Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) (21 page)

Mako, aware that Alex’s nickname in the Fleet was ‘von Supernova’, grinned at that. 

‘Someone told me that you’d be taking the night watch, tonight,’ he observed, this having been one of the things the crew had mentioned, keen to tell him what a good skipper he was. 

‘Well, yes.’  Alex agreed.  ‘I take the night watch, myself, usually, the night after a launch.  That’s common in the Fleet as a consideration for officers who will have been working very hard already, all day.  Skippers are expected to need less sleep, see.  Many in the Fleet believe, in fact, that we are given special training to be able to go for up to five days without sleep and still be high performance functional.  And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.  It’s ‘skipper mythology’ in the Fleet, that, which the Fleet encourages because they feel it gives the crew more confidence in you.  I think that’s rubbish, myself.  But I can certainly pull a triple watch without strain so don’t worry about that.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ Mako said, and was a little surprised to find that was actually true.  ‘I’m having the time of my life,’ he admitted.  ‘Though I suspect that I may still be on some kind of adrenalin high because right now I’m feeling like I may never need to go to sleep ever again.’

Alex gave a low chuckle.  ‘That’s an endorphin high, rather than adrenalin,’ he told him.  ‘You’re mildly euphoric.  Which isn’t a problem, enjoy it while it lasts.  Though if you don’t mind a suggestion – just a suggestion, no more – I’d say that even though you feel that you could stay awake for ever, it would be a good idea for you to make a move fairly soon.  Try to relax on your bunk even if you don’t think you’ll sleep.’

‘You’re starting to look just a little bug-eyed, dear boy.’  Buzz informed him, kindly, which made Mako laugh, but got him nodding agreement, too.

‘Yes, okay.  Fair enough,’ he said, and was conscious that it had not only been one heck of a day, but that he had hardly got any sleep the night before, either,
and
was time zoning, his personal time two hours ahead of the ship.  It was hardly surprising that he was starting to get bug-eyed and manic, really.  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he conceded, and got up, shaking hands briefly with both of them, adding a smile to the formality.  ‘Thank you,’ he said.  ‘And goodnight!’

____________________

Chapter Seven

Three days later Mako came up the ladder onto the command deck, swinging off with an ease that was becoming habitual.  

‘Compo,’ he said, when Alex paused in his reading to look at him enquiringly, ‘to Midsec.  Compo is the composite machine space right aft on deck one.  From there for’ard, through Bio, down portside airlock hatch to mess deck.  Aft, again, starboard, through Turrets, down the hatch into engines, up over the high gantry and down the crawl space into the stack of eight cores known as Midsec.’

‘Very good, Mr Ireson,’ the skipper grinned, and Mako grinned too with what he felt to be justifiable pride.

He had learned a great deal in the last three days, and not just how to find his way about the ship physically, either, or mastering shipboard jargon.  He had been training intensively in freefall skills.

His first training session had not gone well to start with.  After nearly two hours, he’d been about ready to give up, but Rangi Tekawa had kept him going, encouraging and supporting.  Just as he’d promised, there came a moment when Mako got it, when his brain was able to over-ride his body’s instincts to flounder.  With several more training sessions he had mastered the art of going up and down zero gee ladders with some dignity, if not any great degree of speed.  He could put on a suit, too, in freefall, getting that down to under twenty seconds. 

He was falling into shipboard routines, too, and absorbing shipboard culture.  It no longer surprised him in the mornings to wake up and find himself in a starship bunk.  He no longer had to think about how to use the coffin-sized shower and mealtimes were already an established routine.  The officers ate the same food as the ratings, though rather absurdly CPO Martins transferred theirs into rather posher serving dishes before bringing it to the wardroom for them.  Mako ate on the mess deck sometimes too, where they made him very welcome.  He certainly did not need to think any more about finding his way around the ship, feeling more at home here every day.

