The Hot Gate: Troy Rising III-ARC

by John Ringo

  “Well, obviously you’d need help with the math,” Granadica said. “No offense intended, Dana. I can’t think of more than three humans on earth who wouldn’t. And they’d need to run it through an AI for the simulations. But it’s old hat to me.”

  “So you could write the SOP,” Dana said.

  “Yes,” Granadica said. “But I don’t want to get promoted. And you brought up the fact that there needs to be one. Velasquez...”

  “I understand the need for some discretion, Granadica,” the engineer said.

  “In fact...” Granadica said. “Here’s how we’ll do it. EA Velasquez will actually write the SOP, supervised by EM2 Parker who will assure it is to standard outline. EM2 Parker will review it then submit it to me. I’ll fill in the math and how to anticipate the issue and rectify it based upon an equation that’s simple enough to run through an engineering board. The paper will be submitted as Parker as primary, Velasquez as primary writer with technical assistance by, well, me. Really, we’ll have to work together on it.”

  “Works for me,” Parker said.

  “When are we going to work on it?” Velasquez asked.

  “You’ve got all those free hours after duty,” Parker replied.

  “Oh, gee, homework,” Velasquez said. “Thanks!”

  * * *

  “I think we’re to the point of just moving commas around,” Parker said, looking at the completed SOP.

  The Standard Operating Procedure, Anticipation, Analysis and Rectification of Interactive Gravitic Faults in Inertial Compensations Systems, Draft, had taken three weeks to write with input not only from Granadica but Chief Barnett who, it turned out, had been the “lead” author on four-hundred and twenty-three Standard Operating Procedures and “associate” on over a thousand more.

  There had been some very frustrating portions. Granadica did not seem to have the concept of “keep it simple” and the SOP very much had to have her input and assistance. Barnett had kicked it back four times based on “the sort of wording the weenies in BuShips like.” And the procedure itself was not a simple evolution, no matter how hard Dana tried to make it one.

  But in the end, she found she’d enjoyed it. She’d never been much of a student. Good enough that she could survive the math and physics portion of A school but not a natural scholar. This, though, was applicable to real life. Somehow that made it...better.

  “I agree,” Granadica said. “I still say that we should include the Theta factor analysis procedure, though.”

  “You yourself said that it’s so rare you’ve only seen it twice in eight hundred years,” Dana said, trying not to sigh. “And we noted that in the event of failure of this procedure, Theta Factor Analysis Procedures must be undertaken. We’ll write that up as a separate SOP and it will probably be classed as a depot level repair. Which means you get to do it,” she added with a malicious grin.

  “What’s this ‘we’ll’ write it up?” Velasquez said. “You mean ‘Velasquez will write it up and we’ll tell him everything he did wrong!’ ”

  “Think of it as preparing for your job as an officer,” Dana said. “It’s what officers do, right? Paperwork?”

  “I was under the impression that it was swanking around the Officer’s Clubs,” Velasquez said, looking puzzled. “I mean, we officer class sign paperwork, but it’s enlisteds that do the writing. Right? We would not be so crass as to wield a pen for something as mundane as actual writing? Except to write to our families for more money because we lost on the horses again.”

  “Did he just make a joke?” Granadica asked.

  “I think he’s learning dry humor,” Dana said, her eyes wide. “That was almost... Midwestern!”

  “I was trying for British, actually,” Velasquez said, grinning.

  “Close,” Granadica said. “Close. Okay, I’d say we’re done. Save, attach the cover letter and send.”

  “And we shall see what we shall see,” Deb said, comming the command. “Off to the Gods of Confusion it goes.” She’d been warned by Chief Barnett that BuShips would probably rewrite it, just to show that they were necessary, and since the SOP was about as clear as the task could be written they were bound to make it more complicated.

  “Officers,” Velasquez scoffed. “Can’t live with ’em and they get all upset when you space ’em.”

