Redshirts

by John Scalzi

  “When the Dub U came to mediate between the religious factions on Forshan, they needed an interpreter, and I was on planet,” Dahl said. “There aren’t a lot of humans who speak more than one dialect of Forshan. I know all four of the major ones.”

  “Impressive,” Duvall said.

  “I’m good with my tongue,” Dahl said.

  “Now who’s being forward?” Duvall asked.

  “After the Dub U mission failed, it advised that all non-natives leave the planet,” Dahl said. “The head Dub U negotiator said that the Space Fleet had need of linguists and scientists and recommended me for a slot at the Academy. By that time my seminary had been burned to the ground and I had nowhere to go, or any money to get there even if I had. The Academy seemed like the best exit strategy. Spent four years there studying xenobiology and linguistics. And here I am.”

  “That’s a good story,” Duvall said, and tipped her bottle toward Dahl.

  He clinked it with his own. “Thanks,” he said. “What about yours?”

  “Far less interesting,” Duvall said.

  “I doubt that,” Dahl said.

  “No Academy for me,” Duvall said. “I enlisted as a grunt for the Dub U peacekeepers. Did that for a couple of years and then transferred over to Space Fleet three years ago. Was on the Nantes up until this transfer.”

  “Promotion?” Dahl said.

  Duvall smirked. “Not exactly,” she said. “It’s best to call it a transfer due to personnel conflicts.”

  Before Dahl could dig further his phone buzzed. He took it out and read the text on it. “Goof,” he said, smiling.

  “What is it?” Duvall asked.

  “Hold on a second,” Dahl said, and turned in his seat to wave at a young man standing in the middle of the station walkway. “We’re over here, Jimmy,” Dahl said. The young man grinned, waved back and headed over.

  “The friend you’re waiting on, I presume,” Duvall said.

  “That would be him,” Dahl said. “Jimmy Hanson.”

  “Jimmy Hanson?” Duvall said. “Not related to James Hanson, CEO and chairman of Hanson Industries, surely.”

  “James Albert Hanson the Fourth,” Dahl said. “His son.”

  “Must be nice,” Duvall said.

  “He could buy this space station with his allowance,” Dahl said. “But he’s not like that.”

  “What do you mean?” Duvall said.

  “Hey, guys,” Hanson said, finally making his way to the table. He looked at Duvall, and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jimmy.”

  “Maia,” Duvall said, extending her hand. They shook.

  “So, you’re a friend of Andy’s, right?” Hanson said.

  “I am,” Duvall said. “He and I go way back. All of a half hour.”

  “Great,” Hanson said, and smiled. “He and I go back slightly farther.”

  “I would hope so,” Duvall said.

  “I’m going to get myself something to drink,” Hanson said. “You guys want anything? Want me to get you another round?”

  “I’m fine,” Dahl said.

  “I could go for another,” Duvall said, waggling her nearly empty bottle.

  “One of the same?” Hanson asked.

  “Sure,” Duvall said.

  “Great,” Hanson said, and clapped his hands together. “So, I’ll be right back. Keep this chair for me?”

  “You got it,” Dahl said. Hanson wandered off in search of food and drink.

  “He seems nice,” Duvall said.

  “He is,” Dahl said.

  “Not hugely full of personality,” Duvall said.

  “He has other qualities,” Dahl said.

  “Like paying for drinks,” Duvall said.

  “Well, yes, but that’s not what I was thinking of,” Dahl said.

  “You mind if I ask you a personal question?” Duvall said.

  “Seeing as we’ve already covered my sexual preferences in this conversation, no,” Dahl said.

  “Were you friends with Jimmy before you knew his dad could buy an entire planet or two?” Duvall asked.

  Dahl paused a moment before answering. “Do you know how the rich are different than you or me?” he asked Duvall.

  “You mean, besides having more money,” Duvall said.

  “Yeah,” Dahl said.

  “No,” Duvall said.

  “What makes them different—the smart ones, anyway—is that they have a very good sense of why people want to be near them. Whether it’s because they want to be friends, which is not about proximity to money and access and power, or if they want to be part of an entourage, which is. Make sense?”

