Stepping Up (6 page)

“Shownya?” I hear Gorb crackle in my ear, “I’m going to get
lunch, I’ll be back later.” 
Do I…no, it’s not set to always on.
  Then
he didn’t hear me—directly—cursing that bolt that wouldn’t break free.

I key my microphone. “Okay, Gorb.”  When he gets back I go.

After my shift, I make my way forward and up to the lounge. 
It’s not far from my stateroom. That’s convenient.  The lounge is very nice and
tastefully decorated, bigger than I would have expected. There are murals on
the walls depicting several battles.  I’m guessing
Night Searcher
was
involved in them.  These are the maps and charts, but there are a few
photographs also.  There are also several portraits, most likely famous
Captains and/or beloved crewmen. The image of the stars streaking by the
forward window—view port—is mesmerizing.

Looking around, I see two women sitting by the wall. Two
guys that look like techies share a table in the middle, and a group of seven
men and women sit around a large table in the upper area that looks out over
the bow.  That is the noisiest crowd.

The bartender is a very cute brunette with short, stylish
hair. “What can I get you, honey? I’m Rachel.” She sets the obligatory napkin
on the bar.

“Hi, I’m Sonia.  Have any stouts?  If not, anything dark and
fermented is good.  Preferably at room temperature.” She brings the drink.  I’m
impressed, the glass is not warm, but it isn’t cold.  “Thanks. So who does a
new girl approach for conversation without having to worry about fighting off
an octopus later?”

We shake hands across the bar. “Not inclined to visit the
broom closet? Well, that rules out the boys at the upper table. But should you
change your mind, I guess you can take your pick of them. Those two techies
over there, Ron and Johan, don’t like girls if you catch my meaning, but they
are really nice guys. And they are actually fun to be around.  Those two women
over there are about as snobby as women get, but really good pilots.”

I dip my hand absentmindedly into a bowl of peanuts on the
bar.  “When I came aboard, I saw a man with metal gloves and boots. He had a
respirator strapped across his throat.  I haven’t seen him since, but I noticed
Aria practically kowtow to him.  Who is he?”

“Oh, that’s Captain Prowse. Good man. Don’t let that hooded
tunic stuff mess with your head. I mean take him seriously, of course.  He
literally holds the power of life and death over everyone aboard.  But he isn’t
a gothic monstrosity.  Rumor is he got caught in a serious plasma accident
years ago. He also wears some sort of a bio unit that helps him breathe.  I
think he opted for the hood because what hair he still has is pretty thin.  And
with the scars he gets stared at either way.  Perhaps he thinks fear and awe
are better than compassion and pity. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some drinks
to pour.”

Rachel gets busy when about a dozen more people come in. 
I’ll take a chance with Ron and Johan, so I approach their table.  “Hi guys, my
name is Sonia.  Do you mind if I join you?”

They stand and we all shake hands.  “Please do, I’m Ron,
this is Johan.  Is that a stout? That’s an unusual drink for a woman.” 

Ron looks like Joe Average, but Johan is definitely making a
fashion statement.  His scalp is shaved except for a strip of hair two inches
wide that creeps from his eyebrows to the base of his skull.  And the shade of
yellow dye doesn’t occur in nature, at least not among mammals. He snips at
Ron, “Like you would know anything about what women like.  Hi Sonia, welcome to
Night Searcher
. I suppose you came aboard at Tammuz?”  I sit, they sit.

“I did.  I’m in the Engineering department.  And I like
stouts.  I think they are best when warm. I find it brings out the flavors to
their maximum potential.  Anybody can drink them cold.  So what’s life like on
Night
Searcher?
”

“It’s pretty exciting, actually,” Ron says. “We do a lot of
different missions. I handle the robots and targeting systems. Johan works on
the computer displays and the occasional auxiliary system here and there.”

Johan adds, “You’re likely to see me anywhere.  I work for
Controls And Instrumentation.  Except for robotics.  Those people are just too
cranky.” Ron makes a face at him.

