Angeleyes - eARC (9 page)

CHAPTER 10

I was able to find a bunkie in Shetland habitat. I was able to access my backup account, and I actually had funds to deposit. I swapped out some outfits and personal stuff from my locker, and planned to hit Lunacy Bar after I got cleaned up.

But things changed when I went to the Lift Lounge and listened for routes and such.

The whole system was like it had been at the other side.

Apparently, the UN had warships and construction here, too. They were putting a facility at every jump point. They’d only restricted some traffic so far, but we all felt it.

“Goddam Unos want to strangle commerce,” I heard one captain bitch over his beer. “It’s like they’re afraid of money.”

Someone else said, “Blame that so-called ‘Freehold’ for opting out of everything. They’ve always been cheap fucks and trying to screw people for a buck.”

“Eh, they sell exactly what they say they do.”

“Yeah, but there are standards that we all developed, and not pissing off the UN was one of them. They enjoy doing it, and this is what they got. We’re paying for their fuckup. Fuck them.”

“It’s not their warships and troops who are slowing us down.”

“No, they just caused it. Like bacteria.”

I really wasn’t going to get into that argument. It never turned into a fight, but it got rude.

I pretended to drink, while the drinkers did drink and taunted the two.

I realized something, though. The UN was planning to control commerce, and we were the reason. We’d taken control away from them in our system and others. They wanted that back, and the rest.

That was when my conclusion led to a decision.

I was going to have to go home and do some things.

I kept an ear out for anything going into the Freehold. There really wasn’t much, and none of them had slots. I also did some anonymous core searching on where I could check in when I got there. I didn’t find much. I’m definitely not an intel type, even now.

A week later, a Freehold cruiser came through. It was the
Jack
Churchill
. I’d never been on it, but I remembered the schematic from recruit training. Caledonia was a neutral party, so the UN couldn’t harass or attack the ship while in local space, but they had only minimal time to provision or fuel and depart.

Could they take on crew?

And did I want to go back to the war zone I’d just escaped from? I was a papered resident here. I should be safe. But part of me was afraid they’d finish with the system then come out looking for any of us who had residence status. Did I want to try to totally deny my home system? All I’d have to do is shred my passport. I hadn’t paid a residence fee since I left. I had no reason to. There shouldn’t be any records. Except biometrics on file with the Freehold military. They’d already nailed a few people that way, who weren’t even combatants. I’d also have to hope they never asked for my birth certificate.

The decision I’d come to was because I realized even if I avoided that, they might not stop. If they could drag us down, then they’d go after other systems, too. If everywhere got like Earth and Sol, I’d have nowhere to travel.

It also seemed pretty crappy, being a veteran, to run away from my system. I guess I owed them my service. If they’d take me.

I also realized just walking up to the dock might mark me.

How full was
Churchill
? Did they even have berths?

If I was going to do this, I was going to do this. Technically they had to take me space-A, but that assumed they had room. I hit my locker and grabbed the rest of my possessions. I wasn’t likely to come back here before the war ended. I grabbed my big pack, my garment bag, and started stuffing. That rolled bundle was my rifle with my kataghan alongside. That case was my pistol. I took it all, figuring they could tell me to dump stuff if they didn’t have room.

Technically I could only take the weapons directly to a ship I had passage on. I could be considered a combatant now, and the station at least was neutral.

One gate of the dock had a squad of Royal Caledonian Marines, though one was a naval petty officer. I walked up to them and had my ID in hand.

“Aonghaelaice Kaneshiro, veteran, Freehold Forces. I need access for boarding.”

The Marine sergeant looked at my ID and then at me. He didn’t seem sure. I knew my training was supposed to be better than his, but I was a medic, not combat arms, and I was out of practice and wasn’t going to fight. I didn’t like his smug look, though.

The PO said, “I’ll have to check. We’re neutral, so they can fuel and depart, and do repairs. I’m not sure about taking on crew, you understand.”

“Sure,” I said, and wondered if I should have checked Underdeck for a way past this. That would be illegal, too, but probably less obvious.

I put my ruck down and sat on it. It was going to be a while.

