Dremiks (27 page)

“You have an appointment with Marissa Hill, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she answered with hesitation.

“Will the esteemed lady’s husband be present?”

“Maybe. He doesn’t always attend.”

“A few well placed comments with those two in the room should provide a bit of insight.”

“I’m not so sure. Ryan Hill isn’t as fearsome as his older brother, but he’s still far more experienced at manipulating people than I.”

He chucked her under her chin. “Never sell yourself short, pixie. The Vice Chancellor is far too sure of himself. Just keep your questions on subject. Asking him why the captain has ordered extra engineering personnel on-station at all times will only raise Hill’s own suspicions and gain us no answers. Ask if the plans for the child’s birth on the ship are to his liking. See if he’ll give hints about why our rate of speed disconcerts him.”

“I’m still not clear why you think it does.”

Because Ryan Hill was in diapers while I was running Europe’s premiere intelligence network.
“Just a supposition gained from passing comments.” He picked up his tablet with one hand and shooed her with the other. “Go on now. We both have work to do.”

Cassie wrinkled her nose at him and flounced off. Ben smiled down at his notes, pleasantly distracted. He felt more than heard Clara slide beside him. “Yes, imp?”

“Have a care, sending her in to beard Ryan in his own den. He’ll eat her alive if he catches a whiff of subterfuge.”

“The whole point is that he won’t suspect it from her. And what would you be knowing about it anyway?” He tried to appear ferocious.

From the twinkle in her eyes, Clara wasn’t the least intimidated. “He’s dangerous—for any woman. There’s talk…” She winced at Ben’s tight grip on her bicep.

“Talk, or something more concrete? Don’t even consider disseminating.”

“Two women left with bruises, that I know of.”

“Civilians or crew?”

She snorted. Over a foot shorter than her boss, she still managed to look intimidating. “Only a bleedin’ idiot would assault a crew member serving under Maggie O’Connell. I’m bettin’ that’s one reason she’s so touchy around him.”

“She doesn’t know for sure, or she’d go to the captain.” He muttered the statement.

“Or she’d castrate him outright and ask the captain’s forgiveness after the fact.” Clara gently pried Ben’s fingers from her arm. She patted his hand. “Don’t be worrying about me. I can handle myself. I bite, remember?”

Fortunas made a noise somewhere between a growl and a laugh.

***

Chief Turner tried to be as unobtrusive as possible during his visits to the officers’ mess. He went to make the coffee twice a day—once for himself, once for the captain—and timed those visits so that he was unlikely to encounter an officer. Turner was old school; chiefs did not belong in officer country any more than officers belonged in enlisted country. Since he was the only chief-rated person on the ship, there wasn’t a specified “chiefs’ wardroom”. The captain had extended an invitation to have Turner join the officers for dinner, but the older man had politely declined. Appearances needed to be upheld, the chief thought.

He was only on the second step of the three step process of making his “special brew” when lieutenants Guttmann and Price strolled in. Neither of them appeared fully awake.

“Good morning, sirs.”

They emitted nearly identical grunts as a form of greeting. They also made identical expressions of disgust when they noticed that the only available coffee was the instant, machine-made, form. Guttmann took his chances, while Price waited for the chief to finish. As the chief worked in silence, Price collapsed into a chair. Guttmann followed, with slightly more grace.

“Engine shutdown at 1300?”

The engineer grunted again. “Watch until then?”

Price nodded curtly in the affirmative. “Same shit, different day.”

The chief chuckled at this. “Might I remind Mr. Price that today’s routine will be marginally different?”

Dark haired Price looked at his blonde roommate, perplexed. “Uh? Fly through uncharted space on a brave and daring mission of complete boredom—”

“I’ll take boredom over the alternative, thanks,” Swede interjected.

Price glared. “One jump left and then I can do some real flying again. I fail to recall what makes today special, Chief.”

“Perhaps the lieutenant will recall what happens while the engines are shut down this afternoon?”

Comprehension dawning, Price said, “If you’re referring to the American-style football game which was scheduled to occur, you can forget it, Chief.
Someone
failed to gain the commander’s permission.”

“She wanted to play! What was I supposed to do?”

