Downtime (8 page)

“Did
you know that there are civilians assigned to this Praetorian research team?”
the comm-tech asked him. The screen was gray now, audios silent, too.

Jason
nodded. “If you saw the roster, there’s only a handful of Praetorian guards.”

“Rumor
has it there’s a full crew of comm-techs,” the ranger comm-tech said. “That can
only mean they plan to man the watches.”

“Rumor?”
Jason said with some amusement. He’d probably scrutinized the personnel data
lists when they came in on the flatscreen, just as he had the bills of lading,
looking for the newsbeans.

Before
the comm-tech could answer, the voice synthesizer at the door started
announcing entry requests of two Praetorians. One of them bore the name of
Jason’s new second, Marmion Andres Clavia. With the ranger comm-tech, Jason looked
through the door. The man with chief brass on his collar was a big, dark-haired
fellow. The tech with him was a tiny blonde woman. “As usual the grapevine is
right,” Jason said to the ranger. “I think this is your relief now.” To the
door, he said, “Open.”

The
Praetorians saluted snappily, and Jason returned the greeting. There was no
need to exchange names; criers and nomenclators were already at work.

“These
are the inspection reports of the research facility construction,” the chief
said to Jason as he handed over scrolled plats. “I’ve taken the liberty of
recommending the required corrective actions. If you agree, you can just
initial them.”

“Correctives?”
Jason said, snapping open the first plat. “What sort of discrepancies did you
find?” Before the chief could answer, Jason read the first item and shook his
head. “These pipes weren’t in the specifications.”

“They
are now, sir. Commander Calla ordered them this morning.”

“You’re
not going to show them as spec discrepancies,” Jason said, crumpling the plat
between his fingers. “Write a formal spec change, get Calla Commander Calla to
approve it, give my people sufficient time to respond, and then we’ll talk
about discrepancies.”

“The
spec change authorization is in her comm-queue. She left orders not to be
disturbed. She will sign it, of course, since she ordered it. I had hoped to
save time with corrective action orders, which you can sign.”

Jason
frowned, less because of what the chief was saying than the odor he was
emanating — esters. The smell was beginning to fill the comm-room. The
Praetorian comm-tech had started edging away from him, as if she were curious
about the communication console. “Chief, how did you manage to acquire the
stink of esters?”

“Sorry,
sir,” Marmion said, his big face growing red. “It’s the danae.”

“I
know where it comes from. I asked how you acquired it.”

“An
accident. I guess I startled them, and . . .”

“Accident?
Were you armed?”

“No,
sir. I was on an inspection tour with Commander Calla, and . . .”

Jason
waved off further explanation; he knew what happened when danae were startled.
So did the ranger comm-tech, who was grinning. Jason smiled, too. As long as
the danae weren’t hurt, he, too, could see the humor in the situation. “You’ve
probably fouled the shuttle’s waste collector. You used sonics to wash off the
shit, right?”

“Yes,
sir. It seems not to come off easily.”

“Blowers
on full,” Jason said to the room-tender. Jelly beans brightened in the nitrogen
tank as the overhead vents started to pour in fresh air. The Praetorian’s face
reddened even more. “Relax, Marmion. I’ll take you back to my quarters and give
you some lye soap and the use of my shower. That will take it off. Sonics aren’t
good enough.”

“Lye?”
Marmion said, his eyes widening.

“Door
open,” Jason said to the room-tender. He gestured for Marmion to follow him.
The chief glanced back at his comm-tech as if he wanted to say something. “It’s
all standard gear. She’ll figure it out.”

“Yes,
sir,” Marmion said, and followed Jason out the door. The comm-room was on the
terrace with the offices and private quarters to make shorter wire-runs from
hardwired equipment to surface structures. Jason’s room was only a few doors
away.

“Open,”
Jason said. “Admit two.” His room-tender made no assumptions on how many might
enter or exit as did the tenders in general duty rooms. He put the inspection
reports on his desk, went into the bathroom and pulled a rough-cut bar of lye
soap from the cabinet. He went back into the main room, handed Marmion the
soap, and pointed toward the bathroom. “I’ll look over the other inspection
reports while you clean up. There’s a clean set of fatigues on the shelf; they’ll
suffice until you get back to Red Rocks.”