  “Sure,” Duvall said.

  “Okay,” Dahl said. “So, here’s the thing. When Jimmy was young, he figured out that his father was one of the richest men in the Dub U. Then he figured out that one day, he would be too. Then he figured out that there were a lot of other people who would try to use the first two things to their own advantage. Then he figured out how to avoid those people.”

  “Got it,” Duvall said. “Jimmy would know if you were just being nice to him because of who his daddy was.”

  “It was really interesting watching him our first few weeks at the Academy,” Dahl said. “Some of the cadets—and some of our instructors—tried to make themselves his friend. I think they were surprised how quickly this rich kid had their number. He’s had enough time to be extraordinarily good at reading people. He has to be.”

  “So how did you approach him?” Duvall said.

  “I didn’t,” Dahl said. “He came over and started talking to me. I think he realized I didn’t care who his dad was.”

  “Everybody loves you,” Duvall said.

  “Well, that, and I was getting an A in the biology course he was having trouble with,” Dahl said. “Just because Jimmy’s picky about his companions doesn’t mean he’s not self-interested.”

  “He seemed to be willing to consider me a friend,” Duvall said.

  “That’s because he thinks we’re friends, and he trusts my judgment,” Dahl said.

  “And are we?” Duvall said. “Friends, I mean.”

  “You’re a little more hyper than I normally like,” Dahl said.

  “Yeah, I get that ‘I like things restful’ vibe from you,” Duvall said.

  “I take it you don’t do restful,” Dahl said.

  “I sleep from time to time,” Duvall said. “Otherwise, no.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to adjust,” Dahl said.

  “I suppose you will,” Duvall said.

  “I have drinks,” Hanson said, coming up behind Duvall.

  “Why, Jimmy,” Duvall said. “That makes you my new favorite person.”

  “Excellent,” Hanson said, offered Duvall her drink, and sat down at the table. “So, what are we talking about?”

  * * *

  Just before the shuttle arrived, two more people arrived at the waiting area. More accurately, five people arrived: two crewmen, accompanied by three members of the military police. Duvall nudged Dahl and Hanson, who looked over. One of the crewmen noticed and cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, I have an entourage,” he said.

  Duvall ignored him and addressed one of the MPs. “What’s his story?”

  The MP motioned to the one with a cocked eyebrow. “Various charges for this one, including smuggling, selling contraband and assaulting a superior officer.” She then motioned to the other crewman, who was standing there sullenly, avoiding eye contact with everyone else. “That poor bastard is this one’s friend. He’s tainted by association.”

  “The assault charge is trumped up,” said the first ensign. “The XO was high as a kite.”

  “On drugs you gave him,” said the second crewman, still not looking at anyone else.

  “No one can prove I gave them to him, and anyway they weren’t drugs,” said the first. “They were an offworld fungus. And it couldn’t have been that. The fungus relaxes people, not makes them attack anyone in the room, requiring them to defend
themselves.”

  “You gave him Xeno-pseudoagaricus, didn’t you,” Dahl said.

  The first crewman looked at Dahl. “As I already said, no one can prove I gave the XO anything,” he said. “And maybe.”

  “Xeno-pseudoagaricus naturally produces a chemical that in most humans provides a relaxing effect,” Dahl said. “But in about one-tenth of one percent of people, it does the opposite. The receptors in their brains are slightly different from everyone else’s. And of those people, about one-tenth of one percent will go berserk under its influence. Sounds like your XO is one of those people.”

  “Who are you, who is so wise in the way of alien fungus?” said the crewman.

  “Someone who knows that no matter what, you don’t deal upward on the chain of command,” Dahl said. The crewman grinned.

  “So why aren’t you in the brig?” Duvall asked.

  The crewman motioned to Dahl. “Ask your friend, he’s so smart,” he said. Duvall looked to Dahl, who shrugged.