“Well, if they break or need upgrades you may or may not see
my smiling face.  Help a sister out, just looking around, I see more than the
occasional infantry type. Does the ship do a lot of fighting?”  Another group
of Troopers has come in.  Before Ron can answer, one of the biggest stops by
our table.

In a deep booming voice, he says, “Ron and Johan, my
favorite butt-buddies! Who’s the hot bimbo?” 
Bimbo? Oh, no he didn’t.
 
I fix him with a withering glare. To his credit, he returns it just as evenly.

“Beat it Jackson.  Don’t make me call your sergeant again.”
Johan hasn’t yelled. He hasn’t physically done anything even remotely
threatening.  He barely looked up from his drink.  But the Trooper raises his
hands, backs away and quickly joins his friends. 
What happened when he
did
call the sergeant?
I can’t help but wonder.

As though nothing happened, Ron says, “Some fights, maybe
more than our share.  But mostly salvage missions that no one else wants to
take on.”

“Or can.  Some of our missions are pretty tough nuts to
crack.”  Johan adds.  “Wasn’t that how we lost our last Chief Sergeant?”

Ron nods.

“Why do some people have ranks or titles but others don’t?”
I ask.

“The Captain and some of his senior staff have titles.
Commander this, Lieutenant that.” Ron explains, “The Troopers have a
military-ish system, so they use ranks.  Trooper, Sergeant, Chief Sergeant, but
they try to keep it minimal.  For them it’s a sort of command and control
thing.  For us lowly star-faring workaday types, it’s more functional than
anything.  A department head will use the title ‘chief.’  Or educational
titles, like Dr. Sinnair, your boss.  He is the number one engineer aboard, so
he gets the title ‘Chief Engineer.’”

Johan points a thumb at the retreating Trooper. “Oh, and
don’t mind Jackson, he’s as dumb a grunt as they come,” he opines. “But he’ll
do anything for you.”

“Granted,” Ron chimes in. “Of course, you’ll have to listen
to him brag about coming to your rescue.  Often.”

“It’s the curse of being a pretty girl.  There’s always some
knuckle-dragger waiting around to make life miserable.  Anyway, it sounds like
it’s going to be an adventure.  Thanks for the company, boys, but it’s time for
me to get some shuteye. Catch you later?”

Both of them stand. “I hope so, maybe we could discuss super
conductor theories over a cold beer one day?” asks Ron.

“Or which Troopers aren’t attached.” Johan catches the
immediate glare from Ron. “What?”

“Engineering,” Aria’s voice is in my earpiece, “we are
reading a temperature fluctuation among the Transit drives.”

I see it, Aria
. I do some quick coolant flow
direction control so the drives cool uniformly.  “Roger, Bridge, I’ve got it
handled.  We’re green to secure from Transit.”

I switch to the private channel. “Gorb! 469B is showing a
drop in the coolant pressure.  Can you find out what caused it please?”

“Okay Shownya.”  The roar dies down.
Night Searcher
is no longer in Transit.  Gorb and I each take off our helmets.  I run a hand
through my hair, I’m sure I look like a…well, something that had its head stuck
in a helmet for several hours.  The post-Transit diagnostics begin.  I direct
the computer to send a copy of the results to my notebook.  That fluctuation
Aria mentioned isn’t a catastrophe, and I’m not going to let it become one. 
When I get some time I’m going to find out why it happened and what needs to be
corrected.

My workstation holoCom beeps. It’s Mack. “Yeah, Boss?”

Mack’s face fills the screen “When you get the Transit
drives put to bed, I need you to come to the LEO.” 
He’s not looking so
good. Must be something going on I don’t know about.

“Roger.” After shutting down the holoCom channel, I nail
down a few more interlocks and double check the computer’s diagnostic routine
of the engines.  I tell Gorb where I’m going and he gives me a thumbs up. 
He’ll finish a few details then get started on that coolant issue. If the
engines aren’t engaged, it’s time to fix whatever may be broken. And there is
always something that needs to be inspected, repaired, or replaced.