“Thank
you, sir,” Marmion said, but he seemed terribly embarrassed.

“Don’t
worry about it,” Jason said. “Almost all of us have had similar experiences.
There’s lye soap in almost every ranger’s bath. Just remember to keep your eyes
closed while using it. You’ll find out why if you forget.”

“Yes,
sir,” Marmion said with a wary glance at the soap.

He
disappeared into the bathroom, and Jason went to read the reports.

There
were a few real discrepancies, some troughs not quite correctly inclined and
wall thickness outside the tolerances. All appeared to be correctable by
refinishing with a laser-saw, which Marmion had recommended, and Jason duly
initialed each item.

Marmion
came out of the bathroom with his uniform bundled under his arm. He filled
Jason’s fatigues to their limits, but actually looked good in ranger-green. He
no longer reeked of esters, but there was still a trace coming from the bundle
of clothes. Jason gave him a synthetic sack to put them in.

“Not
a very auspicious beginning,” Marmion said, sealing the sack. He looked at
Jason. “I can imagine what you’re thinking of me as a second. But I’m grateful
for your help and that you didn’t let me go around smelling like a fool before
all your rangers, at least no more than I already had.”

Jason
nodded. The laugh the rangers would have had at the expense of a Praetorian
guard chief had tempted Jason only briefly. It wasn’t worth alienating someone
Calla had called “a good man,” especially a good man who would also be his
second, even if not second by choice. He wondered if Calla had told Marmion
enough about him for Marmion to know that if given this same opportunity to
humiliate a high-ranking Praetorian, the man Calla had known thirty years ago
wouldn’t have hesitated.

“I’ll
just take the reports now, sir . . .”

Jason
realized he’d been staring at Marmion. “Not yet,” he said quickly. “Sit down
for a minute and tell me how you plan to hold down two jobs.”

“Yes,
sir.” He waited for Jason to seat himself first.

“Thank
you, sir.”

“My
people usually call me Jason, unless I’m angry.”

“Yes . . .
Jason,” Marmion said, looking relieved. “Commander Calla’s orders are quite
specific. I’m to provide coordination between the two groups and act as liaison
as necessary.”

“Why
did she think a go-between would be necessary? She outranks me, is known for
her directness.”

“Commander
Calla can rattle off more orders in one breath than most people can think of in
a day. I’m sure she didn’t want the ranger-governor having to spend most of his
time carrying them out, especially those that are routine. This is an unusual
circumstance; a formal liaison such as myself is also well-placed to notice any
friction that could arise between the two groups.”

“The
natural friction that happens when snobs and slobs rub shoulders?” Jason said.

“Well,
I wouldn’t have put it quite that way.”

“I’ll
bet Calla did. And everything you say makes sense, except for knowing that
Calla’s behind it. She wouldn’t tolerate the snob-slob petty antics, and it
would stop instantly. She never needed a go-between to make her wishes known.”
Jason leaned back in his chair. “No, either you’re second because I’m no more
than a figurehead, or because she didn’t want to deal with me herself.”

Marmion
frowned. “You’re not just a figurehead.” He hesitated. “If I may speak frankly . . .
Jason?”

Jason
nodded, wondered if he really would.

“I
gathered that Commander Calla and you knew one another long ago. The
relationship was, I believe . . . close. I think I’m here in this specific position
to save either of you possible  . . . pain.”

“I
expected you to say embarrassment,” Jason said, feeling bemused.

“She’s
not easily embarrassed,” Marmion said. “She’s far too thick-skinned for that,
and I think she likes being a wise old woman.”

“Proud
of it, I imagine.”

“I
can tell you knew her quite well.” Marmion grinned openly, and there was
nothing in his tone to indicate he was faulting Calla’s pride. Jason was
beginning to like Marmion. Then Marmion’s smile disappeared and he cleared his
throat. “I risk overstepping, but pride and thick skin aside, she has limits. I
don’t think she wanted to test them, nor yours.”

Barriers.
First of time and distance, then her gold worlds of rank. Now human ones. Jason
shook his head. He wondered if she really believed he’d respect any of them but
the gold. “Thanks for the information, Marmion. No offense intended, but I won’t
be using you as a go-between. I’ll deal with her face-to-face whenever
possible, at whatever price.”

