CHAPTER 2
SHIPMATES
After leaving the captain's cabin, Gallant made his way along the main corridor, stepping gingerly against the light artificial gravity created by the ship’s rotation.
He soon realized that Repulse was the size of a small town and alive with bustling activities. A far-off hiss of atmosphere exiting metal ducts provided fresh fragrant air to replace the oil-laden stale odors produced by the many machines and devices throughout the compartments. There was a steady drone of the air conditioners fighting the heat buildup from all those machines. A slow rumble completed the ensemble as the oxygen generators and carbon dioxide scrubbers maintained the atmosphere.
There were also the human sounds of men and women gathering in compartments murmuring about the trivia of the day and carrying out their duties and responsibilities.
The corridor was well lit with smoothly paneled bulkheads. Behind the paneling were pipes with flowing fluids, ducts carrying air to and from ventilation equipment, electrical conduit power supplies, as well as junction boxes and wireless modem stations.
After a few twists and turns along the broad corridor, Gallant lost all sense of direction and couldn’t tell fore from aft, let alone find his way to the midshipmen’s quarters.
Finally, he surrendered and touched his comm pin. He asked the computer for directions.
“Turn left ahead, then down the next ladder to deck four, and then right to compartment 4-150-0-L,” responded the comm pin voice. It added, “For future reference, the compartment number consists of four parts, separated by hyphens. It starts with the deck number, followed by the frame number, centerline position, and finally the compartment use, such as, L for living space.”
In a few minutes, Gallant was standing at the open hatch leading to the midshipmen’s berth. A table full of young men and women stopped what they were doing and stared at him, making their preliminary judgmental assessments.
He surveyed his surroundings during the brief silence. The midshipman’s common room was moderately roomy with a large central table. Along the starboard bulkhead were a dozen narrow two-person quarters for the men. A similar dozen were on the port side for the women. Two common washrooms were likewise distributed. Additionally, several small desks were jammed into the compartment's corners. At the head of the table was a large video screen, currently dark.
The midshipmen were participating in various activities, some studying, others playing games against the computer, or each other. The overall atmosphere seemed relaxed and pleasant.
The entire group consisted of First Class Midshipmen about half of which were women. Their insignia indicated they were a mixture of pilots, astrogators, and missile officers.
“Does he speak, or must we use telepathy?” asked a redheaded giant at the foot of the table. His body-builder torso contrasted with his agreeable brow and mischievous grin. The deep booming voice he produced could have come from a baritone singer.
“My name is Gallant."
“Well Gallant, come closer and meet your brethren,” said the redhead. “I’m George Gregory better known as 'Red' for obvious reasons. This is Anton Neumann, noted for his manifold inherited talents, but most especially for his piloting skills.” Red was pointing toward the young man sitting at the head of the table who had been reading studiously before the interruption.
Neumann was in every way the prototypical example of Earth’s most advanced genetic engineering. He was tall, strikingly handsome, with a powerful frame and an appealing smile. He had the look of a leader and his position at the head of the table confirmed that he was the ranking midshipman.
“And that is Jerril Chui, noted for torturing musical instruments,” continued Red pointing to a tall, wispy figure with a drawn complexion. A lighthearted laugh twittered around at the table.
“Tell us a little about yourself Gallant,” interjected Chui, before Red could continue with more introductions.
“Well, there’s not much to tell. This is my first deployment. I’ll be taking advanced fighter training,” said Gallant with increasing discomfort.
“What's your genetic quotient?” interrupted Neumann. Everyone waited quietly for Gallant’s response. Actually, such a direct request for the evaluation results of Gallant’s genetic intellectual and physical enhancements was considered ill-mannered. If they were young businessmen at a social gathering, such a question would have been rude to the point of insult, but the directness of military discipline lent itself to more openness.
“I am unrated,” responded Gallant as he steeled himself for what he knew would follow. He was well aware of the effect he had on others from the reaction of his classmates at the academy and now he could see it once more in the faces of these young men and women. Each set of eyes told the same story and their facial expressions changed from open and good-natured, to guarded and disciplined.
Neumann opened his hands and turned them up as if to say, 'Look nothing up my sleeves,' and then he said, “I thought I recognized your name. You’re the Natural?”
“Yes.”
From that moment, Gallant’s very existence seemed to evaporate from the consciousness of the other midshipmen. They simply went back to their previous activities completely ignoring him, their chatter excluding him.
Looking around the room, he noticed his duffle bag leaning against the last starboard cubicle. He walked to his new quarters and began unpacking his uniforms and few personal belongings. He could hear the others talking and laughing gaily late into the night.
It was his first night aboard. He had started the day with high hopes, but his previous experience with midshipmen had given him realistic expectations. Now he tossed sleeplessly, uncertain what awaited him, but determined to meet any challenge head-on. As he nodded off in the early hours, his mind drifted; Did Kelsey really wish him 'Good Luck'?
Midshipman Henry Gallant in Space Page 3