  * * *

  “And last items,” Megadeath said. The beaten down Megdanoff Dana met when she’d first arrived was quickly on the mend. He hadn’t been selected for the first group of “Gringos” to “assist” the 143 because he was a slacker. Quite the opposite. But she still was constantly amazed he could be brisk and efficient. He’d even managed to get the Suds to understand that a “one hour weekly engineering meeting” was, in fact, supposed to last an hour.

  “We have some good news and bad news. Or good news and good news depending upon how you view it. Good news: Promotions. The 144, 145 and 146 are all standing up. That means that they’re going to require trained personnel in leadership positions. I don’t think that we’re going to be losing any people, but it means that NCO slots are opening up quickly. And since they all have to be filled, we need to find people to promote. Specifically, the flight has been tasked with slots for three EM2s and all qualified EAs are open for promotion to EN, all EN to EM3. I’ll need your written recommendations on which of your EM3s is ready for EM2 in my inbox by Oh-eight hundred tomorrow as well as qualification certifications of all qualified EAs and ENs. Questions?”

  One point that Megadeath made that Megdanoff never would have was that while there were no stupid questions, there was such a thing as inquisitive idiots. Diaz kept his mouth shut.

  “Last item. I suppose it’s inevitable we’d get a colonoscopy at some point,” Megdanoff said. “Or something like it, anyway. We are going to be receiving some DPs. Specifically, the South American Delegation to the E Eridani talks is going to be stopping by. They have specifically requested, and been granted, private interviews with ‘select members of the South American contingent assigned to the Thermopylae battle-station.’ ”

  “If I may interject,” Diaz said. “I was told about this. The person who contacted me said that they are not visiting to...” He paused not sure how to go on.

  “Restart the whole ‘reply by endorsement’ thing?” Deb said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Diaz said. “To not do so. They are...diplomats. There remain areas of cultural...issues is the term you would probably use. One of their purposes is to find those issues and see what can be done...within the parameters of maintaining our current standard of effect.” It was pretty clear he was quoting.

  Megdanoff mouth worked for a moment, his lips pursing and popping.

  “Mmmm...yeah,” he said. “Anyway, they’re going to be here the beginning of next week. So in keeping with having some warning this time, we’re going to be treating this like an IG inspection. Which means twice as much work on the birds. The CO wants every single surface swabbed within an inch of its life, all the quarters GId and the boarding corridor is starting to look pretty nasty so we’re going to be cleaning that. He also noted that some of the bird exteriors are starting to look pretty rough so we all get the pleasure of EVA painting. Don’t figure on any free time this weekend. It’s not just us, that’s the whole squadron. And the coxswains will be joining us.”

  Dana couldn’t quite stop the snort from exiting her nose. If the Suds wanted to start playing games again, Captain Borunda was clearly prepared to show them the results.

  “Sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “Cough.”

  “Very well,” Diaz said, gritting his teeth.

  “And that concludes our meeting, campers,” Megdanoff said. “Questions?”

  “Do we know which personnel have been selected?” Dana asked.

  “Not at this time. More questions? Then we’re done. I’ll send you the additional duty roster. We’re going to be very busy.”

  * * *

  “Parker, Megdanoff.” />
  Dana was barely out of the meeting and on her way back to the docking bays. Couldn’t it wait?

  “Parker.”

  “I’m not sure if you’re going to recommend or not, but absent strenuous objections, I’m submitting Palencia. I know you guys have history.”

  “Not in the normal meaning,” Deb commed. Diaz was ahead of her in the hallway and she now understood not bringing this up in the meeting. “But, yes. Problem is, I’m not going to strongly object, but I don’t concur. He doesn’t have the actual skills and knowledge to be an EM2.”

  “Which is what an old-fashioned chief would say about every EM2 in the One-Four-Two including you. The new kids never know what they’re doing. Truth is, we need EM2s. We’re scheduled to get the 146 and it’s going to be a ‘Sud’ force as of current thought. Which means we need Sud NCOs. Which means we need Palencia.”

