The Sirens of Space (18 page)

“
To her cabin, no doubt, eh,
Chief?”

“—
an’ she didn’t want to soil her wee
dainty hands,” the Chief concluded acidly, not at all amused by
Sillars’ inability to see past his own lust. “Why, if the Skipper
hadn’t— ”

“
Ready again, Chief. Shall we have
another go?”

“
All right, Larsen. See how she
behaves this time.”

The buzzer sounded again, this time wavering
like a sputtering motor in need of lubrication. Seconds later, the
noise crescendoed to a high-pitched squeal, then stopped with a
screech that made the hair on Connors’ beard stand on end.

“
Ah, crap!”

“
Larsen—try inverting polarity on the
phase-in and speedin the drive on the grapplers.”

“
Aye aye, Chief.”

“
Well,” whispered Sillars, “Cook had a
meeting with all the new officers. From what I hear tell, he laid
into them pretty good. All but forbade them from issuing any orders
at all, and told’em square off that they’d be giving commands to
greenshirts at their peril. Put’em right to squawking, it did. Then
he sent the lot of them into the pits to help put the engines in
proper trim. I’ll give him this—he’s not above taking’em down a peg
or two himself. And he’s not one to play favorites.”

“
Ah, rot,” muttered
Connors.

“
Come on, Chief,” Sillars laughed.
“It’s not as bad as all that. Besides, we’ve got us a hatch to
unglitch.”

The two yeomen returned to the stubborn
emergency hatch, barely in time for another test. “All right,”
barked Connors, “let’s see what we’ve got, here. You know how
important proper hatch seals are to a spaceship, don’t ye lads? If
the hull ruptures, we’ve got to be able to close off enough of the
ship so that we aren’t all sucked into space like rubbish out the
airlock.

“
Larsen— ”

“
Aye , Chief.”

“
Seal the hatch.”

The young crewman flipped the control lever
on the upper sidewall. The warning buzzer sounded and the two
grapplers—one from below, one from above—glided together like
clockwork until they meshed exactly in the core of the hatch. A
gleeful cheer rose from the throats of the whole repair crew.
Ramsey, the old-timer from Gaea, broke into a little song about
“Coming home with the lassies of Riley’s Station,” and Connors and
the others broke into a little jig of a dance.

All too soon, the celebrants recalled the
next job on their agenda—the next emergency hatch, two corridors
farther along the port beam spoke—and started collecting tools from
wherever they had left them.

“
All right, Mr. Larsen,” announced a
smiling Chief Connors when the crew had finishing policing the
area. “You may reopen the hatch.” The smile soon froze on his
face.

“
I can’t, Chief . The damn thing’s
stuck!”

Connors’ voice was lost amid the groans and
curses and toolboxes falling around him. “Ah, rot,” he said through
clenched teeth.

* * *

“I don’t
want to hear it,
Jeremy.”

“
Captain....”

“
Jeremy, just handle it. I’ve got too
many other things to worry about.”

“
But— ”

“
Handle it.”

“
But if you never— ”

“
No ‘buts’ about it, Jeremy. It will
be
your
responsibility to
whip the bridge crew into shape,” Cook said, in a blandly pleasant
tone of voice that Jeremy was coming to find infuriating. “I leave
the details to you. You’re the executive officer. So...well,
execute.”

“
But— ”

“
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed
elsewhere.”

Cook strode out of his office, leaving his
first officer as frustrated as when they began. These meetings were
solving nothing, Jeremy fumed, and they were doing nothing for his
own morale. They hadn’t had a full staff meeting in two weeks, and
every time Jeremy tried to brief the captain about some new
problem, Cook ran off somewhere. He didn’t really blame the
captain; ship-shaping was a long, thankless task. But it was even
grimmer when the man at the top seemed so unconcerned about the
difficulties he piled onto the shoulders of his senior aides. He’d
rest more comfortably if he thought that Cook really cared about
the troubles that faced them.

