by Eric Thomson
Thick lines snaked from ports along her lower hull towards a metallic servicing block at the edge of the pad, like the tentacles of a giant squid. The broad belly ramp was lowered, and gravlifts were ferrying a steady stream of containers from the customs hangar to the ship, under the watchful eye of an officer with two and a half stripes on his black tunic. If Zack had figured out the merchant rank system right, that was the second officer, a tall, dour looking black man with gray hair, a gray beard, and a gold earring hanging from his right lobe. Darhad gestured towards him.
“Second Officer Bowdoin, responsible for ship’s systems. He is your direct superior. He is also the chief cargo officer. You will meet him later when loading is completed.”
“Yes, sir.”
At that moment, a gust of wind pushed up the crimson hair on the side of her head, and Zack glimpsed a white, upswept, pointy ear that twitched at the colder air. It seemed appropriate for First Officer Darhad’s general appearance. Zack was now convinced her ancestors hadn’t been swinging from trees like his. They had hunted ancestors like his, no doubt with extraordinary skill and excessive cruelty.
*
The familiar smell of a space vessel filled Zack’s nostrils as they walked up the gangway and through the personnel port. Ozone, lubricants, coolants, metal and polymers, the aromas of home.
The ship’s passageways were as utilitarian as her exterior. Black, anti-skid rubber covered the decks; the bulkheads were bare metal, unrelieved by any hint of paint or the decorations he expected after twenty years aboard warships.
Each section was isolated from the next by heavy, armored hatches. No elegant sliding doors here. Right now, they were all open, their strong locking mechanisms withdrawn.
Sheathed conduits and wiring ran along the ceiling, color coded for easy maintenance. Glowpanels hung at regular intervals, projecting a bright, uncompromising light into the smallest nooks and crannies. And there were many of those.
Decker unconsciously mapped the passageways in his mind as she led him deeper into the ship. They met crew members who greeted the Arkanna woman with obvious respect and gave Zack frankly curious looks, but who didn’t otherwise stop their busy work.
The crew was a mixed bunch, of all human races. Most of the men wore beards of some sort and long hair gathered in queues or braids. By contrast, many of the women had hair as short as Zack’s Marine cut.
They looked as hard and tough as any smuggler crew Decker had ever seen, with tattoos galore, earrings, nose studs and other body ornaments. All carried knives tucked into belts or boot tops.
Darhad stopped in front of a cabin door, and it took all of Zack’s control not to bump into her. Somehow, he had the impression she had done it on purpose. She knocked on the hatch, and when it opened, she motioned Decker to precede her.
Just as Zack crossed the threshold, she announced in a loud voice, “Warrant Officer Decker reporting to sign on, Captain.”
Not knowing what else to do, Decker reported in proper Marine fashion. He stopped three paces in front of the imitation wood desk and came to attention, restraining a military salute just in time. Strachan had watched his actions with amusement, the former Marine in Decker showing through at every gesture.
He stood and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard Shokoten, Warrant Officer Decker. I hope you’ll have a pleasant and profitable career with us. At ease, man, at ease.”
When Zack relaxed, he saw Strachan pulling a bottle of Akvavit and two glasses from a drawer. Then, he picked up a datapad and handed it to Decker.
“Read the terms of your contract, if you’re satisfied, press your thumb on the reader. A hard copy of the contract will be given to you when I file it with the Guild. The terms are as I laid out last night.”
“You knew the Guild would rate me as a warrant officer, sir?”
“Of course. Our former gunner was a warrant officer.”
Decker nodded his understanding and kept on reading. The contract was comprehensive and set out his duties, responsibilities, privileges, and pay. He thumbed the reader and saw a tag appear at the end of the document, proof of his ‘signature.’ Strachan took back the pad and thumbed it as well. Then, he gave Zack one of the glasses and took the other.
“A toast to our new gunner.” Strachan swallowed his shot in one gulp.
Zack imitated him, sending a liquid fiercer than antimatter engine coolant down his throat. He repressed the urge to cough with great difficulty.