Several minutes later, he came back and said, “Okay, you can pass.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer, Sergeant,” I said, as I shouldered everything. It was a strain, but I wanted the smug jerk to realize I’d just shouldered his mass and walked with it.

Jack
Churchill
wasn’t docked directly. She was tethered at the axis and had a gimbaled access tube with a pressure elevator. Dockside, they had a small terminal with three seats. Sitting there, or rather, strapped onto the chairs in near emgee, was a lieutenant and a sergeant. I pulled myself along the ladder and drifted across the compartment. They saw me approach and watched as I dragged to a stop with a foot against the floor bulkhead, and caught the railing at the desk.

“Good morning,” I said.

The lieutenant, nametag Broud, said, “Good morning, lady, how can I help you?”

He called me “Lady.” Not “Miss,” “Ms,” “Ma’am.” I only ever got that insystem. It probably doesn’t mean much to you.

“I’m a veteran. Clinical Specialist Kaneshiro. Rating four. Discharged seven years ago. I’m volunteering for duty.”

They looked at each other.

Lieutenant Broud said, “That’s generous and patriotic of you. I’d really like to take anybody we can get, but we’re already overmanned. We took some of the crew of another vessel that got seized, and some transients on leave. It’s ass to nose aboard now.”

I decided to improve the odds. “I have other shipboard skills,” I told the lieutenant.

“What can you do?” he asked.

“I have civilian certs as cook, shipboard maintenance, cargo management, and I can manage as a social companion.” I’d have to work at that, but I could do it. I knew our people were clean.

“You realize we may be in combat as soon as we hit the Jump Point? We don’t have a fleet carrier, so there’s no phase drive. We go where the Points dictate. They’re probably waiting.”

“Sure. But I don’t want to stay here and wait to be pulled by the UN. I just want to get to the Freehold.”

The sergeant grabbed his phone and called aboard. “Can we ID a vet from seven years ago?”

It turns out I was actually safe in that regard. Any records their might have been were at HQ and probably scrambled already. The ship’s archive didn’t have anything. So the UN would probably have never IDed me that way.

It got uncomfortable. They didn’t want to take a possible spy or wannabe. I didn’t have much to offer. I had my old ID, but that could be faked.

“Weapon in my bag,” I said. “Can you date the issue number?”

“Probably,” the sergeant, Bandan, said.

“Five seven niner six five four one. M Five with the Second Gen upgrade. My training company was . . .”

Someone on the phone said, “Yeah, that’s her. Screwy spelling on her name.”

I didn’t recognize them, but once I was in view he said, “I was in Fourth Regiment Personnel Section. I remember seeing you, and your name is unique.”

“Thanks,” I said, sounding stupid. What else should I say?

LT Broud said, “Welcome aboard, Medic.”

I was on the next lift over.

The ‘vator rattled through the gangway. It sounded a bit rough, and was rather dark. I wondered about maintenance. But, as long as it lasted until I reached the airlock, it wasn’t my problem.

Once aboard it was almost like training again. They towed me to a bunk room and assigned me a rack. I had to share it with another specialist on the opposite shift. I had just enough room to stow both bags and my weapon. I got one shirt to wear over my T shirt, that had a generic rank and no qual badge. I was assigned to two sections—Galley and Infirmary.

The Galley Chief was a sweet old lady. Warrant Officer Haskins looked about forty F-years, but could be older.

“Good to meet you, Specialist Kaneshiro. Have you worked Galley before?”

“I’ve spaced most of the last seven years. I’ve done my share.”

“Oh, good. I’m a stickler on sanitation, and on keeping food prep clean and ingredients refrigerated. Spacers need to be healthy to fight.”

“Yes, ma’am. I agree.”

“Then I’ll have you help out with support and cleaning. There isn’t enough of that. We’re so busy slinging hash we can’t stay on it.”

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary. I said, “I can wash dishes and scrub decks.”

“Excellent. Never let anyone tell you that’s not a critical war skill.”

I knew it was. It wouldn’t be a tasking aboard ship if it wasn’t necessary.

