by Ric Locke
“Mighta known,” Peters observed disgustedly. “Well, I didn’t really want that third chevron anyhow.”
“Oh, you’re all right. You, Cunningham, and Kraewitz get letters commending you for ‘prompt, effective, and appropriate action in a situation with lives at stake’. No doubt they’ll staple the two of them together and shove them to the back of the file, just call it push and pull.” Howell regarded his sleeve sourly. “Me, I don’t get any such letter, so I can kiss any chance of a rocker bye-bye.”
“You know well’s I do it don’t work that way,” Peters pointed out. “Takes ten attaboys to cancel one aw-shit, and I reckon this here’s more of an aw-fuck, myself. I ain’t never gonna get enough attaboys to cancel that, especially with me and the Master Chief not gettin’ along.”
“Hmph. Which brings me to what I looked you up for. Having received this news, the Master Chief has decreed extra drill for us ree-tarded operators, starting right after next chow. In full gear. With adult supervision.”
“Well, I reckon from their point of view that’s the next thing on the program,” Peters offered judiciously. “Hunh. How’re we gonna drill effectively? It ain’t like we had anything resemblin’ a simulator.”
“Cross that bridge when we come to it. First session will just be review of procedures, which is to say, teaching our new boss which switch turns the lights on.”
“Yeah… What’s this about supervision? Is Chief Joshua gonna come down and look over our shoulders?”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all,” Howell opined with mock-solemn cynicism. “No, the Chief stays where he is. Us, we get a real grownup. Following the Board’s recommendation, Commander Bolton has assigned us an LSO.”
“An officer? How’re they gonna do that? All the officers are flight crew, barrin’ the Doc.” He looked Howell in the face. “Oh, shit. You ain’t tellin’ me—”
Howell nodded, with a bare-toothed grin containing not one iota of amusement. “You got it. Seeing as how he’s been relieved of flying duties, and is therefore without a current assignment—”
“That asshole Carson gets to be Landing Signal Officer. Well, ain’t that great.”
“You got it,” Howell repeated. “First utle after next chow, in full drag, ready to receive the words of wisdom from On High. Be there or be square.”
“Walkin’ our posts in proper military manner,” Peters added. “Well, I reckon there ain’t nothin’ for it.”
Howell just nodded and pulled the door closed. Peters shook his head, looking over at his book, which he’d laid down carefully, using a four-ornh note for a bookmark. Cherin had explained to him in some detail the reason for not laying books open and face down. He’d never had much to do with books before, but the precaution seemed sensible, like securing watertight doors… which had nothing to do with the present situation, which was not looking like a pleasant prospect. Among other things, having a real officer on the deck would disrupt the command structure they’d improvised. By virtue of his rank, Carson would be the constituted authority, making Chief Joshua’s role as default Air Boss moot. “Come!” he shouted when the tapping on his door was repeated.
“I guess you’ve heard the news,” Dee said.
“Yeah, and it don’t thrill me,” Peters understated.
“I expected that,” Dee told him wryly. “I hate to impose, but I need some help.”
“What do you need?”
“Chief Joshua told me to arrange for a member of Llapaaloapalla‘s crew to be present for the additional instruction he ordered.” She looked a little sheepish. “I’m not very familiar with the zerkre, and they don’t know me at all. Would you go along and help me out? They know you a lot better.”
“You sure?” Peters asked softly. “I’m one of the ones in the shit.”
“Yes, I know, but I don’t even know where to go or who to ask.”
“Jus’ go to the control room and ask for Dhuvenig. If he ain’t around, either Heelinig or Deenerin can help you.”
“But I’m afraid!” she almost wailed. “Won’t you please go along? In all my life I never imagined that I would visit the control room.”
“What’re you afraid of?” Peters asked gently. “They’re nice folks up there.”
“Maybe for you, but I’m only a trader, and a junior one at that,” Dee pointed out. “Please help.”
“You’re jumpin’ at shadows.” Peters held up a hand when she started to object. “OK, I’ll go, but we can’t be seen together, leastwise not by any of the humans.” He thought for a moment. “You know where the library’s at?”
“I think so. I’ve never been there.”
“Learnin’ that’ll be good for you,” Peters said with some amusement. “It’s an interestin’ place. I done learned a lot there.”
“So I should meet you in the library?”
“Yeah. Wait a tle or so, then go to the library. Don’t wait too long. It’s gettin’ close to mealtime, and after that we won’t be able to get away with much.”
“All right,” she said a trifle wanly. “Come as soon as you can. I don’t feel welcome in that part of the ship.”
“You’ll be fine,” Peters assured. “Go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“OK.” She turned and left, pulling the door closed.
Now isn’t this a Helluva deal? Peters waited a few minutes, then pulled on dungarees over his kathir suit and searched out his hat. The requirement to wear clothing over the airsuit was honored much more in the breach than in the observance, but the order had never been rescinded, and if he was already on somebody’s shit list there was no point in adding tick marks.
Dee had managed to find the library, but hadn’t mustered up the courage to go in; she was standing outside the door, looking fidgety and getting odd looks from the occasional passerby. “Calm yourself,” Peters told her. “They won’t bite you.”