“Let her play. She could use a good tackling.”

The chief frowned in disapproval. Swede growled. As he walked across the mess bearing a steaming hot cup of his freshly brewed masterpiece, Turner dared to interfere in the glaring match the two lieutenants were currently engaged in.

“The match starts at 1330 hours, sirs. Please do not be late.” He nodded sagely at the younger men. “The captain’s powers of persuasion with the commander, apparently, greatly exceed your own. Good day, sirs.”

They blinked at his back as he left. Turning to face each other once more, Swede said, “You don’t think…”

“I’d rather not contemplate it, just now. Not until another pint of this is in my system.”

“I better get to engineering. If we do get to play, I don’t want the captain on my ass for work left undone.” He poured out the dregs of his coffee and refreshed the mug with the chief’s brew. “Message me if you hear anything.”

“Same.”

Price relieved Ensign Robertson as officer-of-the-watch a few minutes later.

“Lieutenant Anthony Price reporting as Officer-of-the-Watch and Pilot-of-the-Watch beginning 0800 hours.” The log computer chirped to indicate it had properly recorded his entry. He dismissed the ensign with a cutting commentary. “Ensign, you are practically bouncing. It’s quite unseemly, at this hour.”

“My apologies, sir. I’m very excited about this afternoon’s game. I was quarterback for the Academy, you know.”

“Not being quite as obsessed as you Americans with this odd sport, I did not know. I take it the game is confirmed?”

Robertson nodded vehemently. “Yes sir! Captain Hill notified me of the change in watch schedule last night at 2300. He’s taking Chi’s watch this afternoon and acting as pilot of the watch. If that will be all, sir? I’d like to get a few hours rest before the game.”

Only slightly less mystified, Price waved his hand. “Go, get your sleep. You’ll need it.”

His start-of-the-watch tasks completed, Price claimed his seat and paged Guttmann.

“Guttmann here.”

“Well that’s reassuring, since you’re the one I bloody called.”

“What the hell do you want, Tony? I’m busy down here.”

“Robertson says the game is confirmed.”

“Peritts said the same thing. Ready to get your ass kicked?”

“In your bloody dreams, Goliath. Wonder what made O’Connell change her mind?”

“The captain, obviously. I’m out, need to get the engines ready for shutdown.”

“Price, out.”

***

“Hey there roomie. Ready to patch up multiple contusions of the male ego?”

“Huh? Oh, the football game. The captain assured me that they wouldn’t be playing full contact.”

Maggie laughed, hard.

“He lied?”

“Not really lied, Cass. It’s just, these guys have been cooped-up on this ship for six months, most of them without any real sexual or physical release. They are going to pound the hell out of each other.” She shrugged. “Come on, you have brothers, you know how guys can be.”

“My brothers played soccer. My parents were doctors and very much against blood sports.”

“Well they’ve covered most of the lander bay with protective foam, so you shouldn’t have
too
many concussions.” Maggie stabbed a hairpin in place. “Now tell me what’s bothering you.” She winked when the doctor tried to protest. “Seven plus months I’ve lived with you, Cass. I know when something’s bothering you.”

“Ryan Hill. Just some things he said.” She held up a hand to forestall the commander’s inevitable question. “I can’t really discuss it—private medical issues. Why is it he’s the only man I’ve ever encountered that I felt physically uncomfortable being in the same room with?”

Having moved from stabbing pins in her hair to lacing up her boots, Maggie looked up from her bent-over position. “Anything overt? Anything I need to bring the holy wrath of the captain down on Ryan for?”

Cassie giggled. “Well thanks, now I have this image of the captain as a crusader knight.”

“Sounds about right. Cold emotionless steel bent on a mission to save humanity. There’s that whole moral code thing too….what?” She caught her roommate staring.

Cassie smiled. “You took that idea and ran with it, eh?” Her brown eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing boots with laces?”

“Noticed did ya?” Maggie zipped her flight-suit to her neck and snapped the collar in place.

“He’s letting you take a lander out, I knew that from the flight plan you filed with me earlier. I just don’t get why your boots have laces. Most crew wear those with straps.”