Sullenly, he sank into the visitor’s chair.
Jeremy had been so full of complaints when he entered the office,
and was brimming with ways for the captain to resolve them. He
wondered why his resolve melted away whenever the two of them
started talking. He looked at the wall behind Cook’s desk. Looming
over him were old style sketches of men he didn’t recognize,
drawings from the captain’s sister that Cook had finally finished
hanging the day before. And Jeremy felt foolish seconds later, when
a cold chill ran down his back.

It seemed that the captain’s wall hangings
were all staring at him.

* * *

The starship’s
galley
functioned as a third lounge, but unlike the officers’ lounge on
the conning deck, and the redshirt lounge one level below, the
galley provided a meeting place for all ranks. To center of the
galley was Corridor A, onto which faced the ship’s main
services—including Sick Bay, Supply, Science Center, Library,
Central Computer, Molecular Transmitter, and the like. Beyond the
innermost corridor was the bridge, the very hub of the conning
deck.

By informal agreement, tyros of all
ranks took charge of Dining Room Two, gathering to share what
passed for food aboard the
d’Artagnan
, and to exchange stories and laughs
over the plights facing them as “Green-tailed Groundtoads,” living
among all the seasoned Cozzie veterans. Each of the old-timers
seemed to know everything worth knowing about running a starship,
although no two of them could agree on much of anything. At a table
at the far corner of the room, beneath a portrait of Wellington
Carswell—the CosGuard scientist who pioneered the early weapons
systems that led to the development of the first molecular
blasters—were two young officers in standard blue uniforms, sitting
beside a redshirt, all fresh recruits, all tired to the teeth by
overwork and double shifts.

“
How long before we can transfer out
of this hell-hole?” asked Tom Gerlach, a tall, handsome young
ensign on his first posting. He ran a hand through his closely
cropped blond hair, then rubbed his tired blue eyes and yawned. He
personally constituted half of the CosGuard Academy graduates in
the current crop of ensigns.

“
I don’t know,” said Connie McKenzie,
sitting beside him. “But time seems awfully long when you start
counting the seconds. You know, I’m actually looking forward to
spending two relaxing hours in the Supply Office. When I graduated
Tech school, I thought I’d resign my commission rather than get
stuck with a boring job like that.” She sipped her coffee;
grimacing, she reached for a packet of sugar.

“
Well what really bothers me,”
continued Gerlach, “is this patronizing, heavy-handed way the
captain runs things. He won’t give us anything to do, except for
the shit-shoveling crews and other jobs no long-termer would take
without a fit of bellyaching.”

“
And then,” continued Connie, “he has
the nerve to stop us from making sure what little we do get to do
gets done right. Am I making any sense?” she giggled. “I’m too
tired to talk straight.”

Martindale, the tyro redshirt, shook his
head. “I think you’re being way too hard on the Skipper. The
stories I hear about the way most ships treat newcomers—and female
officers in particular—are enough to spin your fannies. Connie—how
would you like to spend your first two weeks on board as chamber
maid to a crewman you’ve insulted. And you know what the most
popular hazing for bluebirds is?”

Connie shook her head.

“
Typically, the yeomen assign the
prettiest girls to stand beside the urinals in the men’s room, and
clean them before—and after—every crewman conducts his business
there. And then she’s expected to thank the crewman for his
patronage, and ask him to come again.”

Connie winced. “Christ! And they let them do
things like that?”

“
That’s to teach the new officers
humility. To show them that they’re really no better than anyone
else on board, the one thing they never learn in officer’s school.
Hazing for the redshirts is usually less severe, but the purpose is
the same.”

Connie sat back in her chair. Humility
wasn’t the only thing they didn’t learn in Tech school. And if the
closeness of this call weren’t enough, she soon heard a voice in
the distance that made her skin crawl.

“
Connie—Connie!”

She looked to see Kirkland Dexter running
toward her, waving a piece of paper in his hand. Briefly, she
looked at the ceiling, wondering whether the miserable snip would
literally dog her to the ends of the Universe. Worse, her
companions actually seemed to enjoy her predicament.

