Chapter 21
“If you speak threats, realize that you give voice to either ego or fear. Act or do not act; do not waste your words upon threats.”
Devlin Sinclair-Maru, Integrity Mirror
Second shift, second full day of Tanager’s cruise, barely minutes into the shift, Deckchief Church assembled all the department chiefs. The scalding pot of salted Fleet coffee stood as the table’s centerpiece, each noncom around the table cherishing their morning mugs. Church held his peace as they settled in. Amos Cray, the engineering chief, chuckled and puffed into his steaming mug, while Sandi Patel from Weapons section edged away from him, grimacing. Church knew Amos Cray well, from more than one prior cruise together, and he knew the man’s brilliance well enough to ignore his peculiarities.
Phillipa Baker, the ops chief, he did not know, but thus far she seemed a solid, efficient department chief. She surveyed her peers rather coolly, it appeared, but no clear evidence of her opinion showed upon her rather long, angular face.
The ship services chief clearly displayed his feelings, his thick heavyworld features stretched into a jovial smile, beaming at his peers through the rising steam of his mug. Karl Grund apparently loved a morning meeting, or coffee, or both.
Time to test the mettle of these potentates.…
Church sipped from his cup, exhaled steam, and said, “You’ve had the better part of a day to settle in. You can see what we’re working with. Every section is short on ratings, but those we have are mostly good. The questions are: How do we crew three watches at the same time we’re in workup? And how do we handle critical crewing for battle stations?”
Amos Cray raised his eyebrows and nodded knowingly, but instead of speaking he slurped noisily from his mug.
Sandi Patel curled a disdainful lip, edging even farther from Amos. She looked over at Church. “Weapons section is fine. Three watches, battle stations, whatever. This ain’t my first float.”
Church worked to keep the irritation from his face. He knew from long experience that the Weapons section would be the hardest hit by short crewing. Where much of even very old vessels like Tanager functioned through microcircuits and pure automation, the Weapons section handled a vast number of grossly mechanical systems, heavy loads, and physical inventories of massive munitions. They needed human muscles, human hands, particularly for battle stations and actual combat. At best, Sandi Patel displayed hubris, or a blinding incomprehension of reality.
Ops Chief Phillipa Baker seemed to mirror Church’s feelings. She turned her gaze, regarding Sandi Patel narrowly, her eyebrows raising. Sandi glowered under the inspection.
“Ship services scrapes along with a will, mates,” Karl Grund boomed. “This new food-fab is a positive joy, thanks to the captain’s open hand, bless ’im. The ship geist is sharp as a bee sting so we barely have to think for ourselves in my section. Shipshape, mates, all shipshape.”
“So if we need a couple hands, you could spare someone for a watch, Grund?” Church asked.
“Not watch on watch, maybe, Deckchief, but for a clean sweep or action, sure, sure.”
Church turned to Baker. “Ops?”
Chief Baker frowned slightly, sipped from her mug, and looked past Church. “Lieutenant Ruprecht doesn’t play well with others. He’s already restructured my watch schedule, changed my duty assignments, and explained my duties to me in small words.”
“Oh,” Church said. He would not openly criticize an officer, and such strong words from Phillipa Baker told him that Lieutenant Ruprecht’s conduct must be beyond the pale. She was an old pro, and for her to say so much actually spoke volumes more.
“Do you have your crewing handled?” Church asked.
Chief Baker shrugged. “Adequate. Unless something shifts, my hands are just about tied, so don’t look for much help from my quarter.”
“Another captain thinkin’ the bridge is the center of the galaxy,” Sandi Patel spat. “It’s a disease. We’ll have the lot of them strutting about, checkin’ for dust with white gloves!”
Deckchief Church felt momentarily shocked at the outburst. Aside from the fact that the ship Intelligence heard all, her condemnation did not seem anchored to reality.
“Clap a stopper on that,” Church said. Sandi Patel smirked and looked away.
“Cray?” Church said, turning to the cantankerous engineer. “How’s your section shaping up?”
Amos Cray blew into his cup and slurped another noisy mouthful. “Oh, well enough, I s’pose.” He slurped again and Sandi Patel visibly grimaced. “Got this youngster Ops officer, a’course, since we got no proper engineering stiff, ya see?”
Church did see. Ruprecht would be a headache for two sections: Ops and Engineering.
“Seems this Ops kid might be a sight better on third watch with old Roush, ya see? Wonder if the cap’n would ever think on that. Be right clever.”
Church made a mental note although he didn’t know what Cray was hoping to achieve. What difference would it make if Ruprecht raised hell on second or third watch? Still, in the years he’d known Amos Cray, Church had learned to value every crazy-sounding syllable the old coot ever uttered.
“And your crewing, Chief?” Church asked.
“Crew now, that there’s an issue, sure enough,” Cray said. “Workup’ll be no burn, to speak of. Battle stations…a drill we’d ride out. Combat? Combat’s a different horse, ya see?”
Sandi Patel snorted. “In this little raft we won’t ever see combat.”
Amos Cray continued as if Sandi Patel had never spoken. “Combat’s a different horse. Weps section and us, we’ll be too deep to breathe. We’ll need hands.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sandi said.
“You ask the geist how many times that old musket’s jammed?” Amos demanded, looking at Sandi for the first time. “Damned near every time they fire it, is the answer. Didn’t know that, didja?”
“I said I got it under control,” Sandi Patel growled, covering her anger and chagrin. Clearly she did not know.
“When the fire’s hot, heat sinks cookin’ off, relays fusin’, all hands thinkin’ about breathing hard vac, we’ll need help. Combat’ll test us, sure.”
“You seem to expect action. Know something we don’t?” Phillipa Baker said.
Amos Cray chuckled, looking about conspiratorially before leaning into the tight circle. “Ask yourselves a little sumpin’, mates. In all Fleet, what officer ever tangled with the rebs twice? Our XO, that’s who. An’ ask yourself why the cap’n, known to be in cahoots with certain old sods we daren’t name, chose to pick her?”
“Is that all—” Sandi Patel started.
“Then cast an eye south, eh? Platoon o’ cutthroats led by a certain major—Major! Why? With six sets o’ battledress lined up back there, waitin’ patient. We’re in it for sure, mates. We’re in for a fight, ya hear me?”
Deckchief Church slowly nodded as the others looked at each other. “I hear you, Chief,” Church said. “I hear you.”