“Kind of hard to make a tourniquet with a Velcro strap. It might be archaic, but pilots are expected to be able to survive in harsh conditions if their ship goes down. I have bandage pads on my suit, and IV catheter in one of these seams,” she made a show of peering at her arms. “Besides, I get a better fit with laces.”

“For my peace of mind, please assure me that you will never, ever, need any of those things while piloting the
Hudson
.”

“Cass, if this ship “goes down” there’s not going to be anything but a smear of debris in space. Of course, I do have to make multiple landings on Dremiks, once we arrive… I might get to try out my survival skills.”

“I’m feeling so much better, thanks!” Cassie yelled the sarcastic rejoinder at her departing roommate’s back.

O’Connell turned a corner and danced out of Guttmann’s way. “Hullo there, Lieutenant.” She tossed her head and glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone in the corridor. Rising on her tip toes, Maggie patted her friend’s cheek. “Tackle him once, just for me?”

“I’m still mad at you, ma’am.”

“Nonsense. You’re just irritated that I used you to get what I wanted. He would never have let me go roaming, if I hadn’t been holding your game hostage.”

His handsome face stretched into a reluctant grin. “You’re a witch, ma’am.”

“And you love me for it. You do know
how
to throw a football, right?”

Swede turned sideways in the corridor and stretched out one, long, arm. With a single finger, he pointed to the lift. “Go.”

“Gladly.” She flipped him a mocking salute and practically bounced away.

***

Captain Hill nodded in greeting to Petty Officer Rhua. She smiled in return.

“You are dismissed, Petty Officer. If the game holds no interest for you, feel free to take some personal time. Just be available should I need you back up here.”

To the young woman’s credit, she hesitated. “You are sure, sir? I would be leaving you here all alone. Not that you couldn’t... I mean...”

He remembered a long-ago conversation with O’Connell about how he tended to intimidate subordinates. With what he hoped was a kindly expression, he motioned the enlisted woman to the lift. The captain had dismissed the rest of the crew to participate in, or watch, the football game. A few crew members had no interest in the sport and would probably spend the time catching up on sleep. He didn’t begrudge any of them the much needed respite from daily drudgery and constant mission stress. The first part of their journey would soon be over, but there were no guarantees that life would be easier once they reached Dremiks.

Hill settled into his chair. He opened up a communication channel to show the game down in the lander bay. One half of the bridge head’s-up display showed all of the
Hudson’s
vital statistics—which were rather boring at that moment since the engines were shut-down. He split the screen again to show data from Lander 3.

“Good afternoon, Commander. Having a nice jaunt?”

He could practically hear her smile. “All good out here, Captain. That nebula is incredibly beautiful. I could get a bit closer, take some really awesome pictures…”

“Negative, Commander. Keep to our agreement. No more than twenty-five kilometers from the ship.”

“Roger that. The game started yet?”

“Robertson completed a forty yard pass to Mangoda on the second series. They ended up going with an eighty yard field and if anyone over-shoots the right end zone he’s going to end up smeared on a bulkhead.”

“Excellent. Be sure to get footage if that happens to Price.”

“Commander,” he said repressively.

They passed ten minutes in silence before the captain asked, “Has Guttmann forgiven you, yet, for playing him?”

“I have no earthly idea what you’re referring to, sir.”

“Right. You knew damned well I wasn’t going to let you play in that game.”

“And that you wanted to let them have this bit of fun before the last jump. You were perfectly willing to let me appear the spoil-sport so you could be the savior of the situation.”

“Command privilege.” Curious, Hill tapped a command on the keyboard to his right. His eyebrows drew together. “Commander, what are you doing?”

“Barrel rolls, sir.”

He could swear she was giggling. “I don’t recall those being part of our agreement.”

“I don’t recall a specific prohibition, sir. You wanted me to check out the hull, you never specified how.”

“You be careful.”

“I’m always careful, sir.”

He snorted. Glancing at the game screen, he winced. “Well you got your wish, Commander. Price just made a brilliant catch—and got flattened immediately.”

“Ooo. Bloodshed? Flying teeth?”

“You are a bloodthirsty woman. In the name of all that’s holy, what are you doing
now
?”