Chuckling, I toweled off as best I could and pulled out the charcoal jacket and slacks, brushing them down a bit and just generally laying things out so that when I got out of the shower, I’d be able to skin into my clothes and be ready to go. I stood there listening and realized she was singing softly to herself. A wordless tune I couldn’t recognize but it sounded nice and I was oddly touched by the intimacy of it. While I was waiting, I dug out my kit and worked on cleaning up the odd nose hair using the big mirror on the closet door. Not a terribly glamorous task but it was the last night in port. With the shower still running after I finished that, I shrugged and clipped my fingernails for luck.
The shower cut off just then and in a couple of ticks she knocked on the door. “It’s all yours,” she said, and I heard her side latch shut.
I grabbed a fresh towel and my kit, then dove for the warm shower. It didn’t take long to wash off the day’s grime, and I was out and into my civvies in less than five ticks.
I had just finished adjusting the fall of my jacket, when I heard a soft tap on the stateroom door. Opening it, I found Fredi and Mel waiting for me. Mel was in a gorgeous cranberry blouse with a deep green jacket and slacks. Fredi was in a navy blue tunic and slacks. She wore a single gold broach on her left shoulder and looked very relaxed.
“Good evening, Ishmael,” Fredi said with a warm smile. “Are you ready?”
I just grinned and stepped out into the passageway with them, closing the door to my stateroom behind me.
Mel gave me a rather frank once over and turned to Fredi to say, “For a boot third, he cleans up very nicely, don’t you think?” There was a twinkle in her eye and an approving smile on her lips.
Fredi gave me one of her bird-like, head tilt examinations before replying, “I think he has promise.”
We moved a couple of meters along the passageway and Fredi tapped on Arletta’s door. We heard the unmistakable thunk of a trunk lid slamming shut and some indistinguishable scrambling before a moment of silence. The door opened and Arletta stood there, framed.
I was a little concerned that there might have been an oxygen imbalance because for just a bit, I had a very hard time breathing. She looked straight at me, and somewhere behind I heard Fredi and Mel murmur something that I couldn’t make out over the rushing in my ears.
Finally, I managed to get a breath and said, “So, that’s what a little black dress looks like.”
Mel laughed out loud, and Fredi chuckled. Arletta just smiled and arched an eyebrow.
The dress was as black as the Deep Dark and even had some kind of sparkly texture to it so that very faint reflections of the overheads made it look like she wore stars. It clung and draped and floated freely in a variety of fascinating directions, and I wasn’t even close to done admiring it before she stepped out of her stateroom, slung a wrap across her shoulders, and closed the door behind her.
“I’m starved,” she announced. “Shall we go?”
Dinner was at a place on Ten Deck called Scotty’s. It was one of those classy restaurants where the lights are low, the chairs comfy, and the food amazing. The company was clever and beautiful. I noticed several people—men and women alike—sizing me up and wondering what I was doing with a table full of gorgeous women. I just counted my blessings and hoped none of them objected to dragging me around with them.
It soon became apparent this wasn’t the first time the three of them had been out together. Once away from the ship, there was an easy camaraderie among them that I recognized but could not yet share. Someday perhaps, but in the meantime it was pleasant just to be with them.
The salads were fresh and crunchy, the soups light and flavorful. We all ordered beef in one configuration or another and shared a gorgeous red wine, dry enough to complement the meal through all the courses. My steak was cooked to perfection and the others savored theirs as well. Coffee and a glazed dessert pudding topped the meal and left us pleasantly relaxed, full without feeling gorged. As a meal, it was probably one of the best I’d ever had. Masterfully created and presented.
It didn’t hurt that I shared it with three gorgeous women.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BREAKALL ORBITAL
2358-SEPTEMBER-12
The morning started okay. I woke up on my own, had nothing to do, and nowhere to go. I would have the duty at noon but that was still a few stans away. A glance at the chrono told me I’d missed breakfast, but with the meal from last night fresh in my mind, a little coffee would tide me over until lunch. Liberty was timed to end around 13:00 but I suspected the mess deck would be pretty crowded for lunch. With most of us back aboard, Mr. Vorhees would be using the wardroom.
