Mutiny (2 page)

Forrice showed Cole the four armored shuttles that were bonded to the hull, then took him up to Security, where a small wiry woman was seated at a desk, studying a series of holographic screens that floated in The air just above it. The moment she saw them she uttered a low command and the screens vanished.

"Wilson Cole, meet Sharon Blacksmith," said Forrice. "Colonel Blacksmith is our Chief of Security."

"And I know who you are," she said, getting to her feet. "Your reputation precedes you, Commander Cole."

"Just Wilson will do," said Cole.

"Fine. And unless Mount Fuji or Podok are around, I'm Sharon."

"Colonel Blacksmith is atypical of the
Teddy R
in that she actually knows what she's doing and is damned good at it," said Forrice.

She stared at Cole. "You're a little smaller than I expected."

"Bullshit," he responded.

"Wilson!" said Forrice, surprised.

"You've run a couple of background checks on me, and you were almost certainly the one who programmed my statistics into the security system. If I was half an inch taller or shorter than you expected, five pounds heavier or lighter, every fucking alarm in the ship would have gone off." He paused and smiled at her. "Did I pass the test?"

"With flying colors," she said, returning his smile. "I hope you're not offended."

"Not at all. It's nice to know we have a competent Security Chief onboard. Now let me ask you a question."

"Go ahead."

"As far as I can tell, the
Teddy R
hasn't touched down on any planet in more than half a year. I'm only the fifth replacement to come aboard since then. So my question is: What do you do with your time?"

"It's a reasonable question," replied Sharon. "I monitor all transmissions, I keep all sensitive areas under surveillance, I try to cut down on the intraship drug trafficking, I make sure that the crew isn't killing each other—they've tried, from time to time—and I make sure that the Officer on Deck performs hourly scans of our immediate vicinity."

"I thought there wasn't supposed to be a Teroni ship within parsecs of us," said Cole.

"We hope not, but their fleet isn't the only danger. Seventeen ships have been sabotaged in the past year. Six had entirely human crews, three more were close to eighty percent nonhuman, and one had no humans at all. That means someone has gotten to both human and nonhuman members of the Navy. I don't know what kind of inducement it would take to get someone to blow himself up with his ship, but there's no question that it's been done—and it's my job to see to it that it's not done here."

"Seventeen? I'd heard about two or three, but I hadn't realized that there were that many."

"It's not something the Navy brags about."

"So they keep it quiet, thereby guaranteeing that people who might see something suspicious don't recognize it as such."

"I
like
you, Commander Cole," she said.

"Wilson," he corrected her.

She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a silver flask. "Want a drink?" she said.

"What's the penalty for drinking on duty?"

"It depends whether Security knows about it or not."

"Then I'll have one," he said, accepting the flask, opening it, and taking a swallow. He turned to Forrice. "I'd offer some to you, but you'd probably bathe in the booze and eat the container."

"The next time a Teroni offers a reward for your head, I'm going to have to seriously consider it," said Forrice.

"I really shouldn't tell you this," said Sharon, "but Forrice has practically been jumping out of his skin since we learned you were being transferred here. He'll probably never say anything nice about you while you're listening, but he's filled me in on your various exploits."

"I think the Navy would label them misadventures," said Cole wryly.

"The crew of the
Teddy R
knows better," she said. "You've become a kind of legend."

"Don't embarrass me during my first day on the job," said Cole uncomfortably.

"All right, then," said Sharon, taking the flask back. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact there is. What's the total complement of the crew?"

"Thirty-seven Men, five Polonoi, four Molarians, a Tolobite, a Morovite, a Bedalian, and a Bdxeni."

He shook his head. "Stupid."

"What is?"

"If they're worried about unhappy crewmen, why the hell did they give us lone members of four races? They've got no one to talk to, no shared worldview or experiences."

"Well, that's not quite true. The Tolobite's got its symbiote, and the Bdxeni is working every minute of every day and doesn't need any distractions."

"Nevertheless."

"We're not responsible for who or what the Navy assigns us," replied Sharon.

"I didn't mean to imply that
you
were stupid," said Cole. "A policy this dumb has to come from the very top."

"You were right, Forrice," she said to the Molarian. "He has qualities. Commander Cole—Wilson—I think we're going to become great friends."

"Good," said Cole. "I can use all the friends I can get."

"Do you require anything else?"

"I haven't made my request yet."

"I thought you wanted to know the crew's racial breakdown," she said.

"That was preamble. I want to be able to access everything you have on each crew member. I might as well learn what I can about the Men and aliens I'll be dealing with."

"What's your security clearance?"

He shrugged. "Probably a level or two below where it used to be," he said.

"I'll find out, and let you access up to that level," she said.

"Thanks," said Cole. "I've enjoyed meeting you, but I suppose I should continue with the chef's tour before I go to work."

"We'll be seeing a lot of each other," said Sharon.

"If I can ask, what's a competent officer like you doing on a ship like this?"

"That's such a flattering way of putting it that I won't disappoint you by answering it."

"What would you like to see next?" asked Forrice. "The bridge?"

"One bridge looks pretty much like another," replied Cole. "Let's look at something else."

"But you're going to be spending most of your time there," said the Molarian.

"The hell I am." Forrice looked at him curiously. "You've got a pilot, you've got a gunnery officer, you've got an Officer On Deck. I can access whatever they're seeing or hearing from anywhere on the ship, and issue orders from anywhere. Why should I waste my time looking at viewscreens or at the backs of their heads for hours on end?"