Preventative maintenance procedures typically have three categories: 
Before, During, and After.  Each is conducted at the appropriate time with
respect to the apparatus.  We’ll do the After maintenance checks when the
engines are cold.  When we get the warning order that Transit is approaching
we’ll do the Before inspections.

I knock on the door and obey the “Enter!” bellowed from
inside the LEO.  Mack has one bare foot in a tub of ice and water. “Hey,” he
says and looks up at me. “Wow, you look like hell. I need you to go down with
the shore party and do the Engineering shopping.  I would go, but I sprained my
ankle. Here’s the list and the credit chip.”  He hands me a pocket sized
digital clipboard and the chip.

I look over the parts list.  There’s nothing I don’t
recognize; I asked for over half of it. “My first trip on a starship and I get
to go on the shore party? My lucky stars must be ascending. I’ve never done
this before but I’m sure I can handle it.  Where do I need to be, when do I
need to be there, and besides the list and chip, what do I need to have?  And
if I come across any terrific bargains, do I have any discretionary money to
spend?”

“Easy girl.  Sit.  Stay.  Good girl.”  He grins. I look for
something to throw at him.  He moves his clipboard out of my reach.  “Be in the
Commons at 1900, Aria will give a briefing and one of the Troopers will lead
the party. There’s two million on that chip. You may charge hotels, meals, and
any parts not on the list that you can get for a good deal, but be prepared to
defend your decisions.”

“Wilco, Boss.  And thanks.”

I get to the brief a little early.  I have the company
chip in one pocket and my personal chip in another, just to make it harder for
me to get them mixed up.  There are already four people in the Commons, two men
and a woman I don’t know are with Aria. Since I’m the last to arrive, the
meeting starts on time.  “If you do not all know each other, Sonia MacTaggert
from Engineering, Needa Williams from Medical, and Troopers Freddie Call and
Stanley McQueen.” She points as she introduces us.  “Listen up:  You have a
maximum of two days but are subject to earlier recall. If you finish sooner, by
all means return.  Everyone has his or her shopping list.  Freddie, you and
Sonia will pair up. Ladies, these men are with you for your protection, so do
what they say when they say it. Get all the items your departments have ordered
and get it back here. You are authorized side arms to be carried openly. The
law level is pretty liberal, and you should not need to leave the starport. But
if you must, then use your best judgment. Should you run into any trouble that
the Troopers cannot handle the duress code is ‘Debi.’ And do not run afoul of
the local constabulary.  We do not have the time to work out your legal
problems and will depart without you.  Questions?”

I raise my hand and say, “I may be the only person who
doesn’t know, but what’s a duress code?”

“If you’re taken at gun point,” Stan explains, “or are in
some other kind of danger, it’s a code word you’ll use to let us know you’re in
trouble but the bad guy won’t know we know.”

“Just ask about ‘Debi’,” Aria says.  “Any other questions?”
There are none. “See you in forty eight or less.”  She has a status board in
place showing our assets.  There is a launch prepared. We have a dedicated
pilot, but just in case, Stanley and Needa are both small boat qualified.

As I leave, Freddie snarls at me “Small Craft bay in one
hour. Don’t be late.”

“I was early for this, wasn’t I?”

“So?”

“So I’ll be on time for the launch.” I get the feeling he
and I are going to bump heads.  Often.  Hopefully, there will be minimum
fallout and decreasing regularity.  I’m not wasting a smile on him.  Huffing,
he heads for the door. The meeting’s over and everyone heads for their rooms to
get overnight bags and side arms.

Needa pulls me to one side “Hey, Sonia, don’t worry. These
two are top notch. Ex-Special Forces, both of them.  Well,
former
Special Forces.  I don’t think there’s any such thing as ‘ex-Special Forces.’”

