Stepping Up (13 page)

I pick up my notepad and make my way to the conference
room.  It was clearly meant for storage but was converted to a meeting room a
few decades ago.  The Chief Engineer at the time thought it a good idea to have
a place where he could bring people together without concern of pocketed tools
tearing upholstery. The kindest thing that can be said of the furniture is it
is clean and functional. I have to admit, it was a great idea.  I’m the last to
arrive; there are five people already here, each sipping from disposable cups. 
I remember seeing their faces, but cannot recall ever having been introduced. 
There’s a drip coffee maker and a stack of cups, so I pour myself a cup and
close the door.  That gets attention.

“If you will all please find a seat.”  I sit in what is
clearly meant to be the head of the table.  That also gets a few raised
eyebrows.  “If you haven’t heard, Dr. Sinnair has fallen very ill.  My name is
Sonia MacTaggert, and I have been named Chief Engineer during his…absence.  At
this time, he is in a coma from which he is not expected to wake.  When we
finish here, anyone who desires to drop into Med Bay to visit is
welcome—encouraged—to do just that.  As I don’t know any of you, let’s go
around the table and you tell me who you are and give me the one-over-the-world
status of your area.  We’ll start on my left.”

The woman seated there has dirt smeared on both cheeks, and
her blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail that pours from the back of her cap. 
She’s probably a pretty girl, but in those coveralls it’s hard to say.  She
sits her coffee cup down.  “Donna Childs, ma’am.  Life Support systems.  Before
I give my report may we go to the Lords for a moment for Mack’s sake?”

My heart melts.  I wanted to do that but was afraid how it
would be received.  “Please.”  The men remove their caps, and the rest of us
fold our hands and bow our heads.

She lowers her gaze and begins. “Fathers and Mothers, we
place the health of our dear friend Mack in Your hands.  We have all benefited
from his acquaintance.  We selfishly ask that he be allowed to continue among
us.  But if that is not within your plans, we ask for a quick transition that
he not suffer.  Also, Divine Parents, we pray for wisdom, understanding, and
patience, not only for us, but for your daughter, Sonia, as well.  This change
is no easier for her than it is for us.  In your beloved names we pray, amen.” 
She and I may disagree theologically, but that was as inoffensive a prayer
as anyone could ask
.  She raises her head.  “All is going about as well as
can be expected.  We are currently cleaning air scrubber unit three.  There was
a minor issue with the sewage movement pump, but it was quickly repaired and
the cleanup is underway.”  She looks to the man on her left.

“The people living on F aft may disagree with your use of
the word ‘minor.’” He winks at her; she blushes. 
I’ll have to look that one
up.
  “Rocky O’Herlihy, ma’am,” he says to me. “Controls and
Instrumentation.” Rocky is a big burly fellow with a very heavy five o’clock
shadow and thick mustache. “Potempkin tells me that you and he are making good
progress on the enhanced Strike Armor.  We did find an available F37 Battle
Comp for you, which he should be installing tomorrow afternoon.  Aside from
that, we have no issues at the moment aside from routine maintenance and
expected replacements.”  He looks to his left.

“Alexander Shumate, Boss. Robotics.”  Alexander looks more
like a model than an engineer.  With his complexion, teeth, and wavy blonde
hair he could easily grace the cover of a surfing magazine.  “We are continuing
in our ‘fusion weapons on WARBOTs’ program.  It is on schedule and under budget
thus far.  We are also making headway on the nanobot torpedo project that Aria
assigned us.  If you are unaware, the idea is for a warhead with attached
plasma cutters to make a ballistic entry into a target and flood it with
nanobots programmed to disassemble the target.  Right now I can’t give you a
definitive timeline or budget on it, but we think it’s certainly doable.”  He
looks left.

“Gertrude Steiner. Ship’s Systems other than Propulsion.” 
She looks like she can’t be over twelve.  “There have been some problems with
the small craft bay door actuators.  If I may, I’d like to borrow Gorb to
repair them.  I know by TO&E he belongs to the engine rooms, but he’s a
master welder, and if you can spare him, I would greatly appreciate it.”  I
make note of her request.  “Aside from that, we’re golden.”  She looks left.