  “Xeno-pseudoagaricus isn’t illegal,” Dahl said. “It’s just not very smart to use it. You’d have to either study xenobiology or have an interest in off-brand not-technically-illegal alien mood enhancers, possibly for entrepreneurial purposes.”

  “Ah,” Duvall said.

  “If I had to guess,” Dahl said, “I’m guessing our friend here—”

  “Finn,” said the crewman, and nodded to the other one. “And that’s Hester.”

  “—our friend Finn had a reputation at his last posting for being the guy to go to for substances that would let you pass a urine test.”

  Hester snorted at this.

  “I’m also guessing that his XO probably doesn’t want it known that he was taking drugs—”

  “Fungus,” said Finn.

  “—of any sort, and that in any event when the Xeno-pseudoagaricus made him go nuts, he attacked and Finn here was technically defending himself when he fought back. So rather than put Finn in the brig and open up an ugly can of worms, better to transfer him quietly.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny this interpretation of events,” Finn said.

  “Then what’s with the MPs?” Hanson asked.

  “They’re here to make sure we get on the Intrepid without any detours,” said Hester. “They don’t want him renewing his stash.” Finn rolled his eyes at this.

  Duvall looked at Hester. “I’m sensing bitterness here.”

  Hester finally made eye contact. “The bastard hid his stash in my foot locker,” he said, to Duvall.

  “And you didn’t know?” Duvall asked.

  “He told me they were candies, and that if the other crew knew he had them, they’d sneak into his foot locker to take them.”

  “They would have,” Finn said. “And in my defense, everything was candied.”

  “You also said they were for your mother,” Hester said.

  “Yes, well,” Finn said. “I did lie about that part.”

  “I tried to tell that to the captain and the XO, but they didn’t care,” Hester said. “As far as they were concerned I was an accomplice. I don’t even like him.”

  “Then why did you agree to hold his … candies?” Duvall said. Hester mumbled something inaudible and broke eye contact.

  “He did it because I was being nice to him, and he doesn’t have friends,” Finn said.

  “So you took advantage of him,” Hanson said.

  “I don’t dislike him,” Finn said. “And it’s not like I meant for him to get in trouble. He shouldn’t have gotten in trouble. Nothing in the stash was illegal. But then our XO went nuts and tried to rearrange my bone structure.”

  “You probably should have known your product line better,” Dahl said.

  “The next time I get something, I’ll run it by you first,” Finn said sarcastically, and then motioned toward the window, where the shuttle could be seen approaching the berth. “But it’s going to have to wait. Looks like our ride is here.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Intrepid’s four other new crew members were met on the ship by a petty officer named Del Sol, who quickly marched them off to their stations. Dahl was met by the Intrepid’s chief science officer, Q’eeng.

  “Sir,” Dahl said, saluting.

  Q’eeng returned the salute. “Ensign Junior Rank Dahl,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you. I do not always greet my department’s new arrivals in this manner, but I have just come off duty and I thought I would show you your station. Do you have any personal items you need to stow?”

  “No, sir,” Dahl said. His and the others’ foot lockers were going through ship’s security for inspection and would be delivered to their quarters, the locations of which would be uploaded to their phones.

  “I understand you spent several years on Forshan, and that you speak the language,” Q’eeng said. “All four dialects.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dahl said.

  “I studied it briefly at the Academy,” Q’eeng said, and then cleared his throat. “Aaachka faaachklalhach ghalall chkalalal.”

  Dahl kept his face very still. Q’eeng had just attempted in the third dialect the traditional rightward schism greeting of “I offer you the bread of life,” but his phrasing and accent had transmuted the statement into “Let us violate cakes together.” Leaving aside the fact it would be highly unusual for a member of the rightward schism to voluntarily speak the third dialect, it being the native dialect of the founder of the leftward schism and therefore traditionally eschewed, mutual cake violating was not an accepted practice anywhere on Forshan.

  “Aaachkla faaachklalhalu faadalalu chkalalal,” Dahl sad, returning the correct traditional response of “I break the bread of life with you” in the third dialect.

  “Did I say that correctly?” Q’eeng asked.

