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“When will I meet with the captain?” I asked.

She shrugged. “He’s ashore. He’ll probably stay there until we get underway. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t meet him until we’re setting out again.”

I looked at her dubiously. “Really?”

“Wang, I don’t know where you served before this, but DST is a small, locally run company. The captain’s wife lives here. When we’re in port, he goes down below to visit with her for a few days before we ship out again.” She shrugged. “It’s up to us to get the ship unloaded, reloaded, and ready to go.”

I must have still looked dubious, but she gave me a look that said, “He’s the captain. What are ya gonna do?”

I didn’t find it terribly reassuring, but I’d been aboard less than half a stan.

“You’ll find what you need to know about the ship, including the ships layout on your tablet. T’were me, I’d start exploring to make sure I could find everything.” She grinned. “Like the bridge.”

With that, she slipped out past my trunk and headed off down the passage.

“I’m on until noon,” she called back over her shoulder. “Expect a call from David about 11:30. If you get lost, bip me. I’ll be in the ship’s office.”

In a tick, I was alone again. I stood there listening to the ship, breathing shallowly through my mouth and trying to ignore the smell. After a moment or two of staring dumbly, I slid the grav trunk into the closet, flipped the lid, and started hanging my uniforms on the rod. A small set of drawers set into the closet provided room for socks, underwear, and other small clothes. I left my generic shipsuits in the bottom of the trunk, along with the folio of my mother’s papers, and closed and locked it. I double checked to make sure the grav pallet had engaged to the deck. I wouldn’t want that box sailing through the air in the event of a gravity failure.

I sat on my bunk, pulled down the desktop, and started reviewing deck plans on my tablet. I had almost two stans before I could expect to hear from the first mate. I intended to use the time wisely.

The layout seemed pretty straight forward. There really were a finite number of ways that the massive solar clippers could be configured. The unique cargo container designed for the Bar Bell hull class created an interesting collection of ship’s spaces. I was anxious to take a look at the environmental controls.

The smell was getting to me.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT
D
IURNIA
O
RBITAL
2358-
J
ULY-6

Figuring to beat the summons, I reported to the ship’s office at 11:30. The door was open and Ms. Novea was there with what looked like an astrogation update running. She glanced up as I tapped on the door frame.

“Well, you found your way here, okay,” she said.

“I was looking for the mess deck.”

“Oh, that’s back down the passage—” She saw the grin on my face and realized it for a joke. “So that’s the way you are!” she said with a smirk.

I just shrugged. “I like to try.”

“Well, just remember,” she scolded. “There’s no second chance to make a first impression.”

Her mock scowl told me a lot about her. I felt the knot unwinding a little in my gut.

I tried to look contrite. It wasn’t my strong suit.

“So, have you managed to find your way around?” she asked.

I stepped into the office and sat at one of the side chairs. “I’ve been the length of the spine, stuck my head into the mess deck, and found my way to the bridge. The gym doesn’t look like it gets much use,” I added.

I figured it was too soon for me to say much more about what I thought of those spaces, being the new guy aboard and all.

“Wow! You’ve had the tour,” she said. “See anything interesting?”

The question was light and carefully neutral. Not casually light and neutral, rather a studied tone. She looked at me flat on with one eyebrow arched.

Just as carefully, I answered very lightly, “Oh, a little of this and a little of that. I’ll need a bit more time to find the really interesting things, I’m sure.”

The corners of her mouth twitched upward just slightly, and the tension in her eyebrows relaxed. Apparently I had passed the test.

A skinny spacer apprentice in a grimy shipsuit exploded into the office and skidded to a halt. Above her pocket was the name Nart. She started to say something to Ms. Novea but caught sight of me sitting there and gawped as if in total surprise.

“You the new third?” she blurted without preamble—or apparent thought, adding “sar” about two beats too late.

“I am. Ishmael Wang,” I said and held out my hand.

Nart looked at the hand, glanced at Ms. Novea, and then looked back to me. I’m not sure what she was looking for but she eventually took my offered hand, gave it a single shake, and pulled back quickly.

“Nice to meet you…Nart, is it?” I prompted.

“Oh, yes, sar,” she mumbled. “Ulla Nart.”

Ms. Novea apparently took a little pity on the girl and informed me, “Ms. Nart is my messenger of the watch.” Turning to the spacer she asked, “And do you have a message for me?”

“Oh, yes, sar,” she said again, focusing her eyes inward, she struggled to remember. Finally she said, “Mr. Burnside sends his compliments, sar, and will relieve you as soon as he’s changed into a shipsuit.”

Ms. Novea smiled. “Thank you, Ulla. Would you find Mr. Apones and be ready to relieve the watch, please?”

“Aye, sar,” she said and dashed out of the office.

“Comment, Mr. Wang?” Ms. Novea asked.

She must have seen the bemused expression on my face.

I held up my hand to show the streak of—something—that the handshake had left across my palm.

“Hygiene isn’t a high priority with the crew?” I asked. “And you can call me Ish.”

“Arletta,” she said. “It’s hard to get them to deal with it,” she added with a little shrug. “You’ll see.”

I nodded slowly and tried to keep my face neutral. Something was definitely rotten in the state of Norway, as my mother might have said. “So, what do I need to look out for?” I asked, lowering my game face a little.

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

I glanced out the door once in an exaggerated show of conspiratorial concern. “You know. Every ship has its problems. The troublesome able spacer. The sticky hatch—” I looked at her and my joking statements choked off when I saw the look on her face.