“Hi Needa. I feel safe, no doubt.  This is all so new to me
though; I’m almost giddy.  I’m babbling, aren’t I? Okay, I’ll be quiet now. 
I’ll see you in the Small Craft bay.”  I go to my room, strap on a shoulder
holster, do a quick function check on my pistol, top off the magazines, and
pack an overnight bag.  I make a quick pit stop in the ’fresher before heading
to the Small Craft bay.  One of Da’s rules:  Never take predicted presence of a
porcelain pot for granted.  I display the data on Saxon from the library on my
perCom:

SAXON:

Size: B.

ATMOSPHERIC: pressure is 1.03 kilogram per cubic
centimeter. Roughly 19% oxygen.

HYDROLOGY: 45%

POPULATION: 66 Billion

LAW LEVEL: Established police forces at all levels of
government but there is little cooperation between departments/agencies.

GOVERNMENT: Participating Democracy

STARPORT(s): 2. Parrukoo and Solorrom

Orbital Stations: 2 (1 Naval and 1 resort)

Moon(s): 2 (Astra and Leenor)

Saxon is roughly 11,000 miles in diameter. It has a
moderate climate in the equatorial areas that are the locations for most of the
cities, and cool to cold in the northern and southern regions.

Saxon’s primary sources of revenue are slavery, wheat,
precious stones, and uronium. About 22% of the population is employed in the
mining industry.

The two moons are Astra and Leenor. Astra is a Research Station
and Disease Colony, and Leenor is Militarily Restricted.

Prime Minister and his Council of Elders govern the
planet, all elected by the public. Starports are at Parrukoo (western
hemisphere) and Solorrom (eastern), these two huge cities support populations
of approximately 15 billion inhabitants each as of the census four years ago.

Saxon has two orbital stations, one naval and one luxury
resort, Lander’s Retreat. Lander’s Retreat is categorized as a seven star
resort. For the right price, people can go there for complete separation from
hectic lifestyles.

I meet the rest of the team in the Small Craft bay.  Freddie
checks my bag, Stan checks Needa’s, and then the guys check each other’s.  Once
they are satisfied, we all board the launch.  I sit next to Needa for the ride
down.  “Did you know Aria is an android?” I ask. “She seems so…human.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?  I heard she’s like three
hundred years old.”

“I can only imagine what she’s seen. I hope I look that good
at that age.”

“I can’t stretch my imagination that far.  You probably
will.  I bet you’ll keep your good looks for a very long time. But will you be
getting as much action as she is?” We both laugh.  The ditty aboard ship is: 
If it’s after eight/And you still need a date,/call Aria.

The ride down is uneventful.  Once the launch is down and
secure, Freddie wags his finger at me. “C’mon Powderpuff.  Let’s go buy your
hardware.  Gimme your list.”

I hand him the list and look around.  Tammuz was a dump
compared to this place.  I never expected a starport could look so much like a
shopping mall; there are people
everywhere
. And the place is so clean. 
It lacks the institutional gray of our starship and (thankfully) the third
world bazaar atmosphere of Tammuz.  If the plants aren’t real, they are very
convincing.  And the air! It smells deliciously unfiltered.

“That’s everything I need to get,” I tell Freddie, “I also
want to hit that old bookstore there.  If time allows I’d like to pick up some
new clothes from that boutique over there. Hey! A coffee stand! Care for a cup?
My treat.”

“Coffee sounds great.”  His head whips to my left.  “Beat it
you!” he roars at one of the young boys trying to sell me a trinket; he aims a
half-hearted kick at the kid. The child doesn’t look like he can be a day over
seven. “Watch those little weasels,” he tells me, “They’re slick.  One will
pluck your heartstrings while the other cuts your pocket open.  I’ll be in the
knife store over there while you’re looking at clothes.  But first let’s grab
that coffee and head to the industrial area.  Most of this stuff we can pick up
on the maintenance docks.  This way…” True to his word, Freddie lets me buy him
a cup of coffee.  He even orders an extra shot of espresso on my dime. 
What
a buddy, what a pal.