“John Oliver Trades, ma’am.  I do go by Jack but please,
spare me the jokes, I’ve heard them.  AOEE.”  I can imagine heading up the All
Other Engineering Efforts with a name like “Jack O. Trades” would get one a lot
of ribbing. “To save the group time, I’ll note that my team is busier than a
one-handed upholsterer, and that our projects are tracked in real time on the
departmental casCom page.”

Something is familiar about him.  “Have we met, John?”

“Jack, please ma’am.  And yes, you helped me get a stubborn
welding rig started several months back.” 
Wow.  Has it been several months
already?

“I thought that was you.” Jack is to my right.  I finish the
discussion: “The engines had a scheduled overhaul on Terra and we’ve yet to
find any undocumented faults or deficiencies.”  Donna refills her coffee cup
and gestures to mine.  I nod and hand it to her. “Thank you.  Now, let’s get to
the matters at hand.  I like Mack’s leadership attitude and I intend to adopt
it.  I do not need spineless yes men or women.  If there’s a problem, I want to
be made aware of it.  If I give bad advice, I want to be made aware of
it—tactfully, of course.  Like Mack, you will find me easy to work with and
hard to work for.  Does anyone have any questions of me?”

Gertrude raises her hand. “I have one, ma’am.”

“Hold that thought,” I interrupt, “I do not need to be
called ‘ma’am.’  I answer to ‘Sonia.’  Or if that’s too informal for you,
‘Boss’ is okay.  Yes, Gertrude?”

“You were the engine tender, is that job being backfilled?”

Damn! That should have been in my status brief!
“It
is.  Virginia Berry is being brought out of TMOD and will be ready for duty in
a few days.”  I notice they all exchange nervous looks.

Shumate is the only one who will meet may gaze.  “Speak,” I
say.

“Well, Boss, none of us were there so, we don’t know exactly
what happened.  But Mack had to make numerous concessions to get Ginny into
TMOD rather than terminated.”

“Anyone else would have gone through the air lock,” Rocky
mutters.

“The actual records were sealed; you should be able to
access them, but personally I’d say think long and hard about giving her any
autonomous responsibility.”

Wow.
  “Duly noted. Now I have a question:  You have
all been aboard longer than I, so why do I have the Lead and not one of you?” 
They may not be the right ones to answer, but I don’t know who else would know
aside from the Captain.  I wish I’d asked him this morning.

Donna speaks up: “Because you came from the engine room.  Without
engines, a starship is a very expensive space station.  You will
always—consciously or otherwise—leverage personnel, resources, and assets to
keep the engines functioning, and do so at the expense of other systems.  We
can be knee-deep in our own waste and still accomplish our mission.  But if we
can’t move, we’re useless.”

It makes sense, I can’t say I agree whole-heartedly with
it, but it makes sense.
  “Okay, if there’s nothing else, I think we’re done
here.  Thank you for your time.”  I head back to the LEO and they all go about
their business.

Six hours later, I’m reading a report about inconsistent
hydraulic pressure on Deck K. As I log and forward it, I ask my holoCom, “Is
there anything else that can go wrong?”  In way of response, it chirps with an
incoming call.  I answer, “MacTaggert,” and smile when I see it’s Avi, until I
realize he isn’t smiling.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Sonia.  Mack just died.”

“I see.” 
Damn
.  “Are you available for consolation
and comfort in the lounge?” I ask after a pause.  I force a smile and try to
laugh, but I can feel my throat tightening and the tears starting to puddle up.

“Mom’s on her way to the LEO,” So it’s “Mom” not “Doc
Traynor.”  The cat must be all the way out of the bag.

I see her coming down the corridor.  “She’s here,” I tell
him.  In fact she is standing outside my door right now.  I wave her in.  She
waves back but stays outside of the office.

“As it happens,” Avi continues, “I am at your disposal.
Shall I ask the bartender to make you one of my famous brandy swirls? They are
delicious, and two or three make you sleep like a baby.”

