz to Tom Porter, the youngest and most junior Sub, ‘do all of you. Those of you not used yet to the way we work in the Fourth may feel a little hesitant about it at first, but we do expect, here, that people will speak up if there is something they don’t understand or they have concerns about what we are doing. So,’ he went back to what he’d been about to say, ‘empath training will also be starting as from today.’ He saw that Silvie had taken off her hat and smiled at her as she folded and stuffed it back into her pocket. ‘Silvie will also be delivering the first in the lecture series on Quarus, probably either today or tomorrow. There is no time for it because one of the first things you need to learn about quarians is that they don’t do schedules.’

  There was another ripple of wry amusement at that. All of them knew something about the history of failed diplomatic effort at Quarus. Finding that the humans expected them to have a president and that they expected to be able to meet with them in a suitably impressive venue, the quarians had attempted to meet them half way by creating a presidential office and having someone step up to the role. Unfortunately they hadn’t quite grasped the essentials of it – not only was the ‘president’ who turned up in the office a different person every time, with no mandate to speak officially on behalf of their people, but quite often nobody turned up for diplomatic meetings at all because the current president had decided to go swimming instead. One ambassador, shortly after resigning his post in a state of bewildered despair, had said that trying to pin them down to any kind of appointment was like trying to get hold of greased eels.

  ‘Those of you unable to attend the lecture when it’s called,’ Alex said, ‘can watch on comms where possible, or access it later. Though I have been asked,’ he glanced at Rangi, ‘to clarify that while this lecture series will be written up for the Mindful journal, they are additional to the normal weekly Mindful talks and will be factored in as workload, not leisure.’

  Rangi too gave a nod, folding his arms as if in defence against all the reproachful looks being cast his way. Workload was always an issue on Fourth’s ships. Health and safety limits meant that nobody was allowed to work more than forty five hours in any given three days, and that included training, study or any other work-related activity. The weekly Mindful talks generally were rated as leisure, but if they were required lectures for mission training they had to be included as work time. Rangi was already laying down the law, there, making it clear that he would not be turning any blind eye to over-working.

  ‘So,’ said Alex, ‘I think that’s everything for now…’ he looked around at the officers again, enquiring, ‘Any questions?’

  Three hands went up, two confident and one cautious. As per briefing protocol, Alex took them in rank order, looking at the most senior first. ‘Ms Bonatti?

  Lt Commander Liza Bonatti was Martine Fishe’s replacement as second lieutenant and green watch commander. Alex was very happy with the posting – Liza Bonatti had all the qualities of good humoured authority he’d expect in a senior officer, but he also knew her to be fully on-side with the Fourth’s progressive policies. They had served together before, too. It had only been a three month shipboard placement twelve years ago, but that was enough, in the Fleet, to create a bond. A couple of their crew had served with her at various times in their respective careers, too, and had given her the good word. Bonny, they said, was sharp. And she was funny, too. They’d told the coolant story – every officer of note had a story about them which was told as a shorthand for what they wer
e like, and for Bonny Bonatti that had been an incident six years before involving a remarkably stupid recruit, a valve forced open and Bonny herself floundering in a mess of ice-cold super-lubricant slime. The fact that she’d been howling with laughter as she slid across the deck into the zero-gee zone of a ladderway had made her reputation in the Fleet. She had also, Alex knew, spent a lot of time with Martine Fishe before coming aboard, both in official handover and getting the informal lowdown.

  ‘You haven’t said anything about the shakedown, skipper,’ she observed. ‘For the inspection?’

  ‘Oh,’ Alex said, and looked a little startled, as if he hadn’t given that a thought. ‘Well, that will take care of itself,’ he said, and explained, ‘There’s nothing out of the ordinary in the way that we prepare for an inspection. Everyone is already signed up to as many courses as they can pack into their schedule – piloting and gunnery have waiting lists because there’s a limit to capacity on simulators, but all the other courses are unlimited, so our qualification levels will soon start to tick up. Our daily freefall session builds agility and our usual drills will soon knock down reaction times. It’s important for us to achieve operational status before we reach Serenity, of course, but I don’t anticipate a problem with that. I expect the ship to be ready for inspection at some point during week five, possibly week six. If there is a problem with that and we’re off schedule for any reason then that’s something I’ll raise in briefing, otherwise it comes under the heading of routine work.’

  Bonny smiled. One of the things Martine had taught her was that Alex liked to have an officer who asked the questions the crew themselves might like to ask. It was one of his quirks, enabling him to explain things indirectly so he didn’t seem to be constantly lecturing the crew.

  ‘Thanks, skipper,’ she said, and he realised that she’d understood that already but had wanted it clarified for those of the crew mystified by the lack of anxiety about the forthcoming inspection. He smiled back, giving her a slight nod, then turned to the next officer who’s hand had gone up.