Two hours later I have an eighty percent solution, all being
delivered to the cutter.  The rest will have to be custom made.  Freddie takes
me to a machine shop he knows, where I explain to the proprietor what I need
and what I need it to do. “Twelve of them? I need nine hours.  Minimum.  And
I’ll need a fifty percent deposit before I mill the first piece of ducilium. 
Will you be picking them up or should I have them delivered? There is an
additional hundred credit charge for the delivery.”

I know we can rent an anti-grav cart for a lot less than a
hundred credits, so I say, “We’ll be picking them up.”

“No, we won’t,” Freddie counters, “we’ll need them delivered
to our boat.” Freddie tells him where the cutter is.  I look at him but I don’t
argue; it’s not that big a deal. We have to hit a few more shops, but in less
than three hours everything we need for the ship is either ordered for delivery
or will be ready for pickup.  One place has absolutely no delivery means. 
Price isn’t an object for him, capacity is.  He simply doesn’t have the means.

Once we’re done and outside, I tell Freddie, “Okay, you’ve
been following me around patiently.  Let’s go do the stuff you want to first,
then we’ll do mine.”

“Well aren’t you sweet.  If you want to tag along with me,
that’s fine.  But I ain’t going shopping with you, fuzzybritches.  The only way
I would help a woman pick out clothes is if I plan on taking her out of them
later.  And since females are not on my menu, that’s a big fat ‘never.’” I bow
up, preparing to argue but he cuts me off.  “Yeah, I know what Aria said.  I
also know she ain’t here and all you can do is rat me out.  So it ain’t
happening.  The stores we want to see are within eye sight and ear shot of one
another.”

“Okay, you’re the bodyguard type. But I thought we were
supposed to stay together.  We’ll do your stuff first, I won’t cry or whine. 
Besides, I may need your opinion on what looks good on me.  I promise not to
take too long.”

He cocks his head to one side, like a dog listening to
something, trying to identify the sound.  “You aren’t listening to me are you?
It’s. Not. Going. To. Happen.”

I know when I’m beat.  So I stick my tongue out at him and
head to the bookstore I saw.  In the ship’s history I learned about Michael
Sinnair and Peter Scholnich, both hailed as masters of their crafts, physics
and materials engineering, in that time.  But neither went out of their way to
publish anything.  I’m hoping that people who knew them did.  I scan through
the stacks and find a lone leather bound copy of
The Miraculous Ascension of
Dakor Lord Gerard Collins
written by his wife, Lady Sarah.  Lord Collins
was friend and benefactor to both men.  I don’t have time to delve into the
book now; the thing is well over two thousand pages.  I buy it with my personal
chip.  I doubt anybody would notice if I used the ship chip, but there is the
ethical aspect of it.  I did however let the ship pay for two texts on
theoretical physics and the latest in materials engineering, specifically as it
relates to cybernetic defensive and mobile combat systems.  The Troopers on
Night
Searcher
wear Class VII Strike Armor.  Legend has it Scholnich improved on
the Strike Armor of his day. But for reasons unknown, the
changes—improvements—didn’t become widely used or patented.  Nor did they
survive in the industry.  I think when he retired—or died—he took his secrets
and accomplishments with him.  Maybe I can learn something and improve on the
contemporary Class VII.

At the clothing store I spend two hundred credits on a
yellow blouse, plaid skirt and a pair of pumps.  It’s all beautiful, but still
functional.  I spend enough time in my coveralls, so they and the boots go in
the bag and I wear the new stuff.  I cut the tags off and hand them to the
cashier.  She wants to start quoting policy until I show her what’s in my bag.
I appeal to her senses of femininity and sisterhood.  That, and a dose of my
sad puppy eyes, is enough to convince her, and she agrees that I look like week
old road kill in my coveralls.  In gratitude I also buy a pearl necklace and
earring set clearly placed as impulse items.  I wear them too, after paying for
them.  Bags in hand, I head back to the coffee shop to meet Freddie.