“Sounds good, but I’ve always wondered why it’s good to
sleep like a baby.  Don’t babies wake up screaming—hungry or with bowel
activity—every three or four hours?  I’ll see you later.”  Click.

Doc Traynor waits for me to finish the call before coming
into the office proper and setting her bag down on my desk.  She pulls out a
syringe filled with an opaque pink fluid and says, “Aria’s orders were for me
to give you something. She said, and I quote, ‘Engineering will be fine for the
night and I—Aria—will make spot checks for her’ (meaning you) end quote. We
will be in Transit en route to Goliath for a few more days.”  She pulls out her
perCom and presses the record button.  “At 1735  hours, ship’s calendar
7/32/12254, Lead Engineer Sonia MacTaggert is medically relieved for a period
of no less than twelve and no more than thirty six hours.”  She puts her perCom
in her bag and sticks the syringe in my arm, painlessly injecting me with a
sizable dose of…whatever it is, followed by a single syllable verbal command:
“Scat!”

“What did you give me?”

“Ten CCs of Forgetitol.  You are relieved.  Now get out of
here.  If I overheard correctly, a young doctor, reminiscent of an ancient
marble statue, is on his way to the lounge; how long will he be waiting for
you?”

I find Avi in the lounge, sitting on the sofa. The two
glasses on the table are three quarters full of a smoky swirling liquid. I do
want the brandy swirl.  I pick one up and sip from the straw.  The taste is
similar to some kind of Mocha Milkshake blended with a couple of jiggers of
white lightning. The straw doesn’t deliver fast enough, so I lay it on the
table and gulp the beverage, then signal the bartender for another.  The fluids
never rest, but continue to swirl in the glass.  After two, I’m feeling pretty
tipsy.
But that’s no reason to stop. The doc put me on the bench for a day
and a half.  I have the time—and the desire—to get hammered.
  I crawl under
Avi’s arm. “I like it here; I feel safe.”  We talk about the day, my promotion,
Mack’s death, my projects, and many other things, but then I want to talk about
what he has going on as well. Our together time won’t be all about me. I want
to learn about him as well. Rachel is on her A game tonight. Every time I set
an empty glass down, a full one is in its place in a matter of moments.

As the brandy starts to kick in, I ask Avi, “May I stay with
you tonight?  I’m still processing a lot of stuff.”

“Of course.” He’s also much more relaxed with a little
liquid courage in his veins.

We hold hands on the way to his stateroom. Aside from some
of the knick-knacks here and there, his place is a copy of mine.  We follow our
first pattern.  I freshen up and get into bed, in tee shirt and my typical
bikini panties.  We exchange good night kisses.  He drapes an arm over me, and
we drift off to sleep.  At 0200, I wake to use the ’fresher. Before going back
to bed, I drop the tee and panties to the floor.  Apparently, Avi’s not the
only one emboldened by ethanol-enhanced bravery.  I snuggle up to him and press
my lips to his.  Tentatively at first, but the intensity rises.  His eyes
flutter open and try to focus.  He puts his hand on my hip and realizes what
I’m not wearing.  He looks at me quizzically. I make the first move.  He
doesn’t argue.

I did sleep like a baby, I didn’t scream every three or four
hours.  There was just the one time.

Four days later,
Night Searcher
slows and falls
out of Transit. The massive planet of Goliath can be seen on any viewer, or
through any window, for that matter.  Even though it is still almost a billion
miles away, it is a naked eye object, two inches across.  The moons are also
easily distinguishable.  Not identifiable, but one can tell they aren’t stars.

Aria comes over the ship’s allCom: “Staff Meeting in the
Conference Room in 30 minutes.”  She also sends a communiqué to my perCom:
“That means you too, Sonia, as the Lead Engineer. Make sure you have your
report ready.”

“It is. I’m on my way.  Thank you.” I grab my notepad and
head for the conference room. I have just finished gathering my daily reports
and understand why Mack was always harping on this stuff.  It’s the type of
thing the Captain will want to know.  Engineering is in fantastic condition.
The drives and power plants are in the best shape they have been in a decade. 