After a quick shower and fresh shipsuit, I headed toward the mess deck for some coffee and that’s when everything started tumbling down. When I stepped onto the mess deck there was a sudden swiveling of grim faces. Not many for a midmorning with liberty running, but more than I would have expected. They looked at me as if they had been expecting somebody but I wasn’t the one. They immediately turned back to whatever they had been doing, which wasn’t much. I got my coffee and glanced into the galley where Mr. Vorhees was talking to Karen with the same grim expression. Karen was nodding and pushing a broom around in a small circle.
I took my coffee and headed for the office. Arletta had the watch, and I had a very bad feeling. Penny Davies should have had galley duty, not Karen. That was not a good sign.
When I rounded the corner and stepped into the office, Arletta looked up, worry furrowing her brow.
Ulla wasn’t in tears, but she had been, judging from the color of her nose and the pile of tissues beside her. She looked up at me with hope, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
“Something’s happened to Penny?” I asked.
“How’d you guess?” Arletta replied.
“Hunch. What do we know?”
“She’s officially AWOL. She didn’t come back from liberty this morning,” Arletta said.
“Did she bolt?” I asked.
Thinking back over the voyage out, I couldn’t say that I’d blame her.
Ulla sniffed loudly. “She headed back to the ship at 22:00. I never should have left her.”
Arletta shrugged and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite fathom.
“There was this cute guy and we were dancing, but I had to get back to take the watch at midnight so we left a little early, you know?” she looked at me with those tortured, pink-rimmed eyes.
“Yeah, I know. Then what?”
“Penny said she didn’t wanna hang out any more, so she was heading back to the ship. She had breakfast duty this morning. After the last couple of weeks, she’s been…well, you know.” Ulla took a tick to blow her nose on another tissue.
“When I got back, I just had time to grab a shipsuit and run up here to relieve Apones,” she said holding back sobs. “I never looked around the berthing area, just grabbed a suit out of my locker and ran up here.”
Ulla started sniffling into her tissue, so Arletta picked up the story. “When Ulla went to wake her for duty, her bunk hadn’t been slept in, and the brow watch shows her checked out yesterday afternoon but she never came back in.”
“Where do we stand?” I asked.
“Mel and Fredi have gone to the orbital security station. They’re running sweeps.”
“Where’s the captain?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“He’s due on the 11:00 shuttle up from the planet. We notified him but he didn’t change his schedule.”
“Burnside?” I asked.
“At the Union Hall,” she said with a bitter edge to her voice.
I arched an eyebrow. “Union Hall?”
“We sail this afternoon. He’s not waiting.”
She didn’t need to spell it out any more fully.
Her tablet bipped and she stood up. “Betts says there’s orbital security at the lock. Ulla, stay here. Ishmael?”
I nodded and followed right behind her. Betts had the loc
k open and the two uniformed orbital guards stood just inside the door when we bolted in.
“I’m Novea, the OOD,” Arletta said. “What can you tell us?”
The obvious senior looked at me and Betts before speaking. “She’s in medical. She’s alive. Sweep team found her down on the Oh-eight Deck just around from the lift. We’re reviewing video surveillance now.” He bit off each sentence as if reading them from the report. For all I knew he was.
“Alive?” Arletta zeroed in on the pertinent fact.
“She was pretty badly beaten,” the officer said again. “She’s in the can now and the medicos are working. They’ve only just gotten her up from Oh-eight. One of your officers is with her.” He consulted a tablet, “DeGrut?”
Arletta confirmed it with a nod.
Still looking at the tablet he said, “A Ms. Menas is reviewing video with the security team.”
Arletta nodded. “Thank you, officers. At least we know what happened.”