“I’m not emotionally certain of that,” she said, with more humor than he’d expected.
“Let’s go inside for a moment,” Peters suggested. “The librarian is a good person. Perhaps if you meet her you can become more easy about meeting the others.”
“That might help,” she agreed.
“Come, then.” Peters pushed open the library door. “Hello, Cherin,” he greeted the woman at the desk. “I introduce Dee.”
Cherin glanced at him with a little quirk of the mouth. “Hello, Peters,” she said, amusement in her voice. “Welcome to the library, Dee. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“No, I’ve never been here before,” Dee agreed.
“You’re a Trader, aren’t you? Is there anything special you like to read?”
“No, I have never read very much,” Dee admitted. “I read some books when I was in school, but never since.”
“That’s too bad,” the librarian chided. “Reading is a good way to learn new things. Look at Peters. He reads more than almost anyone I know, and as a result he knows much more than you’d expect.”
“Perhaps I should try it,” Dee said dubiously. “Am I permitted to come here?”
“Well, of course you are,” Cherin told her with some force. “The library is for everyone.”
“Thank you.” Dee looked around. Several patrons, some in kathir suits with zerkre markings, were sitting in comfortable chairs. “It’s a very quiet place, isn’t it?” she commented.
“Yes, libraries are quiet places,” Peters told her. “When you’re reading it’s better to have quiet, so you can listen to the voices the book makes in your head.”
“That’s a very poetic way to put it, but Peters is right,” Cherin told her. “Come any time, even if all you want is to be quiet for a while. I’ll suggest some things for you to read if you like.”
“Thank you, Cherin.”
“No thanks necessary. Peters, why did you bring Dee here? I don’t think it was romantic interest.”
Dee colored. “No, not romantic interest,” Peters assured the librarian with a
smile. “Dee needs to visit the control room, and she’s a little afraid of the reception she might find there. I thought perhaps if she could meet you she might realize that not all of the zerkre eat babies.”
“That isn’t funny,” Cherin said sharply. “And to think I complimented you for being poetic only a moment ago! Dee, if you have business in the control room, just go there and ask. Even if you’re only curious you should go and ask. They might say no, but so long as you’re polite that’s the worst thing you should expect.”
“I suppose I know that intellectually,” Dee admitted. “But it’s hard to change old habits.”
“I’ll have to speak with some of the others,” Cherin said to Peters. “I knew not many of the Traders ever came up here, but I didn’t realize that they were afraid.”
“Perhaps Dee won’t be any more,” Peters said. “But now, if you will excuse us, we need to go to the control room.”
“You don’t need my permission,” the librarian pointed out. “Come again soon. You come too, Dee.”
“Thank you,” Dee said quietly.
“Now see, that wasn’t so bad,” Peters said when they were in the passageway.
“No, it wasn’t,” Dee admitted, and took a few steps. “It doesn’t seem right.”.
“What doesn’t?”
“I have lived on Llapaaloapalla all my life. You have been here only a little over five zul, yet you know more about the ship than I do!”
“Perhaps so,” Peters admitted. “I found an interest and followed it. You could do the same if you wanted to.”
“Yes, that’s true, isn’t it? It’s unfortunate that I didn’t know that before.” Dee squared her narrow shoulders. “Lead on. I’m still not looking forward to this, but it’s starting to feel like something I should have done long ago.”
Dhuvenig looked Dee over pretty comprehensively, seeming to like what he saw. “Further instruction?” he asked when their errand was explained. “I thought you were past that. You have been operating the retarders for some time now.”
“Did you know about the accident?” Peters asked.
“Yes, I went down to check if anything had happened to the ship’s structure, and I stopped to look at the wreckage. The air caught the wings on the ship and threw it against the overhead structure, as I understand it. The crew were very lucky. If they had hit only a few tell forward or aft they would almost certainly have been killed.”
“That’s how I understand it as well, but my superiors feel that it is possible faulty operation of the retarders contributed to the accident,” Peters explained. “They want us to have further instruction, to avoid such incidents in future.”
“I suppose I see their point, but it’s based on a misunderstanding of the retarder system,” Dhuvenig pointed out. “The retarders can only check motion in a line parallel to the ship’s long axis. If the approaching ship moves to one side or the other the retarders can’t stop it. You couldn’t have prevented the accident by changing the way you operate them.”
“That is how I understood the situation, and I attempted to explain it,” Peters agreed. “But because I was one of the operators at the time, they won’t necessarily take my word for it.”
“Again I can see their point.” Dhuvenig sighed. “The problem is that Keezer doesn’t like working with you humans. I will have to find someone else with both the knowledge and the free time.” He looked at Dee. “Why did you bring Dee along for this errand? Not that I have any objections, but you certainly know the language well enough.”
“It has to do with the politics in our group. It would be better if my superiors didn’t know I came here. They might be more suspicious, thinking that I might have made some special arrangement with you to avoid blame. But Dee was afraid to approach you by herself, so I agreed to come along.”