"No wonder you can't keep a command," said Sharon. "You make too much sense."

"All right," said Forrice. "What would you like me to show you next?"

"What kind of exercise facility has the
Teddy R
got?"

"A small one, about half for Men and half for the rest of us."

"Let's at least pass by it so I'll know where to find it. Then I'll want to see the infirmary."

"Come along, then," said Forrice.

He walked out into the corridor, led Cole to a different airlift, and ascended a level. They looked in at the exercise room—it was far too small and cramped to be called a gymnasium—and then went to the infirmary.

"Nice," said Cole, looking at the small operating theater. "More up-to-date than I'd have expected." He walked through the even smaller recovery room to a room with four beds for humans, a near-invisible partition, and three beds of wildly varying shapes for non-humans. "Optimistic."

"Optimistic?" repeated Forrice.

"What if ten crew members get wounded—or if we get a bad batch of food?"

"The
Teddy R
hasn't seen enough action for ten crew members to get wounded," replied the Molarian. "And we've never had a
good
batch of food. I think we're probably immune by now."

"How many medics?"

"It's going to sound like a bad joke," said Forrice.

"Why am I not surprised?" said Cole. "How many?"

"One—a Bedalian named Tzinto."

"No human doctor?"

"There was one."

"And?" prompted Cole.

"He had an attack of... of some useless organ only humans have."

"A burst appendix?"

"That's it!" said Forrice. "An appendix. He died on the operating table."

"Thanks. I can't tell you how much confidence that gives me in this Tzinto."

"It wasn't really his fault. His specialty is nonhuman physiology."

"Have we requested a replacement for the human doctor?" asked Cole.

"Yes, but there's a war going on," replied Forrice. "A
real
war, not a meaningless patrol like we're on out here. And they can't spare any more doctors."

"Fujiama was wrong," said Cole. "You get decent medical care in a brig."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Nothing," said Cole. "Okay, I've seen enough. Let's continue the tour."

"It's a pretty ordinary ship," said Forrice. "All that's left are the weapons sections, a couple of science labs that get almost no use, the crew's quarters, and the bridge."

"Take me up and down every corridor of every level," said Cole. "Even the galley, the storerooms, the public bathrooms, everything. If I'm going to spend a few years aboard this ship, I'd better learn every inch of it."

"On the first day?"

"You never know. There might be a surprise test." Cole could see that Forrice didn't understand his humor, so he shrugged and started off toward the nearest airlift. The Molarian caught and passed him, then indicated that they wanted a different airlift farther down the corridor.

"How the hell many decks can there be?" said Cole. "Don't all the airlifts lead to the same levels?"

"Yes," answered Forrice. "But this one is large enough to accommodate a stretcher or an airsled, and we've been asked not to use it except in emergencies."

"How many times has a stretcher or airsled been brought to the infirmary since you've been onboard?"

"Four, I think. Possibly five."

"Out of how many months?" said Cole. "We'll take this lift."

"I can't argue with an officer who outranks me," said the Molarian pleasantly as he followed Cole into the airlift.

They ascended to the gunnery section, where Cole met the three sergeants—a Man, a Polonoi, and a Molarian—who were in charge of keeping the weapons in working order. He wondered how anyone kept the ranks straight before the services combined and there were five varieties of yeoman, eight of seaman (though it was likely that none of them had ever been to sea), and six of lieutenant. It made much more sense to appropriate sergeants, majors, colonels, and the like.

A brief inspection confirmed his suspicions that the
Teddy R
would probably be outgunned by just about any Teroni ship it went up against. He actually signed an autograph (to his surprise, it was the Molarian who requested it, not the Man), and then stopped by the science labs. They seemed up-to-date, but they were deserted, both scientists being on their sleep breaks while a bored-looking ensign stood guard.

Forrice then took Cole on a tour of the crew's quarters, which resembled nothing more than a run-down hotel. He practically expected to encounter the scent of urine in the corridors. The rooms covered three levels, and it was clear that the cubicles on the lowest level had been modified to fit the needs of the nonhuman members of the crew.

"Is your room near here?" asked Cole when he'd finished inspecting the alien level.

"Just down the hall," answered Forrice.

"Let's go there for a minute."

Forrice seemed about to ask him why, then thought better of it and simply led the way. The room boasted a bed built for the Molarian's body contours, chairs to match, nightmarish holographs on the walls that seemed to delight their owner, and a desk with a pair of computers, one with a Steinmetz/Norton bubble memory, the other a model Cole had never seen before.

"All right, we're here," said Forrice. "Now what?"

"Close the door."

Forrice uttered a command and the door snapped shut.

Cole pulled out his pocket computer and ordered it to make contact with Sharon Blacksmith. Suddenly her image appeared a few inches above the computer, hovering there and staring curiously at him.

"Yes, Commander?" she said.

"There's an ensign guarding the science labs," said Cole.

"That's correct."

"Why? You're probably monitoring them round the clock. Has there been a threat against them?"

"No, there has not."

"Then why isn't the ensign being put to better use?"

"Commander Cole, we're four hundred and eighty-three days out of Port Royale in the Quinellus Cluster. It's been a hundred and thirty-two days since there's been any sign of enemy activity. We're in the emptiest sector of the galaxy, we're carrying a full complement of fifty officers and crew, and it is essential that we maintain discipline. What would
yon
suggest?"

"All right," said Cole. "I
thought
it was just a make-work assignment, but I didn't want it confirmed in public."