They nodded respectfully and turned to step back onto the dock. Just another day on the orbital, no doubt.
Betts had started cycling the lock mechanism but a shout from the dock had him reverse and open it back up.
David Burnside stepped over the coaming and into the ship. Behind him a young woman in a brand new DST shipsuit carried a suspiciously clean duffel.
“Oh, good,” he said. “You’re here. This is Mindy Jacobs. She’s our new mess deck attendant. Ms. Arletta, if you’d take Ms. Jacobs and get her signed in, we can proceed with readying to get underway.”
“Welcome aboard, Ms. Jacobs,” Arletta said as warmly as she could under the circumstances. “We’re having a bit of a dust-up this morning, so please bear with us.” She turned to Betts. “Arnie, would you see that Ms. Jacobs gets mass allotment and systems record?”
“Aye, sar.”
The Ms. Jacobs in question, a lovely girl of eighteen or nineteen stanyers, with lush brown hair and relatively impressive physical assets, reminded me of the phrase “calf to slaughter.”
“Ishmael?” Arletta said. “I need to let the crew know. I’ll go talk to Ulla if you’d make the announcement on the mess deck? And let Mr. Vorhees know he’s not shorthanded?”
“Of course,” I said.
I followed Arletta down the passageway into the ship, and as we turned the corner she asked me, “Does it strike you as odd that he’s already got a replacement?”
“Only from the perspective that he must have been pretty sure that Penny wouldn’t be rejoining the ship.”
“That was my thinking, too.”
We split up at the office door and I only got a glimpse of Ulla Nart’s hopeful, but tear smeared face before Arletta closed the door, and I headed for the mess deck.
When I got there, every head turned toward me and I just stood for a heartbeat. They all knew I had something to say. I saw it in their faces. Juliett and Charlotte were sitting with a couple of the engineering people. Apones and Mosler were at their usual table and the engineman I’d seen with Mosler outside the flea market was sitting with them.
“Ms. Davies has been found. She’s getting medical treatment right now. She’s too badly hurt to be rejoining the ship, but a replacement attendant is checking in now.”
It was a brutal recitation, but there wasn’t anything to be gained by beating around the bush. I saw Juliett and Charlotte bite their lips and reach out to hold a hand. Most of the crew had expressions of shock and dismay. Only Mosler and Apones didn’t seem surprised, and the extra engineman—I suddenly remembered his name was Xiang—flashed a look at the two of them. He didn’t look happy.
John Vorhees stepped out of the galley when I started speaking, and heard the whole thing. I walked up to him and we moved back into the galley. Karen was standing there, not looking much better than Ulla Nart in the swollen eyes and red nose department.
“Mr. Wang,” he said. “Do they know…?”
I shook my head. “No, John. I’m sorry,” I said. “They found her less than a stan ago. She’s in the can up in medical and she’s getting treatment. The officers said she’d been beaten and left on the Oh-eight Deck. They found her this morning on their lost-person sweep.”
His eyes narrowed and he said, “They found her less than a stan ago, and we already have a replacement.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. Mr. Burnside went to the Union Hall himself to get us one.”
“That was nice of him,” he said with a growing hardness about his mouth and eyes. “And I’ll assume that the said fortuitous replacement happens to be female, young, pretty, blonde, and fills out a shipsuit?”
“Close,” I admitted. “Brunette.”
“What are the odds, sar?”
“Astronomical,” I replied.
He took a deep breath and I watched him calming himself by sheer strength of will.
“So,” he said at last, just the one word.
“So,” he repeated.
His eyes were focused elsewhere and his mind was racing, by the look of him.
“We need to have a little talk with our new lambie,” he said softly, “and I’m afraid Ms. Cramer gets wardroom duty.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Strength, John, we don’t know. We have no proof. It looks bad, but we don’t want to lower ourselves to their level.”
Under my hand I felt the starch leach out of the man. He closed his eyes and struggled for control but eventually said, “Yes, sar. I know you’re right, but—” he raised his eyes to mine—“she was my crew, sar.”
