Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (9 page)

“Clear, sir,” the chief said. “You're serious.”

“Yes, God damnit!” Weaver snapped, finally losing his temper. “I'm deadly serious! Hell, if she didn't already have a job and if I could figure out a way to do it I'd give her the machinist section! Among other things, she had the guys who worked in that section eating out of her hand last cruise! I'm that serious! Are we clear?!”

“Clear, sir,” Gestner said, obviously nonplussed.

“I'm serious, Chief,” Weaver said, calmer. “This is not a sub. It's a spaceship. It's a spaceship that gets into really weird maulk. I can't afford to have the guy who has to get stuff fixed in a funk because things aren't going according to routine or somebody's gotten up his nose. I need somebody who if he can't figure out a piece of strange alien equipment will figure out who can. If you can't get over whatever keeps you from listening to people's input, you're not for the Blade. Because nobody in this ship understands every part or can figure out every problem that crops up. And I need to know that in time to get a replacement. You're a good mechanic and your reports say you run a good shop. But the shop on this ship is unlike any other in the service. And if you can't get with the program, tell me now.”

“I can do the job, sir,” the chief said, frowning. “I really can.”

“Be square with me, Chief,” Bill said. “It's seriously different. Are you sure?”

“I'm sure, sir,” Gestner replied.

“Grapp me on this and I'm not going threaten you with Diego Garcia or Iceland,” Weaver said. “But I do suggest you ask Red or Sub Dude the story of Petty Officer Olson.”

“Olson, sir?” Gestner asked.

“Ask them,” Weaver said, dusting off his own coveralls. “Are we space ready with the exception of the separators?”

“Yes, sir,” Gestner said. “I'll have a full report on down or questionable systems on the Eng's desk this afternoon. But the rest of it's minor stuff.”

“Good to hear,” the XO said. “Tell Commander Oldfield I'll need it on my desk by noon tomorrow. But do not dawdle on looking up Miss Moon, Chief.”

“Yes, sir,” Gestner said, frowning in thought.

“This XO shit is for the birds, sir,” Bill said as the CO entered his compartment. “What ever happened to the paperless office concept?”

“What's really funny about it is that most of the actual paper gets filed and forgotten,” the CO said, sitting down across from him. “It's the stuff that we file electronically that gets looked at. Hell, mostly it gets automatically compared to norms and some computer sends up a red flag if it doesn't fit the model. Which is why—”

“We keep getting these stupid queries!” Weaver finished, holding up a form. “I wish somebody would tell the software we're no longer an SSBN with a crew of 157 and twenty-four missiles! We haven't filed our weekly paperwork on missile stability so this damned program keeps sending damned queries!”

“And we will until somebody comes up with a second model just like us,” Captain Prael said. “When will the equipment status report be done?”

“By 1700,” Bill said, holding up same. “I think we can squeeze in most of the minor repairs before we leave; I'm working on the budget and worktable now. But the only major issue is the separator and we're going to pull and replace that.”

“What's this I hear about you having a run-in with Chief Gestner over Miss Moon?” the CO asked, holding out his hand for the preliminary report.

“I told the chief that Miss Moon was the most valuable resource the machinist's shop had on this ship,” Weaver said. “And that if he couldn't figure that out, I'd find a chief who could.”

“And did you discuss the threat to have him relieved with me, first, Captain?” the CO asked neutrally, flipping through the pages.

“No, Captain,” Weaver replied. “I don't discuss every encounter I have on this ship with you. If you wish me to restrain myself in any negative encounter until I have solicited your advice, Captain, then I will do so.”

“Get off your high horse, Weaver,” the CO said, looking up. “I'm not Spectre Blankemeier and this is no longer his ship. In my ship we do things my way. And my way does not necessarily mean a civilian female running around fixing stuff. In case it's not clear to you, Captain, that's a major departure from normal activity in any military unit, much less a sub. And threatening a senior chief with being strapped to the outside of the hull for three days was not the conduct I expect of my officers. Am I clear?”

“Clear, sir,” Weaver replied.

“I've been fully briefed on Miss Moon's activities,” Prael continued. “Which does not mean I approve. Miss Moon is to restrict herself to authorized linguist duties if and when she is needed. I've sent in a memo for record recommending her replacement with a qualified male Navy candidate. We may be forced to carry her for this mission, but I see no reason why we even have her on-board. We're not carrying a science team, otherwise.”

