by M. Alan Marr
“Got it,” Chaz says. “Uh, you mentioned Midshipmen. What do they look like?”
“Oh, good point, there are probably several Mids aboard. Midshipman shoulder boards have very narrow silver stripes indicating what year they’re in. Academic rankings are progressive, so a Fourth Midshipman is senior to a Third Midshipman. Whereas, a Fourth Lieutenant is junior to a Third Lieutenant.”
“Okay.”
“The command-ranks are even easier because instead of bars, we have stripes on our shoulder boards. Lieutenant Commander is just like your Navy, two gold stripes separated by a half-width stripe.” Dev leans his head toward his own insignia. “Three for Commander, obviously. The advanced command ranks, like Fleet Commanders, have an insignia at the head-side stripe.”
“I remember Vijay’s shoulder boards.”
“That’s another thing,” Dev says. “Officers familiar with one another often just use their rank and first name. It’s a sign of respect and of kinship. It can also be used in casual reference if you’re talking about them to someone else.”
“What if it’s someone senior to you?”
“It depends on how familiar you are with the senior.”
“How do you address Flag Officers?”
“Never use an Admiral or Field Marshal’s first name,” Dev advises. “Even using their last name can be considered too familiar and should be avoided. It’s always Admiral or Field Marshal, unless making formal introductions, or if needed to distinguish between Flag Officers, and then try to use their divisional title first.”
“Sounds like your Admirals are pretty revered.”
“They are,” Dev says plainly. “That said, don’t ever be afraid to engage a Flag Officer in conversation. They all have tremendous experience and can provide exemplary advice.”
“Nice to know they’re approachable.”
“Admirals and Field Marshals want officers to do well. Some are more gregarious than others, but they also realize they’re the ones who eventually have to pass the torch. Their legacy lives on in the officers they train and influence.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Oh, and all officers refer to one another as sir or ma’am, regardless of rank.”
A tone sounds in the room. Dev presses a switch on the door itself, triggering it to slide open. Chaz watches quietly as two wardroom stewards enter without saying a word. One sets the dining tray on the table, arranges the place settings, and stands at attention. The other carries a fresh uniform, Commander rank, on a hanger, which he places on a metal wall peg next to the bedroom door. He also pulls a small pad containing the duty roster out of his pocket and hands it to Dev.
“Thank you, Crewmen. Dismissed,” Dev says.
The stewards nod and quietly depart.
Chaz looks at the tray of food. The selections appear to be stacks of thin sandwiches, a bowl of some kind of paste, a plate of small toasty things, and a water pitcher with two glasses. “This looks interesting.”
“The sandwiches are made with thin slices of a potent root similar to horseradish. Very high in protein. You dip them in the bowl, which is a creamy sort of sauce that mellows the taste. Sounds gross, tastes great. The other things are kind of like toasted potato skins.”
Dev and Chaz sit down and have a quick bite. Dev reads through the duty roster for the third watch. None of the officers are familiar to him.
“Third watch in the Navy was really late at night,” Chaz says. “Same here?”
“Yeah. We’ll be in the trough for the next few hours really pouring on the speed. I’m somewhat of a navigational expert, so I’m not surprised Vijay asked me to be on hand for when we enter the shallows again.”
“You realize none of that makes any sense to me.”
“I know. I’ll explain it all to you later. But right now, I really need to try to sleep.”
“It’s not like you to insist on sleep.”
“Navigation requires clarity of thought. Particularly the regions we’ll be transiting. You can’t just slapdash and hope to wing it.” Dev programs the pad, and several icons line themselves up. He wipes his mouth with the napkin and stands up. “Okay, I’ve set up some stuff for you to read. Just tap the library icon to pull up the titles. Will you be all right for a while?”
“Go sleep. I’ll be fine.” Chaz hesitates, then adds, “Oh, uh, space toilet? I haven’t peed since Earth.”