“Well then, Mister Decker, I’ll leave the first officer to see you settled in. I trust you’ve completed all your business ashore? Good. We’re lifting at first light, and there is much to do before then.” He nodded his dismissal.
Zack snapped to attention, executed a perfect about-face and followed the Darhad out of the cabin.
“You will bunk here,” she waved her white hand across the threshold of a small cabin several doors down from the captain’s quarters.
Zack stepped in and looked around. It was small all right. A two level bunk almost covered one wall while two lockers covered the opposite wall. In a corner, a narrow open door led to a tiny washroom, complete with shower, toilet, and sink. Two desks, with computer terminals, sat face to face in the center of the cabin and completed the meager amenities.
One desk and the lower bunk, showed signs of use, but there were no decorations or other personal effects to soften the starkness of the spotlessly clean quarters.
“The only other warrant officer of the ship, Nihao Kiani, is your cabin mate. She is Shokoten’s purser.” Darhad stepped over to a locker and opened the door. It was empty save for a leather band with a single red and gold stripe on it. “This is yours. The rank strap belonged to our former gunner. Since it is ship issue, it now belongs to you. Please wear it when you report to the bridge at the start of the afternoon watch.”
“Yes, sir. What happened to the former gunner?”
“He died on a planet in the Shield Cluster, torn to shreds by the natives, apparently for a violation of a local taboo. I shall leave you now, Mister Decker, settle in.”
She disappeared down the passageway, leaving a very pensive Zack to stare through the open cabin door.
*
“Permission to enter the bridge,” Decker stood at attention on the threshold. He had replaced his scuffed work boots with his calf-high synth leather shipboard boots and wore his black Marine battledress, the closest he could come to the clothes officers wore aboard this ship. From what he’d seen, the ratings preferred coveralls or jumpsuits, though high, military style boots were the rule for all ranks.
It was five minutes before eight bells in the forenoon watch. Five minutes to twelve.
“Permission granted. You are?” the lanky young man with the one and a half stripes of a fourth officer asked, smiling as he rose to greet the new arrival.
“Zack Decker, sir. The new ship’s gunner and security officer.”
“I’m Fourth Officer Gareth. Welcome aboard.”
Gareth had a vigorous handshake. His brown eyes examined Decker with interest. Though younger than any of the other officers, he showed none of the innocence Zack expected from young and inexperienced Navy officers.
“The first officer said to report to the bridge for the start of the afternoon watch, sir.”
“Oh, aye,” Gareth nodded, “she told me to expect you. You’re acquaint yourself with ship’s systems and the gunnery station. Have you had lunch yet?”
“Yes, sir. Wardroom served up cold sandwiches.”
“Excellent. Though you shouldn’t rate the ship based on your first meal aboard. Food is always measly when we’re loading. It gets better once the ship is underway.”
To Zack Decker’s military mind, the arrangement made perfect sense: put the greatest effort towards the primary mission, loading the cargo. After twenty years in the Marines, he’d had a lot worse anyway.
He had eaten alone in the small wardroom, as the officer’s mess on a ship was called, and had enjoyed the
cold meal. The next one probably wouldn’t be as enjoyable, when he ate with the others. After two decades as an enlisted trooper, it would take a long time getting used to being an officer.
“I thought the food was good, sir.”
Gareth raised his thin eyebrows.
“Why Mister Decker, either you have a dead palate, or you haven’t been fed in a while.”
Zack smiled, eyes twinkling.
“How about I get to work, sir, before I say something I might regret?”
“Yes, why don’t you, gunner.” He waved at the gunnery console. “It’s all yours.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zack slipped into the seat and ran a loving hand over the smooth console. It was good to be back aboard a starship wearing a uniform, even if it was with a merchant sailor’s rank and on a freighter. Warrant Officer Decker. Wouldn’t Captain Sarratt have a fucking bird if he found out Decker had gone up in the world instead of down to a penal battalion, as he wanted him to?