Dhuvenig nodded. “Oh? That sort of thing happens sometimes. I will instruct whoever I send not to mention it.” He looked Dee up and down. “Dee, if you need to contact us again, you should come by yourself. We aren’t ferassi here.”
“Dee doesn’t feel comfortable coming to the control room,” Peters told him. The unfamiliar word didn’t parse in the Grallt he knew. Probably it meant something like ‘monster’ or ‘ogre’.
“Yes, I know some of the traders feel that way,” Dhuvenig observed. “Come back any time, Dee. You can ask for me especially, and I’ll do what I can for you.” He smiled. “Come whenever you like, even if you don’t have business. Perhaps we could get to know one another better.”
“Thank you, Dhuvenig,” Dee said a little weakly.
“No thanks necessary. Is there more?”
“No, Dhuvenig, I think that’s all.” Peters told him when Dee didn’t respond.
“Yes,” the Grallt responded with a short nod, and Dee and Peters turned to leave.
Outside the bridge access Dee stopped and leaned against Peters. He put his arm around her shoulders, realizing with a start that it was the first time he’d touched her. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he offered.
“No, not really. Dhuvenig was nice, I thought. I was frightened the whole time, though.”
“You should get over that. You will have to come back again, because I might not be able to take the risk. Don’t worry. Dhuvenig will be glad to see you.”
“You think so? Why would Dhuvenig be happy to see a Trader in his control room?”
“I don’t think his interest has anything to do with traders and zerkre,” Peters said with a smile.
She moved away and looked up at him. “What, then?” she asked suspiciously.
“It wouldn’t be a bad arrangement,” Peters suggested. “He’s a nice guy with lots of status, and he seems interested. You should pursue the matter.”
“Wearing my airsuit, I suppose,” Dee offered, with a hint of irony.
“You should do that anyway, but it wouldn’t hurt.” Peters grinned. “You make a very good impression in it.”
“You’re as crude as the officers are.”
“Oh, I’m much worse. I’m enlisted, after all. Now let’s go. Mealtime is almost over, and I need to get something to eat before I go on duty.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Howell was explaining the retarders for the nth time, and had reached the point of using little words. “No, sir, so far as any of us are aware the system has no effect whatever on motion from side to side, sir.”
“‘So far as any of you are aware’,” the officer mimicked. “All you’re telling me is that none of you really know how it works. It’s amazing nobody’s been killed.”
“Shit, all the asshole needs is one of those little whip things,” Peters observed aside to Kraewitz.
“Riding crop,” the other supplied, smiling thinly.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Carson was wearing aviators’ greens, complete with brown shoes and a cap with a polished brown visor, with two full rings on the sleeves instead of the ring-and-a-half they’d thought he was entitled to. He walked up and down with long strides, flicking his hand against his hip in a nervous gesture. It was already clear that he was not, repeat not, going to accept the word of anybody present that the retarder crews couldn’t have prevented the crash. He kept coming back to the idea that the machines were capable of restraining the path of entering ships, and the sailors simply didn’t know how the system worked.
“What’s this?” Kraewitz asked, looking over his shoulder, and Peters turned to find Dhuvenig strolling up.
“Everybody salute!” Peters hissed, and snapped into a brace himself, forefinger at eyebrow. The other enlisted in the vicinity followed suit without much delay, and the Grallt stopped, raised his eyebrows, and lifted his left arm in the “greeting” gesture. Peters brought his hand down at that, and the others did, too, a little raggedly.
“Hello, Peters,” Dhuvenig said calmly. “I take it that was your respect gesture. Did I respond correctly?”
“Yes, you did,” Peters assured.
“So
all of you are retarder operators? We don’t use such a large group for the function.”
“Yes, I know, but we are new and were not sure of the requirements,” Peters told him. “It seemed better to have too many than too few.”
“A sensible precaution.” Dhuvenig looked around. “You asked for an instructor. No one suitable was immediately available, so I decided to come myself.”
“Yes…”
“Sailor! You there! Front and center!” The lieutenant wasn’t pleased. “Bring your friend.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” “Please come with me. This man is my superior.”
“Certainly.”
Peters didn’t quite double-time over to Lieutenant Carson, with Dhuvenig following more calmly. “You called for me, sir?” he asked. He’d already saluted the son-of-a-bitch once today and wasn’t about to repeat it. Two could play at “strict rules”.
“What’s your name, sailor?”
“Peters, sir.” For about the fourth time.
“Peters, were you aware that this was an official exercise?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you aware that during official exercises you are not permitted to go skylarking off with your buddies?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were.” That was stretched out in laconic superciliousness.
The pause extended itself. “Yes, sir,” Peters added.
“Very well… who’s the cuntface?”
“Engineering Officer, sir.”
Carson stopped for a moment, then bulled ahead: “And what rank does he hold?”
“Approximately Commander, sir.”
“Commander,” Carson repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Which conveniently outranks me by two grades, right, sailor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Speak the language, do you, sailor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. You tell your friend the commander to go back to the EM quarters and tell them your little joke didn’t work. Then get back to your post, and we will continue the exercise… Howell!”