Chaz gets checked out on the facilities designed for personal hygiene in varying gravities, and the basics of operating the multifunction display. For the next few hours, Chaz reads quietly. The door to the bunk room is closed, but he makes every effort to be quiet just the same. Chaz’s energy starts to wane, but he’s so engrossed in what he’s reading, he doesn’t want to stop. It’s not exactly Starbucks hour at home yet, but Chaz is feeling the need for caffeine so he can continue learning about this new world of Dev’s. He really wants some of that Tertian coffee, which he remembers is called capulus, but years of airline service and the unwritten prohibition of ever pressing the flight attendant call button makes Chaz hesitant to trouble anyone. However, traveling around in the BBJ has also made him more comfortable asking for things from crew members. Since he can’t get it himself, and he definitely doesn’t want that lack-of-caffeine-crankiness that happens with him, Chaz has no choice and presses the icon on the pad to call the steward. Shortly, the soft tone sounds. Chaz hurries to open the door.
“You sent for me, Commander.”
Chaz speaks quietly. “I’d like some capulus, but I don’t know how to order it.”
“Certainly, sir,” the crewman says. “If you’d like, Commander, I can show you how to access wardroom stores and dining menu.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The crewman enters and picks up the control pad. He looks at Chaz, who gives him the universal quiet signal. Chaz speaks softly. “Commander Dev is sleeping.”
The crewman nods and speaks quietly as he explains the images on the device. “This is the comestibles icon, sir. The symbol represents grain, meat, and a beverage. It’s the same icon used all over the Crown. Initiating the icon will open a subset. This is the list icon, which, when paired with comestibles draws up the stores and menu selections. Touch the selections you would like, then here at the top, you see the personnel icon, which will forward the order to the wardroom.”
“The personnel icon is what I used to call you.”
“Yes, sir, but only when the personnel icon is a subset of the dining menu will it call the wardroom steward.”
“I thought you were the wardroom steward.”
“No, sir, I’m the stateroom attendant, but I’m happy to get you whatever you need.”
Chaz motions toward the pad. “So, the logic is based on pairing standard icons together to create more specialized functions?”
“Yes, sir, exactly,” the crewman says. “If you selected a list icon grouped under, say a weapons icon, then the ordnance manifest would be called up.”
“I understand.”
Chaz looks at the menu of items, broken down into several subsets.
The stateroom attendant continues, “Menu of savory items, sweets, and beverages. Each menu is color coded for time of day. Morning, midday, evening; yellow, light blue, dark blue respectively. The menu for current time of day will always be presented first. If you have any difficulty, the interface icon can offer written and aural assistance by pressing here, the one that looks like a circuit.”
Chaz points to another icon. “I think Commander Dev said this is the library icon?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaz doesn’t understand its symbology. “What does the symbol represent?”
“It is a scroll, sir.”
Chaz sees it instantly now. “Oh, of course.”
“Are you really an Earth resident, sir?”
“I am.”
“I understand your rank is Lieutenant Commander?”
“Yes. In our naval forces.”
“Yes. Of course, our ships are seagoing vessels. But I’m a pilot, so I flew on and off the ship.”
The crewman is impressed. “Pilots garner great admiration here, sir.”
“On Earth as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dev—Commander Dev—said we have more in common than not.”
“Yes, sir,” the crewman answers. “Commander, if there’s anything I can do to assist while you’re aboard, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“I appreciate that, Crewman . . .”
“Crewman Wren, sir.”
“On Earth, a wren is a kind of bird.”
“On Trieste as well, sir.” Wren smiles. “I’ll get your capulus, sir. No need to call the wardroom.”
Chaz realizes the crewman hesitates somewhat awkwardly and is waiting to be dismissed. Unconsciously, Chaz looks at him with officer eyes and the crewman stands at attention.
“Dismissed, Wren.”
In that short exchange, life aboard Adonis takes Chaz right back to his Navy days. It’s also amazing how quickly military mode comes back to him.
