by Robert Culp
Her eyes flow up from her perCom to me, slowly. She’s checking me out. I suppose it’s only fair, I evaluated her too. “I suppose you will do. As to your off time, I don’t care what you do. Just remember, your primary responsibility is the Transit drives. If they fail while you are selling yourself in the lounge, I will have you spaced. I trust we understand one another?” I don’t need this job. But I do want to stay on the ship. So I’m not going to slap that smug look from her face like I desperately want to. She continues without waiting for an answer or comment. “Roy will give you the tour. Watch him, he’s been known to be grabby. Your first command performance will be at the Captain’s Feast tonight at 2000. And before you ask, yes, you have to go. If you don’t have a formal gown, wear something that comes close. At least something clean and without holes. I am needed elsewhere.” And she leaves.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say to her retreating back. “My first billet was tending Transit drives.”
I don’t know whom I can trust, but apparently my disgust is all over my face. Roy speaks up, “Before she came in, I was gonna say you’ve got the kinda spice I like in a woman, you’n me’ll git along fine. An’ while we’re on that subject, I never ‘got grabby’ around her, but she did go out of her way to put a titty or an ass cheek in my hand more’n a few times. As engineers go, she’s competent, but not the GOAT. Now, let me show you around the engines. SLAP?”
“‘Goat’? And if you mean to slap me...”
He holds his right hand up, palm facing me. “King of the Acronyms, remember? GOAT: Greatest Of All Time, SLAP: Sound Like A Plan?”
“Oh. Ok, fine,” I tell him. “But understand something, I’m the new kid. I don’t know which—if either—of you is lying to me. So let’s come to a quick understanding. I know that drive rooms are cramped and when giving a tour, contact is unavoidable. However, if you touch me in a way that I don’t like you will be the nine-finger havingest bastard on this vessel. Are we on the same page?”
“SLAP!” He bellows, holding up his left hand, his pinky is gone from the second knuckle. “Eight. But I get your message. Have no fear, when I’ve touched a lady in the manner you’re describin’ she not only expected it, she was appreciative. Well, most of’em were, anyway. But times a’wastin’.” He leads me through the door to an open elevator. The lift is essentially a platform that moves vertically but what’s unusual is that it has no walls and functions without a tube like most elevators do. The Transit drives are distributed across twelve levels on this ship. On the tour, Roy introduces me to quite a few people. As it turns out, I have a staff of ten apprentice engineers and twenty mechanics. I do have an office of sorts. It’s a cubicle that has had its walls soundproofed and a door added. It has a desk, two chairs, a holoCom, and nothing else. It’s clearly a place for private discussion but not much else, and certainly not when the Transit drives are engaged, I doubt there’s enough soundproofing on the ship for that.
My tour lasts for two hours and ends back where it started. Roy says, “Well, that’s about the bulk of it, Missy. Sony, or something like that?”
“Close, ‘Sonia.’ Thank you very much for your time. I’ll have to get in touch with the Adjutant to get personnel files for my staff.”
“They’re a good bunch of wrench spinners,” he says. “I got a flock of my own to keep track of in the power plants. I gotta go make sure they’re not tearin’ somethin’ apart right now. I’ll see you at the BUFFET tonight.”
“Did you say ‘buffet’? I’d think with as many people as will be there…”
He interrupts me. “Bunch of Uptight Feckless Folk Eating Together. BUFFET.”
How can a person not laugh at that? When I can form a sentence I say, “Before you go, do we have assigned seats at the BUFFET? I have a few shipmates from Night Searcher I’d like to sit with, but if we have to sit by department I’d rather sit with you than the Ice Queen.”
“Typically, seats are assigned by department, but within the department we can mix up any way we want. The group leads, you for Transit, me for Power Generation, and the others will share tables. The apprentice engineers will sit together, and the mechanics will be huddled up.” He turns to leave, “Oh and while you’re at the Adjutant’s office, make sure he clears you for access to the maintenance archives, too. We spent a lot of time in dry dock a few years ago, I know four of the Power Plants got replaced, it stands to reason some of the Transit units did, too.”
“SLAP,” I say on my way out.
I don’t have a gown, in the strictest sense of the word. I have my little black dress, but I’m sure there would be professional repercussions if I wore it. I pick out a long skirt and a blouse with long sleeves, both of conservative cut and colors. At 1930 I leave my stateroom and head for the banquet hall. The feast site isn’t hard to find, there are literally hundreds of people moving towards it.