We pulled out of station a couple of divs later, and they ripped serious G heading for the Jump Point. After ten segs, I wondered if they were going to boost the whole way, but then they dropped to emgee, then resumed Grainne standard, G, more or less. It varied a little. I wasn’t sure that was of any use for evasion, but maybe it would help mask their transfer time. Or maybe they were trying to cut through before any Sol ship could let them know we were coming.

It was entirely possible we’d break through, get nuked, and be a cloud of vapor. This was a warship, we were at war, and I was now a combatant. It was too late to consider if I’d made the right choice, but unless I wanted to be a lone assassin, there wasn’t much else I could do. I had no training for that and wouldn’t know where to start.

They did have sufficient cooks, but there was a lot of cleaning to be done. They’d been shorthanded on galley and services help when they departed, and full battle crewing plus overmanning had hurt them. I scrubbed grease and dust from filters and ducts, assisted in linen and laundry, and cleaned parts in the maintenance racks in the boat bays. They were using equipment that fast.

At the end of the shift, I reported directly to Infirmary, after I found it.

“Kaneshiro?” the section chief, Lieutenant Doctor Udal asked.

“Yes, Doctor,” I said.

“Okay, I’ve got you as medic and recspec. What is your identifier?”

“M Four Infirmary Medic, Specialist, Rate Four. I have current civilian certs for CPR, Airway, Trauma and Vacuum.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, and I hope we don’t need you. We do training every shift, just in case, and we get a lot of minor dings with this many people and running all out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“RecSpec?” he asked.

“Freelance, but I can do it. I volunteered.”

“Okay. That’s still a skill, you realize.”

“Yup . . . sir,” I said. I didn’t want to discuss my sexual techniques with him, but that wasn’t his concern.

“The summary: Listen for any emotional issues that might need followup, or any tendencies to violence, as opposed to fantasy ideals. You’re not required to serve anyone you don’t want to.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “I take it you need me?”

“Yes. The crew are young, stressed and facing combat in less than a week. It’s sex or drugs or fistfights. We’d prefer they were having sex.”

“I’ll do what I can, sir,” I assured him.

When I was done with my shift of scrubbing the next day, I checked in at the infirmary and demonstrated some techniques for training and got quizzed, to convince them I was capable in an emergency.

Warrant leader Dunstan, second in charge, asked me, “A spacer is brought in from explosive decompression with vacuum trauma. He is not wearing a mask or V-suit. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy with swollen lids. He clutches at his ears and gurgles when he tries to talk. There is no pressure containment module available.”

“I listen to his lungs for any bubbling sounds. If they’re bubbling, I grab an emergency oxidizer, and use the lowest vein and artery on his left hand—”

“Why lowest?”

“Because if there’s trauma I can always move higher up the limb. I don’t want to damage IV sites he might need later.”

“Hmm. Good point. Go on.”

“I check the monitor to get at least seventy percent saturation. If he’s conscious, I have him work his jaw and use sinus compression to relieve pressure imbalance on his tympani. I apply gauze bandages with an optical saline soak to his closed eyes, bandage loosely, and offer non-narcotic analgesic. I log for the pulmonary surgeon to be ready for reconstruction.”

It took two divs of hard questions, but they agreed I was trained and signed me off.

Then I cleaned up and pulled the rest of my shift as a social companion, before I was going to try for two divs rest then back to the galley.

I’m told RecSpec work often involves massage, chat, and other things nonsexual as well. With seven times as many men as women in the Forces, a lot of males wanted a girl to hang with as much as sex. That didn’t happen on my rotation.

Combat had the crew stressed, and they really needed to release tension. They had three women and one man already in the department, and they were tired, the crew backed up, and I was a welcome addition. I got more response from the gay women, actually.

The men were easy; they aren’t nearly as picky regarding sex, I’m comfortable with it, and these were soldiers. They were all clean, healthy, and in good shape. It was bit tiring physically, but not a chore. Naturally, they wanted mouthjobs. Whether straight or gay, men want mouthjobs. I kept a drink handy to wash the taste out. I love giving head, but you can have too much of a good thing in a hurry.

The first one came in, and seemed relieved to actually find a person, not a simulant. He visibly relaxed, and I did in fact massage his shoulders.