The hours flew by as he eagerly learned his new duties.
*
When the door opened, Zack jumped off his bunk and held out his hand, smiling.
“Hi, I’m Zack Decker, the new ship’s gunner. I guess I’m your new roomie, too.”
In deference to modesty, and because he didn’t know what sort of culture his shipmates came from, Decker had kept on his shorts and t-shirt, instead of stripping down to sleep, as he usually did.
He’d had a long day going through the ship with the second officer during most of the two dogwatches and the evening watch, inspecting each gun turret, the defensive arrays, the arms locker, and the surveillance gear.
Shokoten was surprisingly well equipped for a freighter. But, as he had reminded himself, Tren had said she often sailed through the badlands, where anything less meant suicide.
Mister Bowdoin had grilled him long and hard about his technical and tactical knowledge, often demanding hands-on demonstrations of his weapons’ use and repair skills. They had stopped in the wardroom only long enough to wolf down a bowl of stew, long after the other officers had eaten. Zack hadn’t had a rough day like that in a long time, but it felt good to be useful again.
When they parted, Bowdoin had muttered something about Zack ‘doing okay’ and told him to be on the bridge for lift-off, at six bells in the morning watch.
*
The woman who walked into the cabin didn’t seem surprised at his presence though Zack knew she hadn’t been on board all day. She eyed him warily, and her handshake was perfunctory.
“Nihao Kiani, the ship’s purser. Welcome aboard.”
Now why, Zack wondered, did that welcome not sound like one? Then a thought struck him. Maybe she and his predecessor had been more than just bunkies. Living close like this, a man and a woman were bound to think of getting even closer.
Decker climbed back into his bunk and watched her putter around the cabin in silence. Warrant Officer Kiani was a surprisingly tall and strongly built woman for a Han native, unlike most Zack had met. Her thick black hair fell straight to her shoulders, framing a broad, high-cheek boned face dominated by intense brown eyes.
When she undressed for bed, Zack got an even greater appreciation for her strong, muscular thighs and arms. As she turned the lights out, unconcerned about her nudity in front of a stranger, Zack glimpsed a tantalizingly flat stomach and small breasts.
It had been a long time for Decker, and that night, trying to ignore the very attractive woman in the bunk below, he promised himself a visit to a reputable house the moment he had a chance. It would be a hard haul, what with more than one highly attractive women on board. But he would no more make an advance on Nihao Kiani than on First Officer Darhad. Both of them looked like they could make him very much regret any unwanted attentions.
When he woke the next morning, Kiani had already left the cabin.
He didn’t see his roommate again until late that night when Shokoten was in hyperspace. And then he saw only her sleeping face above the covers. Not that she seemed to be deliberately avoiding contact with Decker, but that’s how it seemed. If she kept this up, eating at different times and ignoring him in the cabin, it would be a tough way to live.
Yet Nihao Kiani, like much aboard Shokoten, would stay a mystery for Decker as the ship sped towards its next destination.
*
He was busy, of course. The lengthy absence of a qualified gunner showed in the general state of her ordnance and small arms lockers. The crew treated him with the deference due to his rank and, Zack had to admit, due to his size and strength, but always with a strong undercurrent of suspicion. They didn’t accept him at face value, and that was normal. But their distant looks and frequent outright distrust made him uncomfortable. Only Strachan and Darhad were anywhere close to making Zack feel at home, and then only in the line of duty. Zack Decker was an outsider, and the crew made sure he knew it.
Four
Decker was out of his bunk and halfway to his locker before he woke and realized the loud noise that had turned his dream into reality was the battle stations siren.
Without thinking, he pulled on his battledress and buckled his gun belt around his waist. When he stepped out of the door, moments later, Nihao Kiani was just starting to push her covers back. Zack grimaced as he hurried towards the bridge.
Judging by her lack of urgency, standards were lax on this ship. And she was in charge of the aft damage control party. In Zack’s world, from the moment you spot a bandit until he’s within shooting range you rarely have enough to time to wipe your ass. Civilians!