‘So – what’s my next microstep, Skipper?’ he asked, half-joking, but keen to make a success of this.  And it
was
important, professionally, as well as a matter of personal pride.  The crew had given him a cheer when he’d demonstrated his ability to scramble into a suit in a freefall drill the day before and he’d had many compliments for the way he was ‘digging in’.  That was gratifying personally, to be sure, but professionally, too, he was noting how it was changing the relationship.  Demonstrating willingness to learn about their world was all it took to get them talking far more frankly to him at an intelligent level instead of leading him about by the hand and talking to him like a child.

Alex grinned, and obviously did not need to think about that.  ‘Would you object to us involving you in drills or training exercises as a casualty or something of that sort?’

‘Not at all!’  Mako assured him, rather more pleased than otherwise.  He was getting to grips with drills, too.  Now that he could suit up within a safe amount of time, he was allowed to take part in freefall drills, though his part thus far consisted of assuming the tow-position and allowing crew to move him about the ship.  He had not yet, however, been allowed any part in action drills.  ‘I’d like that, thanks!’  he said.

‘All right, we’ll organise that for you in the next couple of days then,’ Alex said.  ‘But for right now…’  He touched a companel.  ‘Martins, would you issue Mr Ireson with a couple of shipboard rigs, please.’

‘Be right there, sir,’ the steward said.

Mako gave a rather embarrassed grin.  He had been wearing the most casual of the clothes he’d brought once they’d left port, but he still felt himself to be conspicuous as the only person on the ship in civilian clothes.  Alex had mentioned in a previous conversation that they might give him some uniforms without insignia to wear aboard ship but had apparently forgotten about it since.  Mako hadn’t liked to press the matter, but with the rig being provided as an acknowledgement of his efforts in mastering the jargon and routes about the ship, he felt as shy and delighted as if he’d won an award.

‘
Thank
you, Skipper!’  he said, with the happiest of smiles, as CPO Martins came onto the command deck, obviously prepared for that order since he already had the uniforms ready to give him.

The two packets he handed to Mako were so small he could hold them both in one hand.  Mako knew enough now not to be surprised by that.  The Fleet had long ago perfected the art of super-compact packing of supplies.  They even did that with food, as Mako had discovered when exclaiming over the range and quantity of fresh breads that were served at every meal.  They had shown him in the galley how the bread came packed, tiny and dense like plastic wrapped bullets, and the system they used to depressurise, ‘inflate’ and rehydrate them, puffing them up into full size.

‘Thank you,’ Mako took the packets from the steward.  He no longer even remembered how uncomfortable he’d felt around Martins when he’d first come aboard.  Chartsey was said to be the most cosmopolitan of worlds but Mako had never met anyone with such an extreme body-form before, so squat, with such little neck and heavy facial features.  Mako had felt embarrassed, and ashamed of feeling embarrassed, and in his efforts to be ‘normal’ with him, had felt himself to be anything but.  Now, though, he had come to know Martins for his quiet efficiency and dry humour, seeing past the genome as he got to know the man.  He had come to like him, too, noticing the same kind of qualities in him as with the other petty officers.

And he did know, now, that a Fleet petty officer was not the same as an army sergeant.  They had forgiven him that one, though there’d been something of a sharp intake of breath and a moment there before Hali had started laughing and everyone else had cracked up too.

He had been exclaiming in innocent surprise over her being allowed to hold the watch, effectively commanding the ship.  It had taken quite some explaining for him to understand that a Chief Petty Officer was the equivalent of a Sub-Lt in every respect but the commission.  A CPO could hold watches or head up departments.  On Minnow, each of the officers had a CPO or PO who was their shadow or assistant, with Hali as the most senior of them assisting the Exec with shipboard management and admin.  CPO Martins, as the next senior, assisted Lt Fishe.  He too was, indeed, qualified and trained to be able to take command of the ship if need be. 

So no, they were not ‘the same as army sergeants’, which Mako had apologised for once he’d realised how insulting the Fleet considered that to be.  Fleet petty officers did not shout at people either.  If the ones he was getting to know on Minnow were any kind of guide, they were characterised by a friendly, good-natured manner, capable and unfailingly courteous.  That was true of the crew as a whole, he felt.  Even if they just couldn’t help but laugh at the daft things he said, they never made him feel mocked.