Aria calls the briefing to order: “Alright, everyone sit
down and shut up.”  There is no clearly assigned seating, but it looks like
everyone gravitates to a particular chair, so I move to the one that’s left.
Aria is at the foot of the table. Freddie sits across from me.  He winks as he
scoots his chair to the table.  Looking around, I see several people I don’t
know and only a few that I do:  a good looking blonde woman in a flight suit, a
middle aged man dressed the same, Doc Traynor, a stocky brunette with tattoos
on her neck, and a man in a black flight suit with a perCom in each bicep
pocket.

The Captain comes in and sits down at the head of the
table.  Everyone stands as he enters, and so I do, too.

“Sit,” he commands. “Report significant events since our
last meeting.”

Freddie starts: “Sir, Deputy Chief Sergeant Call, filling in
for Chief Sergeant Petersen.  Two security personnel were spaced week before
last. Charges include but are not limited to: gross insubordination, assault of
an aggravated nature towards a department head, and mutiny. The complete report
has been filed with the personnel office.”  He continues with training activities
and logistical concerns.

Doc Traynor: “One death due to disease—Dr. Mack Sinnair.  I
have no reason to suspect infection of other crewmembers.” Several heads turn
and look her way, then at the Captain.  He nods and she continues: “Chief
Sergeant Petersen suffered two fractured femurs in a training accident.  Her
surgery on Saxon went well, and her rehabilitation is going smoothly. I expect
her to be fully mission-capable when we return to Saxon to pick her up.”

The blonde woman:  “The Bridge continues to run smoothly and
efficiently.” 
Pilot or watch commander maybe?

Her counterpart says: “Goliath is about four hours out.  We
have received the additional leg of the trip and are making calculations now.” 
He must be the navigator.

Stocky brunette: “The cargo is staged and ready to unload.
After this drop, we’ll have forty-six tons left, bound for Atlas.”

The Captain interrupts: “Lose that forty-six tons here,
Sheila. Sell it for whatever you can get.  We need all the space we can get for
the WARBOTs we’re going to pick up here and at Atlas. About two-hundred tons of
them.  There’s been a change to our mission.”

“Yes sir.” She makes some notes.

The guy in the black flight suit says, “Security is optimal,
aside from the two vacuum sniffers that Sergeant Call mentioned. As long as we
don’t hire any more idiots, we should be okay.” Freddie shoots him a
“drink-poison-and-die” look, but doesn’t say anything.

The Captain makes a gesture in my direction. “For those who
haven’t made the connection, with the death of Dr. Sinnair, Sonia MacTaggert
has been provisionally promoted to Lead Engineer. Deliver your report please,
Chief MacTaggert.”

“Thank you, sir. The engines are in excellent condition and
are running within accepted tolerances.  With Mack gone, Gorb and I have to
spread ourselves a little thinner, but we’re making things happen.  The balance
of the department is on top of things.  Medical tells me I should have my
replacement engineer…tomorrow?” I look at Doc. She nods. “Tomorrow. The
advanced Strike Armor project hasn’t received a lot of attention lately, but
once Ginny, I mean Miss Berry, is up to speed, that will change.  As of half an
hour ago there was nothing new and critical on the database reflecting problems
or shortcomings with the ship.”

Aria concludes the briefing: “Sir, this most recent leg of
this cruise has shown us a lot of changes, but
Night Searcher
continues
to rise to the occasion.  Have you any further orders, sir?”

“Excellent work everyone, as you were—chasing excellence.”
He nods to Aria.  She signals a server who gives everyone a silver wine goblet
and pours each half full of a dark red wine.  The Captain stands and the rest
of us follow suit. 

Captain Prowse pushes his hood back and raises his goblet.
“To our dear friend and colleague, Mactavius Dedrus Sinnair. We hope his
journey to the other side was peaceful.” He takes a long drink, sets his goblet
down, and says, “Dismissed,” as he walks out.  The wine—very dry—leaves  a
bitter after taste.  The others make their way out as well.  I stop Aria.