In an emergency, there was no protocol on a Navy ship, and Decker assumed it would be the same here. He stepped through the door to the bridge and headed for his station without even acknowledging the officer of the watch.
Fourth Officer Gareth, seated in the command chair, opened his mouth to reprimand the new warrant officer, then thought better of it when he saw his intent face. A few moments later, the first of the battle stations bridge crew arrived, and Gareth handed the ship back to its captain.
Decker powered-up all the ship’s guns and shields while sending the fire control sensors to probe the night. A red light blipped on his status board. Gun turret number three was refusing his commands. He stabbed the call button on his intercom terminal.
“Engineering, this is Guns.”
“Engineering,” a bored voice answered.
“Gun turret number three is not powering up. Please find out why and get it online ASAP.”
“Hold on a moment, there, Gunner,” another voice came back. “This is the third officer. First of all, you don’t give my people orders. You’re a warrant. Second, turret number three isn’t working because I had the power interlink pulled. Since this is a drill, I’m not about to fuck around in the dark and put it back. You hear that, Gunner?”
Zack raised his eyebrows at the rebuke. He felt the captain’s eyes on his back. Strachan had heard the short interchange and waited to see what the new man would do.
The third officer was a hard woman and had a particular hatred for the Commonwealth Navy. That made Zack Decker her number one object of loathing aboard Shokoten.
“Engineering, this is Guns.” Decker deliberately used a harsh tone. “Primo, we’re at battle stations, which means any order from the bridge is like it came from the captain himself. Second, I don’t give a rat’s ass about power interlinks. Without turret three, the aft underside of the ship is wide open, and that, sir, is your own area. We can’t have that, now can we?”
Sarcasm dripped from Zack’s voice.
“So please put the fucking interlink back.” He paused before concluding. “And third, you don’t know it’s a damn drill until the captain says it’s a drill. Start thinking there’s a difference between training and the real thing, and the next time the pirates come and kick your ass, you won’t be ready to return the favor because your head will still think drill. Pirates won’t let you live long enough to figure out the difference.”
“Hey,” Third Officer Arlean Sonoda’s outraged voice erupted from the intercom, “you can’t talk to me that way.”
Before Decker could reply, and Strachan was sure his next answer would be even more stinging that the previous one, the captain stopped the bickering. Decker was right, and he was doing his job. That’s why he hired him. The last few days had proven his competence and his willingness to work.
“Engineering, this is the captain. We are at battle stations. You will carry out guns’ request now. After we’ve secured ship, report to my quarters. Bridge out.”
Strachan nodded at Decker, who turned back to face his screens with a small grin playing on his lips.
Yes, smile my ex-Marine sergeant, the captain thought as he stroked his beard, only half listening to his first officer’s status report. But beware of our Arlean Sonoda. You have a dangerous enemy there.
Then Strachan noticed the worn Imperial Armaments blaster in the open holster on Decker’s right hip. Interesting. That’s a Shrehari weapon if I’m not mistaken. Did you take it off an Imperial soldier in battle, perchance? Maybe it’s Arlean who should be wary of you...
As drills went, this one was a shambles compared to a well-trained patrol frigate. But for a merchantman, Decker had to concede that Shokoten had surpassed his low expectations. They weren’t new at this.
“People,” Captain Strachan looked around the mess table at his officers and warrant officers. He was using the wardroom for the debriefing because Shokoten didn’t have a dedicated conference room. Space was at a premium on traders, and every spare nook and cranny had to bring back profit with cargo.
“I will not say I’m satisfied at the battle stations drill, because I’m not. It may be good enough for some ships, but not Shokoten. As our new gunner has pointed out, reivers will give us less than five minutes warning. And he should know. He has served aboard ships who did the same to those reivers, or who picked up the debris of imprudent traders.”
Strachan nodded in Decker’s direction. The third officer sneered silently at the reference to the Fleet, an expression Zack saw, though he pretended not to notice. The other officers remained still, staring at their captain, faces neutral.