  “Understood. No strenuous objection. Just think it’s a bad idea. Give him another six months and I’d probably concur.”

  “It actually would help to have a recommendation.”

  “I’m trying to remember something I read one time. Oh, yeah: This enlisted man works well when under constant supervision and cornered like a rat in a trap.”

  “There you go. See. Was that hard?”

  * * *

  Dana looked at the ping from Megadeath and nodded to herself inside her suit.

  “Bout damned time,” she muttered.

  “Velasquez,” she commed, looking over at the engineer. “Following all standards, discontinue painting evolution.”

  The division was “spot painting” nicks and buffs on their shuttles. Since the shuttles weren’t subject to rust in space, the old Navy hands had had to do without their usual lives of making sure every surface was painted, sanded, derusted, repainted, sanded, derusted... By the lowly engineers and bosuns, of course. However, between the visit of the “Distinguished Persons” and the fact that, finally, the One-Four-Three was actually spaceworthy, the US Navy chiefs and officers got to go to town with space paint.

  Alas, they also had to deal with the fact that the SOP for space paint ran to four hundred pages. And you couldn’t exactly slap it on with a brush. Then there was “sanding” which if you used a normal rotating sander would send the user spinning off on a Dutchman across the main bay. For that matter, the “minor dent repair material” was not exactly off-the-shelf bondo, cost about a gazillion dollars an ounce and you couldn’t use a putty knife.

  For painting, a charge had to be set up between the paint-applicator and the surface. Then the special applicator had to be used. It looked like a regular airbrush painter but it was a mass of electronic circuitry and gravitational controls. Even the power of a painter would send a user in micro into an “out of control” condition. Read: Going Dutchman.

  The sander used an inertial compensating counter-spin system that was almost perfect. Unfortunately, every now and again something about the surface would cause it to start an “anomalous rotational condition.” Which was on one level hilarious and on another very damned dangerous. It was hilarious when Diaz, during the demonstration phase, went spinning off of Forty-Two and into the main bay, screaming. It was less hilarious when it happened to Dana.

  “Yes, EM,” Velasquez said, dialing down the paint extraction system slowly. One of the fun parts was that you couldn’t just “stop” painting.

  “When you are finished you will secure and post-use maintain all gear,” she said. “Then you shall hop down to the Base Exchange and pick up a set of Engineer First Class insignia.”

  “For who, E...?” Velasquez said then stopped. “I take it I got promoted?”

  “You did,” Dana said. “Take the rest of the duty day off. Your luck we have a GI party of the barracks this evening.”

  “Fortunately, my room is already pristine,” Velasquez said.

  “And your strength is as the strength of ten because your heart is pure. When this dog and pony show is over, you get the real honor.”

  “Which is?” Diego asked.

  “I’ll explain to you the significance of the crowbar,” Dana said. “As far as I know, you’ll be the first Sud to learn it.”

  * * *

  “You look tired, Diego,” Dr. Velasquez said.

  “I am, quite,” the EN said. “I do not know if it is simply the way that the US does business in its Navy or pay-back for the many complaints they received prior to the Wolf Meetings. But in anticipation of your visit we have gone from working quite hard to working like slaves in a salt mine so that not only would our boats, quarters and gear meet the technical ability to function but also look pretty for the visiting Distinguished Persons. Given that the gringos refer to this visit as a ‘colonoscopy,’ I’m fairly sure there’s a bit of both. ‘If you don’t want to get worked like slaves, tell Daddy to mind his own business.’ They too can, as they put it, play games. But given the satisfaction expressed by Chief Hartwell at the visual appearance of the boats, quarters and gear it was probably both.”

  “And do they have the technical ability to function?” Dr. Velasquez asked.

  “Amazingly, even Alpha Flight’s boats work most of the time,” Diego said. “Since that may not seem to be a yes, be aware that working ‘most’ of the time is about as well as the 142nd. We are, in fact, meeting tasks to standard. If for no other reason than Granadica.”

  “Has it been difficult to work with?”