  “Your accent is very unusual, sir,” Dahl said.

  “Indeed,” Q’eeng said. “Then perhaps I will leave any necessary Forshan speaking to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dahl said.

  “Follow me, Ensign,” Q’eeng said, and strode forward. Dahl raced to keep up.

  Around Q’eeng the Intrepid was a hive of activity; crew members and officers moved purposefully through the halls, each appearing to have someplace very important to get to. Q’eeng strode through them as if he had his own bow wave; they would magically part for him as he came close and close behind him as he walked past.

  “It’s like rush hour in here,” Dahl said, looking around.

  “You’ll find this crew to be quite efficient and effective,” Q’eeng said. “As the flagship of the Universal Union, the Intrepid has its pick of crew.”

  “I don’t doubt that, sir,” Dahl said, and looked briefly behind him. The crew members behind him had slowed down considerably and were staring at him and Q’eeng. Dahl couldn’t read their expressions.

  “I understand you requested at the Academy to be stationed on the Intrepid,” Q’eeng said.

  “Yes, sir,” Dahl said, returning his attention to his superior officer. “Your department is doing some real cutting-edge work. Some of the stuff you do on board is so out there we had a hard time re-creating it back at the Academy.”

  “I hope that’s not a suggestion that we’re doing sloppy work,” Q’eeng said, with a slight, tense edge to his voice.

  “Not at all, sir,” Dahl said. “Your reputation as a scientist is unimpeachable. And we know that in the kind of work your department does, initial conditions are both significant and difficult to re-create.”

  Q’eeng seemed to relax at this. “Space is vast,” he said. “The Intrepid’s mission is to explore. Much of the science we do is front line—identify, describe, posit initial hypotheses. Then we move on, leaving it to others to follow our work.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dahl said. “It’s that front line science that appeals to me. The exploration.”

  “So,” Q’eeng said. “Do you see yourself participating in away team missions?”

  Directly in front of them, a crew member
seemed to stumble over his own feet. Dahl caught him. “Whoa,” Dahl said, propping him back up. “Careful with those feet, now.” The crew member pulled away, his mumbled “Thanks” very nearly dopplered as he hastened off.

  “Agile and polite,” Dahl said, grinning, then stopped grinning when he noticed Q’eeng, also stopped, staring at him very intently. “Sir,” he said.

  “Away teams,” Q’eeng said again. “Do you see yourself participating in them?”

  “At the Academy I was known more as a lab rat,” Dahl said. Q’eeng seemed to frown at this. “But I realize that the Intrepid is a vessel of exploration. I’m looking forward to doing some of that exploration myself.”

  “Very good,” Q’eeng said, and started moving forward again. “Being a ‘lab rat’ is fine at the Academy and may be fine on other ships. But the reason that the Intrepid has made so many of the discoveries that interested you in the first place is because of its crew’s willingness to get into the field and get its hands dirty. I’d ask you to keep that in mind.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dahl said.

  “Good,” Q’eeng said, and stopped at a door marked “Xenobiology.” He opened it, showing the laboratory beyond, and stepped through. Dahl followed.

  It was empty.

  “Where is everybody, sir?” Dahl asked.

  “The Intrepid crew does a lot of cross-consultation with crew members in other departments, and often have secondary or supernumerary postings,” Q’eeng said. “You are supernumerary with the Linguistics Department for your facility in Forshan, for example. So people don’t always stay chained to their workstations.”

  “Got it, sir,” Dahl said.

  “Nevertheless,” Q’eeng said, pulled out his phone, and made a connection. “Lieutenant Collins. The newest member of your department is at your laboratory to present himself to you.” A pause. “Good. That is all.” Q’eeng put away his phone. “Lieutenant Collins will be along presently to welcome you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dahl said, and saluted. Q’eeng nodded, saluted in return and walked off into the hallway. Dahl went to the door and watched him go. Q’eeng’s bow wave preceded him until he turned a corner and went out of sight.

  * * *

  “Hey,” someone said behind Dahl. He turned. There was a crew member standing in the middle of the lab.