They gave him a cheer, too, when he ventured out of his quarters a little later wearing Fleet rig for the first time.

‘Nice one, Mr I.’  Leading Star Ali Jezno was in training to become a petty officer and was one of the crew with particular responsibility for keeping Mako safe.  He did rather tend to treat him as if Mako was about six years old, explaining safety procedures to him slowly and clearly and asking him to repeat things back to show he’d understood, but he was very good natured with it.  Mako was more grateful for that than otherwise, knowing that Ali would just keep explaining things patiently until he understood.  He did also, however, appear to be of the view that Mako could not support life without being offered coffee and snacks every few minutes.  ‘Fancy some toast?’ he offered, as well as indicating the coffee machine. 

‘No, thanks!’  Mako laughed.  ‘Honestly, I’m good!’

He ended up having a cookie, anyway, though, to celebrate, as Ali and the others there insisted while pulling his leg about being an honorary crewman now.  And that, as he settled down with them at one of the social tables to enjoy a cosy chat, felt just fine by Mako.

____________________

Chapter Eight

The next day Mako went onto the command deck, his pocket comp in his hand and a perplexed expression on his face.  Dan Tarrance, he knew, was holding the watch, and seemed the logical person to go to with a computer problem. 

The Sub was obviously busy.  There was only a minimum crew on the command deck, doing routine watch keeping and chatting quietly amongst themselves.  Besides the watch screens he was keeping an eye on, though, the computer officer had a ferociously complex set of screens covering a lot of the table.  Some of them were streaming data while others had the flashing red border that signified that their contents were highly classified.  Mako did not look too closely at those, though in fact the Sub had engaged a blur-function anyway so that only someone looking at the screens from his seat could see them clearly. 

‘Sorry to bother you,’ Mako said, since the Sub had paused with a pen in his hand and the manner of a man holding complicated thoughts in his head whilst dealing with an interruption.  ‘But my comp is making weird noises every time I go to use a file management function.’  He demonstrated, attempting to open a file at which the comp in his hand went ‘
Haka
!’

The command deck crew laughed and Dan Tarrance grinned tolerantly.

‘You’ve been pranked,’ he told him.  ‘Your comp has got hiccups.’  He touched a companel.  ‘A/S Dorlan to the command deck.’  Then, reassuringly, to the inspector, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll soon sort it out.’

Jok Dorlan came up from the mess deck below, looking rather startled. 

‘You wanted me, sir?’ he queried.

‘Yes – Mr Ireson’s comp has been pranked,’ the Sub informed him.  As Jok Dorlan immediately looked stricken, almost panicky, Dan gave him an easy smile.  ‘I’m not accusing you,’ he assured him.  ‘It’s just that I’m up to my eyes in it this morning, so if you could help out and have a look at it for me, I’d appreciate it.’

‘Yes sir,’ said the rating, though still looking anxious, ‘It
wasn’t
me, sir,’ he promised, earnestly, even turning a little pale.  ‘I wouldn’t, sir, honestly!’

‘I know that,’ the Sub smiled, his tone pleasantly amused.  ‘And it
is
only a prank – someone has given his file management hiccups.  So if you could just take a look, that’d be great.’

‘Yes sir.’  Jok said, and pulled himself together, turning to Mako with a professional focus.  ‘Is it just when you use the comp, or any screen?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’  Mako admitted.  He had been working on his comp in the wardroom, updating the report that he would be sending off to Chartsey on the next liner they crossed paths with.  ‘I was just using the comp when it started making funny noises.  It won’t have damaged my files, will it?’

‘Highly unlikely, sir.’  Jok Dorlan said.  ‘But if you could please log in to your workspace on the datatable and see if you get any blarts there.  I need to know, you see, whether the subroutine is specific to the comp or whether it’s attached to your user ID.’