  “Not for me,” the EN said, chuckling. “I had a pre-class in constant nagging and requirement to meet standard. In fact, looking back I’m rather glad we had Parker as our EM prior to the installation of Granadica. We, therefore, did not have to deal with the much more intrusive AI’s nagging. Parker did not enter the restroom to drag us out. She would, occasionally, send someone after us if we’d been there too long. Granadica pops into your head and asks you what exactly you’re doing with your penis and does it count as a sensor check.”

  “I see,” Dr. Velasquez said, his face working undiplomatically.

  “Pardon, papa,” Diego said, shrugging. “Working with sailors does tend to coarsen your metaphors. Perhaps Palencia has a point that this is not work for gentlemen.”

  “His father certainly seems to continue to share that view,” Dr. Velasquez said. “So you find that the AI has been, overall, a problem or a benefit?”

  “Very much a benefit,” Diego said, instantly. “It is immensely knowledgeable and I have found it a benefit. While it was difficult for all of us to...culturally adjust, I have come to understand, if not fully assimilate, many of the reasons for why the gringo Navy does things the way they do. Calling it a culture is not quite accurate. Or, rather, it is a culture of necessity. If you do things certain ways, things work. If you do them other ways, or most of the time do not do them at all, things do not work. Even such things are time management, constantly filling every space of time with definitive actions. There are probably changes that could be made in the culture to mesh with the cultures of our own countries less abrasively.” He paused and frowned then shrugged again. “But surprisingly few. This is space. This is the Alliance Navy, a proven space fighting force. I am of the opinion that we from other cultures must, in the words of the gringoes, ‘Get over it.’ ”

  “I see you were promoted,” Dr. Velasquez said.

  “It was more or less automatic and I doubt that mother will be thrilled,” Diego said, shrugging. “Nothing to write home about.”

  “Again, a gringoism,” the envoy noted.

  “I...” Diego said. “Yes. I suppose I am becoming one with the culture. Do not get me wrong, Papa. I do not intend to become a career NCO. But I do think the experience will be useful in my future military endeavors. If for no other reason than knowing what the enlisteds are trying to get away with,” he added with a grin.

  “And that may come up more swiftly than you expected,” Dr. Velasquez said. “This is not information to be passed around but the results of having Granadica onboard have adjusted the All
iance stance on our countries’ position in the Alliance. Which was why the Constellation went to a South American crew instead of an Asian. There is another MASSEX being scheduled. Assuming that the crews do well, the process will continue and in time it is possible that Malta will be a full South American battlestation.”

  “That would be...” Diego said, his eyes wide.

  “As was pointed out in a very...aggressive meeting, a duty,” Dr. Velasquez said. “Yes, and an honor. We, and by that I mean the current Alliance members that make up the recognized Sud faction, have many things to work out. Which has been going on behind closed doors almost constantly since the Wolf meetings. However, for your particular world, there are insufficient members of the... ‘right’ families to fill all the positions. Which means in the near future the units will be getting more and more personnel from the lower classes. Which means that at some point you’ll be withdrawn to go to officer’s school so you can have your rightful place.”

  “Strangely enough, I find myself viewing that...from a gringo perspective I suppose,” Diego said. “That one’s rightful place is what you make it, not what you were born to. But I have yet to congratulate you on your assignment to the E Eridani delegation!”

  “I suppose I should be thrilled as well,” Dr. Velasquez said. “But frankly we’re simply there as window dressing. To show the Rangora that the earth is united in its determination to defend the system. But the experience should be useful. And I’m given to understand the accommodations are somewhat better than at the Wolf Meetings. Alas, I have to deal with Doctor Guillermo Palencia, PhD, as a companion.”

  “Is he as bad as his son?” Diego asked, laughing.

  “His son is, I’m given to understand, much infected by liberal thinking,” Dr. Velasquez replied. “Unlike his father who thinks Pinochet didn’t go far enough.”

  “Ouch,” Diego said, chuckling. “Do you think they’re having the same conversation.”