Chaz cues up an educational film about Trieste, but despite the capulus, he nods off on the couch. The computer detects the sleeping viewer, stops the video playback, and lowers the lights. Dev emerges from the bunk room a short while later wearing a standard duty uniform and hears the familiar sounds of a very soundly sleeping (read snoring) Chaz. Glancing at the table, Dev sees Chaz figured out how to order a carafe of capulus. In fact, he sees that someone had even shown him the Tertian custom of adding a cube of slow-cream, a sort of coagulated cube of sweet heavy cream that very slowly dissolves in a cup of hot capulus. Slow cream only dissolves in the presence of the hot liquid at the exact pH of capulus, which is why the partially dissolved cube remains intact in the cold empty cup. Dev smiles and thinks, Someone’s been playing with the room service button. Dev picks up the pad and stylus and writes Chaz a note. The note appears in blue on the dark main screen as he writes. Dev gives Chaz one more smile before quietly leaving the quarters to assume third watch on the Quarterdeck.
Chaz sleeps soundly for several hours. He wakes and notices, first of all, he is covered with a blanket; second, he sees that the stateroom attendant had obviously been there and managed to clear the food and capulus trays (and put the blanket on him), all without waking him up. There is also a new uniform hanging on the wall, Lieutenant Commander rank, and a pair of tall black boots sitting on the floor below it. He finally notices the note displayed on the wall screen:
Chaz, didn’t want to wake you.
I’m on the Quarterdeck.
Come find me. Dress nice . . .
—Dev.
Chaz recognizes Dev’s handwriting. On the tabletop is an open box containing some kind of electronic device. Chaz picks up the device and looks at it. It is about the size of a thick iPhone with a screen and physical control buttons on the front side, and a raised gold Tertian military crest on the back. Chaz puts the device down and shakes his head. “No clue what this is.” Chaz takes the hanging uniform and lays it against his chest to check the sleeve length and see that it appears to be his size. Presumably the shirt, pants, and boots are the correct sizes as well.
Despite some nervous misgivings about wearing the uniform, Chaz decides he doesn’t want to spend all his time cooped up in the stateroom if he doesn’t have to. Dev said dress nice, and he obviously sent the uniform, so it must be okay. Besides, how often do you get to walk around an actual spaceborne warship, after all? That in mind, Chaz freshens up, uses the space toilet, and changes clothes. The uniform pants take two tries. Chaz realized too late that the pants have loops at the bottom cuff to keep them properly tucked into the boots. The socks have to go on first. Minor setback solved, Chaz sits in the chair and pulls on the pair of tall, leather boots. “Oh my God, these are so comfortable.”
Standing in front of the mirror, the black round collar jacket, pants, boots, shoulder boards, and waist belt brings to mind Soviet-era submarine officer. Chaz turns slightly to view his reflection. “Not bad,” he says to himself. He notices the belt doesn’t look quite right. The buckle has the same Tertian military crest in its center, but it’s hollow. He realizes the front of the belt is sort of a receptacle, and it dawns upon him it is the exact size of the Tertian electronic device. He picks the device up off the table and clicks it in place into the buckle. “That’s where that goes.” Now his uniform looks spot-on. “Chaz Ronaldi, Space Commander.”
Chaz abandons his apprehension, takes a confident breath and walks smartly to leave. He presses the button to open the door. An officer in a white uniform is standing there, almost startled the door opened at that moment. Chaz wasn’t expecting anyone there either.
“Lieutenant Commander Ronaldi?”
“Yes?”
“Sir, Medical Lieutenant Rob Columba. I’m sorry I was unable to meet your ship when you docked, but I had an emergent situation.”
“Okay . . .”
“Commander Caelestis sent word you were sleeping. I hope I didn’t wake you, sir.”
“No, I’m awake.”
“Sir, I need to ask you to accompany me to the Medical Deck. You must be medically cleared to be aboard.”
“Very well.”
“Thank you, sir. This way, please.”
Chaz follows the officer down the corridor. “Are you a doctor?”
“Yes, sir. One of two medical officers billeted on Adonis.”
“How many people are aboard?”