There are several atria around the building, which is enormous. These gardens have wildlife in them. Not only birds and insects, but also what would be called “vermin” anywhere else: I see squirrels, raccoons. I think I see deer. The flowers and shrubs are beautiful. The birds are brightly colored and chirp softly. There is a small stream running through this area, the burbling it adds to the background noise is as soothing as it is out of place on a starship. At the entrance is a very good-looking man in a black suit, we make eye contact and he steps in my direction. He bows slightly as he speaks. “Good evening, Miss MacTaggert, my name is Reese and I have been granted the opportunity of being your escort tonight. If you will accompany me, please?” He presents an arm, which I accept. We walk inside the…arena is the best term to describe it. Or maybe stadium, it is absolutely huge. There are discrete knots of people everywhere engaged in conversation, the buzz provides the background noise. He directs me to our table. Some of the other lead engineers are already at one side. The women are seated while the men continue to stand. I suppose that makes sense, it would save wear and tear on the knees from having to stand every time a woman approaches. All of the men nod at me as we approach. The table itself is huge, I haven’t counted but I’m certain that a score of people could sit around this one. Reese pulls out my chair. I sit and he assists me in scooting it to the table. I had initially figured it to be a collection of tables arranged in a ring with a gap left for servers. But it isn’t, from my seat I don’t see any angles. The table is a continuous arc. A chime sounds and the conversing groups break up and move to their seats. Roy sits across from me, our eyes meet and he waves. I wave back as Reese sits to my left. “So, Miss MacTaggert, what do you think of Star Chaser?” Reese asks as water and appetizers are served. We both consult the menus in front of us.
“This ship is a marvel,” I say. The stewards are moving around the inside of the table, collecting orders. I make my selection for entrée; she takes my order and moves to the next diner. “The atria are truly beautiful, breathtaking even. And not only plant life, but animal as well. I suspected I heard insects at one, but I supposed they just snuck aboard. But when I saw birds and squirrels outside those had to have been purposely planted. I’m in the Engineering department, oh wait; you know that because of where we’re sitting. I meant to say I’m on the Transit drive team.”
My perCom bleeps to announce an incoming text message from Shawna.
Hey Sweetie, I’m about 15 degrees left of your straight ahead, distance about 160 meters.
I look in the proscribed direction and can see her waving at me. I smile and wave back. I’m overjoyed I left my LBD hanging in my closet, because that’s what the serving girls are wearing. Theirs are considerably shorter than mine, but the similarity would have made me very uncomfortable.
As the meal progresses, I can’t help but make a reasonable observation, which I share with Reese. “I’ve noticed that the majority of the servers are very similar in appearance. Are they, or you, androids?”
“Not androids,” he answers, “clones. A prototype was perfected in 9,989. We, my cousins and I, are the re
sults of it. There are three hundred of us aboard Star Chaser. I’m sure you’ve been given a tour of your department, would you care for a more thorough tour of the ship? I am at your disposal until you weary of me. We must remain here until after the Captains address, however.”
“That would be appreciated,” I tell him. And I’m certain that leaving prior to his address would be a Career Limiting Move. We won’t be the last to leave, but we won’t be the first either. As the entrées are served various conversations begin around the table.
The chime sounds again as the Captain rises and approaches the podium. His voice is amplified by a public address system, “If you haven’t finished your meal, please do so.” The podium levitates to about fifteen meters, so all in the room can see him. Captain Horatio Rodney Pipper is an older man, probably Angus’ age, but his voice is very clear, very strong, and unless I miss my guess, has a Lemurian accent. His attire—I can’t tell if it’s a tuxedo or a uniform—is very clean and expertly tailored. He begins to speak about exploring the unknowns of the universe, the endless possibilities, and the need for technological advances across all aspects of our culture, but how Common Sense and Compassion must provide direction. While they will not replace the gods, they will be the rules, the moral compasses. I am enraptured by his speech.
He surprises me by explaining Star Chaser will at the end of its voyage cease to be a starship and instead become a space station, similar to Rigg’s. The Transit drives will continue life in other vessels, but Star Chaser will not be used for traveling anymore after that. This is, in effect, her final voyage.
He speaks for another thirty minutes then sits down to a round of thunderous applause. The stewards were clearing plates as he was speaking and the tables are empty now aside from coffee for those who desire it with the odd snifter of something that is probably brandy here and there. All across the hall people leave their seats. I turn to Reese, “I suppose the physical sciences department on a ship with a mission just described would be very large. Would you introduce me to some of my counterparts in the physics group, please?”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He stands and assists me from my chair and presents his arm to me, which I take. He escorts me to a table not far from ours and introduces me to a short, older man. “Professor Jenkins, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Miss Sonia MacTaggert, one of our Transit Engine team leaders. Miss MacTaggert, this is Professor William Jenkins, chairman of our division of physical sciences.”
Professor Jenkins stands, he’s barely taller than a meter and a half. Despite the certain availability of ocular surgery, he has a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The lenses are very thick and due to refraction give him what used to be known as a “google-eyed” expression. But they work to support his image, if “bookworm” is the look he desires.
I hold out my hand to shake his, instead he bows his head to my hand and plants a kiss on my knuckles. “Miss MacTaggert, it is indeed my pleasure to meet you. Please just call me William, how can I be of assistance to you?”
I display my winningest of smiles, “Only if you call me Sonia. It is a pleasure to meet you. I have a few projects I’ll be working on in my spare time, but I will probably need some help defining theory and putting it into practice. Is there a theoretical or experimental physicist I can contact for assistance?”
“Most assuredly,” he says. “But let us discuss it over lunch tomorrow, I and a few associates will meet you in lounge A starboard at 1330. Keep your schedule clear from then until 1500.” William and I discuss a few more coordinating details then I look to Reese.