Very precisely and with more heat than I would have expected, she carefully replied, “They’re a good crew, Mr. Wang. They deserve—”

“Our respect and support?” her statement was interrupted by a voice from the doorway. I turned to see a broad-shouldered man in a shipsuit looming there. The first mate pips on his collar told me who he was even before I saw the name Burnside on his chest.

Arletta’s face turned professionally bland. “Exactly. Respect and support.”

She stood from her station and I followed her lead.

“David, this is Ishmael Wang. He’s our new third.”

I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I held out my hand without thinking. “Mr. Burnside.” I acknowledged his introduction.

He grimaced at my dirty hand and didn’t shake it. “Mr. Wang, welcome aboard.”

I remembered the encounter with Nart and pulled my hand back. “Oh, sorry about that. I just met one of the crew and haven’t had a chance to deal with this yet.”

Arletta reached into a drawer and handed me a box of sani-wipes.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

Mr. Burnside merely grunted and turned to Arletta. “Okay, hon, what’s the scoop?”

I was glad that Mr. Burnside wasn’t paying any attention to me, because the blatant informality of that “hon” took me aback for just a heartbeat. The rituals of watch standing were well documented and engraved on the souls of spacers. Referring to any watch stander as “hon” while in the process of relieving the watch was an appalling breach of etiquette.

“Ship’s status nominal. Refueling completed and stores are due for delivery in the morning. Home office reports that the can for Breakall will be ready for us on the eighth and we’ll be getting underway on time. Mr. Wang reported for duty at 09:00 and his system credentials and mass limits have been established.”

“How are the astrogation updates coming?” he asked.

“Almost done. I should have them completed by this time tomorrow,” she replied.

I started to say something about automated updates, but thought better of it.

Mr. Burnside nodded. “Okay, clear out. I’ll see ya at midnight.”

He picked up the ship’s phone. “Make the announcement,” he said brusquely. “Log it at 11:45” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

I blinked at the ships chrono at the numbers 12:05 and noticed Mr. Burnside looking at me with a “do you want to make a comment” expression on his face. I shut my mouth and kept it carefully closed.

The overhead speaker pinged once and a woman’s voice said, “Now hear this. First section has the watch. First section has the watch.”

Arletta logged herself off the work station, grabbed her tablet and coffee cup, and stepped aside so Mr. Burnside could take the chair. She crossed the office and was about to step into the passage when a beefy rating who looked a lot older than the normal spacer apprentice stepped into the door frame and stood there blocking her exit. Arletta stopped and waited, a sardonic grimace on her face while her back was to Mr. Burnside.

“Thank you, Apones,” Mr. Burnside said. “Please check the status of the brow watch and bring me a coffee on your way back.” His words were—marginally—businesslike but his attitude was slightly dismissive.

The man rumbled a brief, “Aye, sar,” and removed himself from the door.

Arletta stepped quickly out of the office and turned in the opposite direction toward Officers’ Country.

It took me a tick to process the interaction. It looked—from where I was standing—that Apones purposely blocked Arletta’s passage out of the office and then stood there until he was told to move. For her part, she hadn’t seemed too surprised by the maneuver.

“So, Ishmael,” Mr. Burnside said in a bland tone.

I turned to look at him. “Mr. Burnside,” I acknowledged, responding to his informal goad with carefully prescribed formality.

He stared at me for a moment, his expression held a certain amount of pity—or maybe it was resignation. I couldn’t be sure.

“You’re fresh out of school, wet behind the ears, and way out of your depth. Keep your eyes open, your mouth shut, and try to learn to be an officer. What you learned at the academy is only an introduction, and now it’s time for you to get off the playground and into the ring. I don’t care what you think. I don’t wanna know about your problems. Your job is not to bring me problems but to solve the problems and bring me the solutions. That’s going to be a problem for you, because you’re too green to know what a problem is, but eventually, given enough time and incentive”—here his eyes took on a menacing gleam—”you’ll eventually learn the difference between a solution and a problem. Do I make myself clear, Ishmael?”

“Crystal clear, Mr. Burnside,” I replied carefully.

He was being deliberately provocative in his manner and attitude. I resolved not to give him an edge to cut me with. I’d seen this “alpha male” attitude before but didn’t really understand it.

“Do you have any requirements for me during this watch?” I asked.

I hoped that catering to his need for control would defuse his animosity.

“What do you think you should do?” he asked in return.

He was still testing me. I needed to get a collection of shipsuits at the appropriate livery. Until I was actually on the crew, the orbital’s chandlery wouldn’t issue them. I probably should have attended to that instead of touring the ship, but I was loath to leave so soon after coming aboard. I considered my priorities for about four heartbeats before responding.

“I need to order some shipsuits, get my systems and communications credentials established, familiarize myself with the systems configuration and backup procedures. I need to know more about the ship’s layout, and review the standing orders for in port responsibilities for Officer of the Day. I’ll need to review the procedures for getting underway, debarkation protocols, and standing orders for bridge watch standers underway.” I paused, considered that to be sufficient to the moment and asked, “Do you have any preferences as to which I do first?”

Mr. Burnside targeted me with a baleful stare for about half a tick, then turned to his terminal without responding. A few keystrokes later, my tablet bipped indicating a changed status and I looked to see that he’d given me the system’s access I needed to perform my systems manager duties.

“You’ve inherited training officer so you’ll be running the ratings exams and coordinating the ship’s drills. Please see the standing orders regarding those drills and don’t make the same mistakes your predecessors did. Required drills will be held during day watch on the day before the required ratings exam period. I trust I don’t need to tell you what those dates are?”

It was another challenge.