There was no question asked so Weaver kept his mouth shut.

“You're doing a decent job as an XO,” Prael continued after a moment. “Decent, not extraordinary. Since you're a hard worker and unquestionably smart, I put that down to lack of experience. You were fast tracked to lieutenant commander then jumped twice to your present rank for, basically, being there. Yes, you did a good job as astrogator. That's to be expected. You've proven you're courageous. But that doesn't add up to being a Naval officer. If you were a real Naval officer you'd have handled things differently. So you can get over being a civilian wearing a uniform or . . . I believe the phrase was 'I'll find someone who will.' Are we clear?”

“Clear, sir,” Weaver said, stone-faced.

“Comments?”

“XO to Skipper or Captain to Captain?” Weaver asked.

“Again, quoting, I think the phrase I'm looking for here is that was over the edge of insolent,” Prael said dangerously.

“Captain to Captain it is,” Weaver said. “This is your ship, sir, sure enough. And, yes, I was bumped up fast. That, sir, is because there are no other officers in the Navy with my training, experience or skills. And Miss Moon is on this ship because there are no other people with her experience or ability. Your job, in addition to your other duties, is to teach me to be your XO. And I'll do that to the best of my very high ability. I never do anything by halfs. But my job, Captain, is to teach you to be a starship commander.”

“You're really going to push this, aren't you?” Prael asked.

“You already, mistakenly, referred to this ship as a sub, sir,” Weaver continued. “It's not. It's a spaceship, designed as such from the keel out. It can go underwater but it's primarily designed for space. If you think of it as a sub, sir, you're going to get us all killed. Because there's a universe of difference between being at sea and being in space. One difference, is that if you're cruising the Pacific you don't suddenly run into a species that speaks by sonar and have to have someone to figure out how to talk to them. Have to have that or you're going to get blown away. Thus you have to have someone who can figure that out, no matter who that is. And thus we get to Miss Moon. Who completely redesigned faulty systems on the Blade One so that they were no longer faulty and figured out how to communicate with the Hexosehr and, and, and. The last 'and who' being that she was a primary member of the design team of this ship. Who is an asset you do not want to lose despite her being female and occasionally bat-shit crazy. I can't believe I'm having to explain this to you! You read the reports!”

“I'm going to have to ask for relief, aren't I?” Prael growled. “Because yes, I've read the reports. But it was Spectre's ship. It's mine now.”

“If you asked for relief, right now, you'll get it, sir,” Weaver said. “You'll find yourself off 'your' ship so fast it will make your head swim. We both know it. I'd get reamed for handling things badly but you'd be gone. Because there is no one else to do my job, sir. Which is to be XO, yes, but is primarily to keep you and this ship alive when we get where there's no air and the universe goes crazy. And you're going to do one or two cruises and then be gone, fast-tracked into a training position or, if we have them by then, a bigger ship. I'll still be here, probably still be XO, teaching your replacement. Because when we get out between the stars, sir, there are going to be dozens of times you'll turn to me and ask me what the grapp is going on. Just as, now, I have to turn to you, sir, to figure out Clerk Click and all the rest of this maulk. So are we going to make this work? Or not?”

“There has to be one boss on a ship, XO,” Prael said fiercely.

“Agreed,” Bill replied. “I'm not going to override one of your orders. Unless it's going to get us killed and you don't realize it. I hope that we don't hit that point. And I don't want to grapp with your confidence; a CO has to have it. But Spectre could maintain his confidence and ask questions, even in front of the crew. Can you?”

“We'll see,” Prael said. “But the thing you need to figure out is that I've got nearly twenty years of experience as a Naval officer and this isn't the Enterprise. It's a U.S. Naval vessel.”