“Seven hundred eighteen, sir, including yourself and Commander Caelestis.”
Chaz looks at the doctor’s uniform. “Doctors wear white coats on my world as well.”
“It’s much easier to see a blood splatter on a white uniform than on a black one, sir.”
“Is that why they wear white?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaz thinks a moment. “Chefs and cooks on Earth usually wear white as well.”
“For the same reasons of cross-contamination, I would imagine, sir.” The conversation proceeds through a couple of corridors and down a set of stairs to the white Medical Deck. Chaz enters and looks around. Like a Navy ship’s sickbay, there are several patient berths and a lot of equipment packed into a small space. The doctor leads Chaz toward a treatment area containing a somewhat ominous-looking examination table. They walk past an occupied treatment berth, where a patient is fully sedated. His lower left arm is bandaged, and it appears that his left hand has been amputated at the wrist. Next to the bed, a small incubator-looking machine contains a hand suspended in some kind of gel.
“What’s going on there?” Chaz says.
“The reason I was unable meet your ship. The Flight Lieutenant there met with an unfortunate accident today. A piece of heavy machinery fell and crushed his hand. I had to amputate at the wrist.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Oh, he’ll recover, sir,” the doctor says casually. “We’re cultivating a new hand for him. You can see it there in the stem-gel.”
“Do you mind if I take a closer look?”
“As you wish, Commander.”
Chaz approaches the incubator and notices the hand is not quite fully formed, but is growing in the gel. He can see areas of exposed bone, musculature, and blood vessels, all in various stages of completeness. The fingers on the new hand are moving slightly in the slurry of goo. A small computer module monitors progress.
Chaz is amazed. “How are you doing this?”
“We made an isometric copy from his damaged hand and layered the undeveloped cells on a skeletal pattern in the stem gel.”
“Isometric?”
“A cloned copy, sir. The gel and the isometric—cloned—cells grow into a replacement hand identical to his old one. Then it’s just a matter of reattachment.”
“How long will this hand take?”
“Only a day or two,” the doctor says. �
��The gel is slightly energized, so soft tissue stem graphs generate very rapidly. Much faster than dense bone, which is why we start with a bio-neutral skeletal frame.”
“Bio-neutral?”
“To eliminate tissue rejection. We used the Lieutenant’s biometric scans to create a porous synthetic skeletal frame. His own bone cells will eventually replace the synthetic framework, and it will be as if nothing ever happened to him.”
“That’s incredible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Doctors on my world are just now looking toward stem cells.”
“They will be astonished at what they can do, sir.”
Chaz thinks about the three printers on the Recon ship. “Do you use some kind of printer for the skeletal frame?”
“Technically it’s a somatic architecture reproduction device, but yes, sir, it is a type of materials printer engineered for medical applications. It uses an organic resin that hardens as it prints. Its tensile strength is the same as bone tissue. We can reproduce any bone in your body. Unfortunately, the Lieutenant’s hand was too badly damaged to replace individual components. ”
“Wow,” Chaz says, looking at the hand. “This would be a very different story on my world.”
The doctor shows Chaz into the vacant exam cubicle. “Commander, if you will lie down on the examination table. This won’t hurt a bit.”
Chaz laughs slightly. “That’s what doctors on my world say. And it always does.”
“We do things a bit differently here, sir.” The doctor uses a pad to power up the examination grid. A large, full body-size screen opposite the table activates. The clear padding of the exam table energizes a soft yellow. The panel begins displaying layers of color and spectral analysis of tissue, skeletal, and organ systems, along with a string of numerical and biochemical data. The doctor interprets the results, starting at the head.
“You have a persistive rhinovirus lurking in your posterior sinuses, Commander.”
“Ugh, my sinuses have bothered me for years.”
“We have antivirals that will eliminate that.” The doctor looks at the screen and continues his diagnosis. “Aside from that, no other pathogens present. Your organs are sound. Bone structure is strong. Musculature stable. Vascular system has some mild plaque layering we should address. Biochemics—wow.”