“Yes,
sir,” Marmion said uneasily.

There
wasn’t anything Jason could say to ease the man’s discomfort. He didn’t know
himself what would happen next. He sighed. “Are you holding up the newsbeans?
My rangers are getting impatient.”

“Now
that we’ve taken over the comm-room, I’ll see they’re on the next shuttle.”

“So
you’ve cleared the content already?” And when Marmion nodded, Jason leaned
forward. “What’s in them? What news of the war?”

“Oh,
the usual . . . “ He saw Jason start to frown, and he shrugged. “The
big news is that Dvalerth has sent a strike force to Cassells Solar System to
punish the Tagax pirates.”

“Pirates,
eh?” Jason said, unable to restrain a smile. “Is that what they call them now?
Tagaxans used to be called insurgents when Dvalerth sent strike forces in the
past. It seems to me that they’ve always been at war.”

Marmion
considered. “Yes, that’s true. Dvalerth has waged war against the pirates or
insurgents many times. Dvalerth’s an old world with powerful legions. Dvalerth
always won, and the contraband seizures died down for a few years. But this
time Dvalerth was wrong. The Boscan Cassells joined Tagax, and what the old
worlds persist in calling pirates have formed a fleet mighty enough to escort
invasion strike-ships through the star lanes to Dvalerth.”

“Right
into the Hub?” Jason was astonished. “What happened?”

Marmion
shrugged. “I don’t know. We left before they reached Dvalerth. I know that
attempts to bring it up in the Council of Worlds failed. It was being described
as a local matter.”

“And
council accepted that explanation while knowing there was a strike force on the
way to the Hub?”

“Yes.
I heard — now this isn’t in the newsbean and it’s not official — I
heard that council wants to stay out of it because no action keeps the imperial
legions out, and that minimizes the risk of escalation. Council is far more
concerned with the elixir reapportionment problem, and there’s speculation that
the Decemvirate would appreciate having something else on its agenda, like a
local war, so they could delay the elixir decision.”

“It
doesn’t take decemvir genes to know that it’s all one problem, that the
Cassells-Dvalerth war is just the first symptom, or perhaps one of many small,
similar symptoms.”

“How’s
that?” Marmion said, puzzled.

“While
there’s war, Dvalerth won’t permit any of its elixir to be shipped to the
Cassells. But since elixir distribution is a Decemvirate responsibility and the
Decemvirate can bring in the imperial legions to enforce the distribution
requirements, the only reason council could possibly be leaving the Cassells-Dvalerth
war on a local level is because they can’t agree among themselves on who will
win. They don’t know who’ll win the war, they don’t know who will win the
distribution question. Wars aren’t fought when everyone is certain of the
outcome.”

Marmion
raised his brows. “Sir, your crier broadcast does you an injustice. It led me
to believe you would have no understanding of why wars are fought, let alone be
able to articulate the reasons.”

Jason
smiled. “We can’t update restricted crier data on downtime worlds. I haven’t
been back to the Hub since I left. It hasn’t mattered since I got my silver
moons. Until you and Calla arrived, no one’s had sufficient rank to receive it.”

“It’s
not very flattering, and certainly not accurate. I could arrange for an updated
one to be sent on the next supply ship if you’ll permit me to get the forms
filled out for you.”

“No
thanks.”

Again
Marmion’s brows shot up.” You like being put at disadvantage by your own crier?”

“The
disadvantage is not always mine.”

“As
you wish.” He seemed to be mulling over Jason’s reply, perhaps also the
speculations he’d offered. Jason could only hope that he wouldn’t regret them.

“Here’s
the inspection reports I’ve okayed,” Jason said, picking them up off the desk. “I
don’t mind using the system for expediency,” he said, tossing the crumpled one
into the waste chute, “unless expediency makes my rangers’ performance look
bad. If you find another way to get those pipes laid tonight, one that reflects
true ranger excellence, I’ll sign it. Otherwise it will have to wait until the
specification is formally changed.”

“I
understand, sir . . . er, Jason.” Marmion took the scrolled
plats from him and stood up. He saluted smartly.