“Correction, again, Captain,” Bill said with a sigh. “It's an Alliance Space Vessel. Why couldn't they have chosen that for the actual name? And, sir, I have over twenty years of experience in the fields of engineering, quantum physics, optics, physics, astronomy and astrophysics. And, sir, as much as you may know about Naval bureaucracy and the play of wind and wave and how to calculate buoyancy, when we hit zero-G all that experience means exactly dick. And at that point, mine becomes critical. If you cannot handle that or if you cannot figure that out, then please request relief. Because if you're unwilling to learn, we're all doomed. As for me, I want to learn how to be a good XO. I'm more than willing to learn to be a good XO. I know that I'm still unqualified to be a CO and I'll be watching your moves to see how while learning my job.”

“As I said, we'll see,” Prael said, standing up. “Miss Moon is still not to be given duties outside her specific area of expertise. At least for the time being.”

“That's your right as CO,” Weaver said, shrugging.

“And you think I'm making a mistake,” the CO said.

“Several, actually,” Bill replied. “You've undercut me with Chief Gestner which means that in the future he's going to think he can walk all over me. Any time he's unhappy with one of my orders he'll cry to the Eng who will, in turn, cry to you. He's also going to ignore my advice on interacting with Tchar, which will reduce his ability to get things repaired. And from his attitude, he's going to have a tough time interacting with the Hexosehr but that's just a guess. On the direct subject of Miss Moon, you're going to be subject to unintentional and intentional harassment during the cruise. And if you directly control her, such as confinement to quarters, you'll both lose the respect of the crew, especially those who are veterans of her previous cruises, and you'll almost undoubtedly get reprimanded upon our return for illegal restriction of a civilian technical specialist. Last, you're positioning yourself, mentally, to ignore my advice or, more probably, fail to access it. Given experiences from previous cruises, that is likely to be a bad thing. However, none of those are, at this point, critical issues that will kill us. So I'm raising no objection. You did, however, ask.”

“You're going to be a pain in the ass, aren't you?” Captain Prael said.

“Apparently, sir,” Bill replied, tiredly. “But as my momma used to say, don't ask me a question if you don't want the answer.”

“Well here's one for your professional development, Captain,” the CO said. “We can have these sorts of differences in private, but you'd better damned well keep them to yourself around the crew.”

“Aye, aye,” Bill replied. He leaned back and shuddered after the door closed, rubbing his face. “Maulk. This is gonna be one grapped up cruise.”

“This is maulk,” PO Ian “Red” Morris said, unbolting the separator from its mounts. “I know how to fix this piece of maulk. You've got to open it with a melder, though.”

“And Gestner doesn't want to hear for melders,” Michael “Sub Dude” Gants said, engaging the jack to lower the multiton separator. “Miriam'd have this thing fixed in five minutes,” he continued, sucking in through his teeth.

“No chither,” Red said, pulling his Number Two arm off and replacing it with Number Four. Two was good for small work but Four had more power. On each of the previous two cruises, the machinist had been hit by fire in, respectively, his right arm and right leg. He had a human prosthetic arm, a good one, and a Hexosehr prosthetic leg, a better one. He placed his prosthetic leg against the bulkhead, grabbed the hand-hold on the separator and pulled, rolling the massive piece of machinery out onto the deck. “He and the CO are going to be right sorry about that when we're outside.”

“Sorry about what?” Chief Gestner said pointedly. Neither of the machinists had heard him arrive.

“Sorry you ignored the XO,” Gants said, pumping the jack and lifting the separator up to the level of the carry-cradle.

“Keep your opinions to yourself, PO,” Gestner said angrily. “I get lip from you like that again and I'll have you up on report.”

“Chief, maybe you should just ground me now,” Gants said, helping Red get the separator positioned. “Because, honestly, you're going to hear my opinions if you ask me a direct question. Gonna happen. You asked, I answered. If you consider that insolent, then you'd better ship me out now.”

“Just get this thing replaced,” Gestner snarled.

“Aye, aye, Chief,” Red said. “What are we supposed to do with it?”

“Send it to dock for repair,” the Chief said. “We don't have room to keep it on the ship.”

“It's times like this I wish Macelhenie had survived the last cruise,” Gants said as soon as the chief was out of earshot.

“It's times like this I contemplate the pleasure I would obtain by brushing old Numbah Fow across his face,” Red said, holding up the massive prosthetic. “It'd be a right pleasure.”

“Come on,” Gants replied, shrugging. “Let's get this thing winched out of the ship and see about finding a spare.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Lieutenant Ross said, looking at the directive.