“I know, John,” I said with a sigh. “Believe me, I know.”
There wasn’t anything else to say, so I got out of his way and headed for the office.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
BREAKALL SYSTEM
2358-SEPTEMBER-21
By the time we were nine days out of Breakall, things had reverted to what passed for normal on the Billy. The good news was that Mr. Vorhees took to his new spice locker with some amount of gusto. After being grateful for “warm and filling” for so long, I found it gratifying to look forward to something approaching “tasty” as well. The bad news was that the crew had been shocked back into fear. The afternoon study sessions had all but disappeared, and the condition of the ship slowly degraded. Burnside and first section continued to purposefully leave a mess on the bridge. So stupidly petty, it became something of a joke among the bridge watch. That was good. Otherwise it would have been demoralizing.
According to the standing orders, the mandatory ship’s drills for gravity, hull integrity, life boat, and general quarters were scheduled for the day before the ratings tests. Knowing how long these drills took, I wasn’t really sure how we’d schedule all of them in a single day, and I had serious reservations about the utility of announcing them in advance. Every time I tried to bring it up with Burnside, he either ignored me or denigrated my concerns.
“We’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, Mr. Wang. Watch and learn.”
Burnside called me to the bridge at 13:30. “Well, Mr. Wang, are you ready to learn how we do drills on a real ship?”
False camaraderie had been a hallmark of his behavior since getting underway from Breakall. Maybe he’d always been that way, but I only found it grating after the events there. I couldn’t be sure.
“Pray, enlighten me, Mr. Burnside. I can’t wait.”
“What’s the first drill, then, Ishmael?”
“Hull breach,” I said.
He crossed to the ship’s address system and punched the hull breach button. The warning klaxon was barely audible on the bridge and I wondered what it would be like down below. He then proceeded to read the required announcement for a hull breach drill from his tablet. As soon as he was done reading, he punched the button to shut off the klaxon.
“See?” he told me with a sneer. “How long did that take?”
I looked at him dumbfounded.
“How many people got into their protective gear?” I ask
ed.
He looked at me and laughed.
Even Mallory snickered.
“You don’t think we’re going to waste good suits on that, do you?” he said when he’d gotten his humor under control. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Mr. Wang, but once you use a suit it has to be refreshed.”
“Yes, actually, I am aware of that.”
“Then you know that refreshing is expensive, and we have better uses for money than wasting it on stupid drills.”
He crossed to the watch log and made a notation.
“There! Hull breach drill complete. What’s next, Mr. Wang?”
He had me read out the drills to be done, and then he proceeded to ignore any and all practical applications of them. Within less than a stan, we’d run through all the quarterly drills required by the CPJCT. After each one he logged it as being completed.
When we got to the end, he dusted his hands and gave me his supercilious smile. “That, Mr. Wang, is how you do it on a real ship.”
“That, Mr. Burnside, is how you kill people,” I said.
Mallory looked startled at my outburst.
“What do you mean by that, Mr. Wang?” The tone in Burnside’s voice made it perfectly clear that he knew exactly what I had meant.
I told him anyway. “I mean that by neglecting these drills, you are dooming the crew to die should we have an actual emergency. You’ve prevented them from getting the practice they need to be able to find, and get into their suits, in the case of a hull breach. If the day comes when we need to abandon ship, crew members will perish when they fail to get to the correct boat on the designated deck in time. By taking this attitude, you are behaving in a criminally negligent manner.”
“Perhaps you’d like to take this up with the captain, Mr. Wang?”
“No, Mr. Burnside. I will take it on faith that since the captain has been sitting in the cabin all this time, listening to this travesty of quarterly drills, that he is involved in what can only be referred to as a criminal conspiracy to violate the rules and regulations under which we all hold our licenses. Taking me down to the cabin to have him assure me of such is unnecessary.”
Double Share: Solar Clipper Trader Tales Page 28