“I think you can take me on that tour, now,” I say. He nods and after we say our goodbyes to William directs me through the door.
For the next two hours, we walk all over the ship. We go into and out of various buildings and through acres of carefully tended grassy knolls. After the first hour I take off my shoes as they are hurting my feet. At midnight I’m exhausted and ask Reese to help me get back to my stateroom. Outside the door he asks, “Would you like me to massage your feet, Miss MacTaggert?”
“No, thank you, Reese, that won’t be necessary.” Nor will it happen.
“Shall we continue tomorrow? I would recommend different footwear, if you have anything a touch more ‘athletic.’” he says with a smile.
“I don’t know for certain, but I reserve the right to call you,” I tell him. “I can’t wrap my brain around how big this ship is.”
“We covered about a third of it.”
“How long would it take to run the circumference of this beast?”
“A moderate jog would take seven or eight hours.”
Good grief! That’s over twenty miles! “Good night, Reese.”
“Good night, Miss MacTaggert.” I start to tell him not to call me “Miss MacTaggert,” but I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. And I want our relationship to remain professional.
The next morning after breakfast I make my way back to the alcove that’s been provided for me as workspace. The Adjutant’s office was more than willing to provide me access to the personnel database once I proved who I was and that I have a need to know. I also publish a schedule so I can have a few minutes of semi private face-to-face time with all of my subordinates. Some of them are the biggest dorks in the galaxy, I’m sure that their idea of an exciting Saturday night would be a bucket of popcorn and trying to find a way to measure the length of a sunburst. Between interviews, I call my boss. “Miss DuQuois, I have an android that has been approved for working passage. May I request the Adjutant assign her to Engineering? She is quite capable. Also, I have a luncheon scheduled with Professor Jenkins to discuss some of those pet projects I mentioned to you. I’d like you to join us, if you’re available.”
“William Jenkins? No, I’ve no interest in joining you.” That’s a bit of a surprise. “As to your android, talk to whomever you want. Don’t bother me again unless the drives are on the verge of failing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The downside is that I’ll get little to no support from my first line supervisor. The upside is, as long as I keep the drives operational, I won’t have to deal with her. I’m pretty sure I can make that work.
This isn’t a date as far as I’m concerned, so I’m not going to jump through any hygiene hoops before making my way to the Section A lounge for my lunch with Professor Jenkins. I find him at a table, with salad and soup already in place. Apparently, he got a memo that I didn’t. William is on a date. There is a candle and a vase with a single bloom in it on the table. There’s a woman standing behind him. Her attire and demeanor make me think she’s a steward rather than a scientist. But just because William is on a date, doesn’t mean I have to be. I sit down and start talking shop. “Thank you for meeting with me. I have an idea for strike armor, a reconnaissance variant. It will be lighter, but it will mask the trooper. I hope to develop a man portable system that will refract light around him or her. In a perfect situation, sound would also move around them. They would be practically holes on the battlefield, neither seen nor heard. They would be completely undetectable unless someone made physical contact with them. I’ll worry about the mechanics of the systems, where I need your department’s help and support is with putting my theory into practice. I’m in the process of building a workshop in Engineering that will act as my lab. The working name of the armor is ‘wraith.’”
“Interesting,” William says before lifting a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “I will send my assistant Mitra to assist and share our inventory with you. Not to give you carte blanche you understand, but to let you know what we have that may support your endeavors.” He sprinkles some cracked black pepper on his salad. “On a separate and more important note, is there someone special in your life?” He spears an olive with his fork. “Aboard or otherwise?”
Many married couples do not always ship out together. For a portion of those that don’t a technique of marriage survival is they suspend their fidelity. Most swear by the practice. I�
��ve always sworn against it. If I had a husband, the distance between us wouldn’t matter if it were millimeters or terameters. So I’m not offended by the question so much as I am as the practice to which it alludes. I do my best to keep that out of my answer. “At the moment, there is not. I’m actually on the mend from several relationships I left on my last ship. I had a special someone then. Two someones actually, one adult and one child. And combat took a very dear friend of mine. So apparently, those were not to be. I have wounds from all relationships from which I am healing, slowly, but I’m healing.” The memories bring a tear to my eye, Gwendolyn, Avi, Sherri…I dab my eyes with my napkin. It’s not the right time to think of them, “Please have Mitra stop by my lab, I’ve hung a sign on the door that says. ‘Recon Armor.’” I stand to leave.
Apparently he gets the tip that I’m not dating anyone. And that “anyone” includes him. “I fully understand, my dear,” he says as he stands. “Here is the holoCom code to my office, if there’s anything you need from me do not hesitate to let me know. I beg of you stay. Please, sit, eat.” He gestures at the soup tureen and the platter of meat and bread. I sit back down and with a sigh ladle some more of the soup into a bowl. The balance of our meal is made up of small talk and meaningless drivel, any time he tries to get personal or asks a penetrating question, I divert him to the quality of the food in the chow halls or any other trivial subject. He booked this table for an hour and a half but after thirty minutes, my plate is clear and I’m returning to Engineering, Section Z.