“Is a funeral scheduled for Mack?  I’d like to attend. 
Also, I need to review his will for anything out of the ordinary.  He said he
wanted his home to go to his daughter Catherine.  Do we have the assets to
preserve him or does he get cremated?”

“The toast
was
the funeral. Here is the will.” She
hands me a small memory disk that can be accessed by any holoCom. “Review this,
and let me know what you need.  Given the circumstances of his death, we will
keep him in the Life Tube until such time as he can be cremated off the ship.”

I go to my office to verify that what I reported is still
true. When I review the disk Aria gave me, I see that there is two-million in
his interest bearing credit account. He is to be cremated and his ashes
scattered into space. His daughter Catherine is on Goliath in a mental ward.
The address is, thankfully, included.

His money (after any outstanding debts or expenses) is
supposed to go for the care of his daughter. I call Aria, “Do we have
facilities to cremate a body? Mack wants his ashes in space.  Also, I need to
make a side trip when we get to Goliath.  Do I clear that with you or someone
else?”

“We can jettison him from a torpedo tube as is. But if you
want him cremated, as I said previously, you will have to get that done
planetside. You will have to get clearance for your side mission from the
Captain. We should be in orbit for 48 hours.”

“Thanks.”

I send a message to the Captain asking for an appointment to
see him regarding Dr. Sinnair’s final wishes for his daughter. The Captain
holoComs me back right away, and I answer: “MacTaggert.”  I can feel his
presence even through the holoCom.

“Sonia, have Gorb tend the engines while we are orbiting
Goliath. He knows to call Aria if there is anything important. I just checked
with Medical.  They are accelerating your replacement’s therapy.  She will be
functional before you return from the surface. Take care of Mack’s business.
You have 48 hours. Right now I can’t give you any longer. Take Trooper Watson
along for security; she will also be your shuttle pilot.”

“Will do, sir.  Thank you.”

I look for a Trooper named Watson in the ship’s directory. 
There she is.  I dial her. “Trooper Watson, this is Lead Engineer Sonia
MacTaggert. You’ve been assigned to accompany me to Goliath.  I’m executing Dr.
Sinnair’s will and have to go visit his daughter.  We have 48 hours. I don’t
plan on using any more than six.  Do you have any questions?”

“Not a one. Just let me know where I have to be, what I need
to have, and when I have to be there.” She sounds cheery and fiery at the same
time.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.  I suspect you’ve been
assigned to support the buddy system.  This shouldn’t be a difficult mission at
all.  I’ll have to get back to you with a small craft departure time.”

“Excellent. I look forward to hearing from you.” 

“MacTaggert out.”  Hmm. I may have found a future female
friend.  That is always a plus.

My next call is to Paradise Plantation, the institution
treating Catherine Sinnair. “This is Sonia MacTaggert, Lead Engineer of
Night
Searcher,
executing the last will of Dr. Mactavius Sinnair.  Is his
daughter Catherine still a patient there? I need to speak with her caseworker
or therapist.  I’d also like to make an appointment with the institution
administrator, please.”

“Good morning, Ms…MacTaggert was it?  Access to Miss Sinnair
is strictly monitored. Please call 232-32 and secure the appropriate documents.
Good morning.”

“Wait, what? Hello?” I’m talking to dead air.  Calling the
number, I’m routed to a lawyer’s office, and there is an announcement saying he
is off planet for the next three months on business.

I call the institution administrator back, directly this
time. “This is Eleanor Gray.”

“Ms. Gray, Sonia MacTaggert, I understand access to Miss
Sinnair is controlled.  I’ve called the attorney your assistant indicated.
Unfortunately, he’s off the planet for three months.  I have at most two days. 
I don’t need to see her as much as I need to talk to someone regarding her
care.  Her father has passed away. I’m the executrix of his estate, and I have
full authority to tend to her affairs on his behalf.  I have neither the desire
nor the intention of interfering with her treatment in any way.  In fact, I
hope to guarantee her care.  Please, I promise I have no intention of wasting
your time.”