“
Hello, Dexter,” Gerlach said in his
heartiest voice, careful to ignore the fury in Connie’s eyes. “Why
don’t you join us?” Dexter was a pest, he thought, but essentially
harmless. In small doses his effect on McKenzie was worth the
aggravation.

“
Hey—thanks, guys. You know, I’ve been
so busy since we arrived that I haven’t had much chance to
socialize.”

“
Here, have some nice, reconstituted
chocolate cake,” said Martindale. “I’ve had all I
want.”

“
Gee, thanks,” said Dexter.
Martindale had eaten exactly one forkfull, and for a good reason.
CosGuard Chocolate bore the same resemblance to the real thing as
shoe polish bore to shoes. Dexter stuffed an oversized bite into
his mouth, never stopping to let his taste buds register their
verdict with his brain.

“
But you know what—I’ve seen the
list!” he mumbled. Cake crumbs fell down his chin, onto his
standard blues.

“
What are you babbling about?” Connie
asked sharply.

“
The list! The assignment list.
Captain Cook posted the assignment list on the bulletin board not
five minutes ago. We have our first permanent assignments, now.
Imagine, no more waking up in the morning—or however they describe
it on the Cosmic Clock—not knowing where you’ll be spending the
day, or what foul-mouthed yeoman will be watching that day, waiting
for you to screw up. I tell you, we’re really moving up in the
world.”

“
So, Dexter,” Gerlach said, winking
slyly at Connie. “What are the assignments?”

“
Oh, I’ve got it right here.” Dexter
handed the paper to Gerlach, who snatched it greedily. He laughed
as his two friends scanned the list eagerly, hunting for their
names, and smiled at their redshirted companion, whose name he
didn’t remember.

“
I don’t see us here,
Dexter.”

Dexter giggled louder than before. “I
removed your names. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

“
Dexter! “ Gerlach menaced.

“
Relax—I wouldn’t play games with you
guys for no reason. You know all those bridge drills we all hate?
Where Mr. Ashton keeps yelling at everybody in spitting distance
and we never seem to beat the simulator?”

Gerlach and Connie both nodded in suspense,
almost afraid to believe that what they thought might be true.

“
Well, you sure impressed somebody,
because Gerlach, you’ve been accepted as a Weapons Officer
Apprentice. And Connie—you’re the ship’s new apprentice
navigator.”

Dexter watched as his companions hugged each
other and cheered. He smiled in his odd sort of way, adjusting his
thick glasses as they started falling down his nose. One of these
days, he told himself, he had to see the ship’s doctor about his
myopia, but right now he just didn’t have the time. Finally, his
friends finished their initial round of celebrating.

“
This calls for a toast,” said
Gerlach. “Let’s see if we can bribe the galley crew to break open
the beer.” The others laughed.

“
What’s your assignment, Dexter?”
Connie asked smugly.

“
That’s the best part,” he giggled in
reply, nodding like a grinning jack-in-the-box. “I’m the new
Systems Officer Apprentice. We’ll all be working together on the
bridge. Isn’t that great?”

Connie and Gerlach were too stunned to
reply;. Martindale was too busy laughing.

“Enemy destroyed!
Hah!”
Weapons Officer Karen Palmer jumped up from her station and circled
around her chair in a victory dance. At forty, she was older than
the rest of the bridge crew, with blond-streaked hair and piercing
blue eyes. Today, for the first time, glee had chased the anger
from her face. It was the first kill they’d made at Difficulty
Level Two, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Commander
Ashton usually held his temper in fine trim for an hour, but after
that all bets were off. And they’d been living on borrowed time for
the last three simulations.

“
Lt. Palmer,” Jeremy laughed. “Let us
know when you’re ready.”

“
Can’t we take a break, Jeremy?” asked
Lt. Commander Ronald Talbert, the ship’s navigator. “We’ve been at
this for a long time already, and we’re starting to lose whatever
sharpness we had in the first place.”