by A. Rhea King
Tru looked at it too. He hadn’t been talking to his parents when it happened, but his two brothers had. They had told him about the accident when he arrived at the Mars spaceport.
His father had chosen not to pull Prosperous out of storage, so his family took shuttles. Since his father was tied up in a meeting, his brothers had left ahead of his parents. Somewhere between the two planets, the shuttle his parents were on experienced a coolant malfunction and caused an explosion that killed everyone onboard.
He nearly fell apart after that, but his brothers pulled him back together and reminded him that he couldn’t give up. His father was proud of him going into Merchant Raitor. He had been pleased that one of his boys was taking ownership of Prosperous, and would take Gracie back into space.
“Gracie wouldn’t let me do anything damn foolish and respectfully, Greg, I disagree. I want a different crew, a human and Silerium crew.”
“ If you were to officially refuse to accept this crew, I would have to issue a strike on your service record. It is only one of three things a captain can do that results in an immediate strike with no warnings; you know that. And it would be seven months before you would get another stint. She’ll have been in dry dock for two years by then. Can you really do that to her, Truman? And what happens if you end up with another strike on your record? You know that on the third strike you are out of Merchant Raitor. Do you really want that to be hinged on refusing to take command of a crew that you are more than capable of handling?”
Tru didn’t want any mark on his service record, and it wasn’t fair to make his ship wait seven more months in port. He had promised her she would be back in space in two weeks, and she was not known to handle broken promises with elegance.
Defeated he replied, “I’ll see you in a year, sir.” Tru stood.
“We’re not done. There are a few things we still need to discuss.”
Tru sank back into the chair. “Such as?”
“The bunk arrangements, for starters,” Larson tapped the screen on the doc-slip laying on his desk.
Tru changed screens on his doc-slip. A deep frown creased his brow.
“ Who assigned these?” Tru asked.
“Your First Executive Officer, Amanda Wrigley.” Greg paused until Tru looked up at him. “We discovered she has… issues that have gone unreported for two years.”
“What kind of issues?”
“I don’t know for sure, but she does not handle stressful situations well. I saw it myself during a promotion banquet last week.”
“Saw what, exactly?”
“Her last captain, Emery Lewis, got drunk and began ridiculing her for always running when things got rough. He said the only reason that he promoted her was to get her off his ship. She began arranging dishes and clearing tables and became extremely agitated. He grabbed her arm, and she started screaming, clawing, and hitting. Once the two were separated, she ran out of the room, and no one could reach her the rest of the night. When Merchant Raitor Patrol investigated this, they learned that all of her previous captains promoted her for the same reason. Chances are she won’t even show up, but if she does, you are going to have to figure out what to do with the woman. If you have to fire her, I stand behind the decision. That will not be a strike against you.”
The psychiatrist in Tru immediately began jotting down mental notes. It led him to ask, “And her condition has gone undiagnosed for how long?”
Larson shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s never been a record of an issue with her since she joined four years ago. Once Lewis sobered up, all he would say about the whole thing is how happy he was to see one of his officers promoted.”
“Because he knew he’d be demoted or fired if he told the truth,” Tru interjected.
“I have no doubt that is why he was stonewalling. So I spoke to officers who wouldn’t get demoted if they told the truth. They said that Lewis couldn’t rely on her to take command of the ship when he wasn’t on duty. She is so rude and unapproachable that some of the less tolerable species have physically attacked her.”
“And as far as her records show, she hasn’t seen anyone for her condition?”
“Not a Merchant Raitor doctor. If she’s seeing anyone private, she hasn’t listed the doctor in her medical records.”
Tru tried to wrap his head around the information. “And Lewis was the first one to bring this up?”
Greg nodded. “Although he’s denied that there was anything wrong with her since that night. He knows we’d open an investigation if there’s even a hint that he promoted an officer who wasn’t fit for a promotion.”
“Lewis shouldn’t even be a captain,” Tru growled. “He’s an alcoholic with a bad temper.”
“Need I remind you, Truman, Merchant Raitor is a trading union first, and a military presence when necessary. As long as the cargo and most of the crew get to a stint destination, no one cares what disorders or addictions the crew or captain have.”
“I’ve always found that an intelligent stance,” Tru shot back. “Is my XO good at anything?”
“She was a high school science teacher before she entered Merchant Raitor and specialized in botany when she enlisted.”
“So my XO has an unknown condition, knows plants, and can teach teenagers? Can’t wait to meet my second officer.”
“You don’t have one.”
“What?”
“He was extradited this morning for selling controlled supplies to the Gwiraten and all other Second Officers have already been assigned. On the upside, because you’re shipping out on your first stint without a second officer it’s your choice whether you ever have one. The same rule applies if you end up firing your XO, but only if you do it before you leave port.”
“So, I don’t have a second officer and my first officer is unreliable. Which means I get to spend my entire first stint as captain on duty, all the time? I will get no down time for nine months.”
Larson offered an apologetic shrug.
Tru was feeling tired, and he hadn’t even left Earth’s terra firma. He asked, “Is there anyone on this crew that I can rely on? Is there any area I’ll have support from?”
“You have one of our top medical doctors, a decent ship psychiatrist and I stole the best cook in the fleet away from Captain Ric’ta. Also, your head security officer was with Merchant Raitor Patrol for seventy years. For forty of those years, he was a Section Chief. Then he moved to ship security and has been head security on ships for the last fifty-six years. He also requested to be assigned to Prosperous before I had even sponsored your promotion. So you’ll at least have good health, a sound mind, a secure ship, and excellent meals.”
Tru pressed his lips into a thin line. Flat voiced he retorted, “That hardly compensates. How did he know about this stint?”
“He’s Avinion. Probably had a premonition.”
“Did he say if it was a good or bad premonition?”
“You know Avinion never tell anyone what they see. Let’s hope it was a good one.”
Tru frowned at him. “No. He probably saw that half of my crew is going to kill the other half, ending up in Brig stasis, and he and I will be the only two left to unload the cargo when we get to Righel Prime.”
Larson smiled apologetically. “I did the best I could.”
“I can’t ship out until these bunk assignments are changed, or my crew will kill each other. I need a twenty-four-hour delay.”
Larson nodded. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll make it a ninety-six-hour delay, and I will personally report the delay to the Righel Prime spaceport authority so your pay won’t be docked for being late.”
“Are there any other potential fires I need to know about?”
“That’s all that I was told about. Tru, you’re going to do fine. Have a safe stint, kiddo.”
“I will try.”
Tru left Larson’s office before he scowled at the docket. This was going to be a nightmare! He headed to the transport room.
; Chapter 03
AS THE TRANSPORT UNIT PUT TRU’S DNA BACK TOGETHER, he caught glimpses of his XO, First Executive Officer Amanda Wrigley, waiting at the edge of the transport octagon. The transport technicians and engineers would argue that seeing anything before a person finished materializing was impossible, but Tru believed his dad’s theory. He’d told Tru that when his molecules went flying through space, they pulled his soul along, and when it wasn’t attached to the body, the soul could see things more clearly than any pair of eyes.
Amanda was a prim officer. Not a hair was out of place in her upswept bun, not a wrinkle could be seen on her Merchant Raitor uniform. She had a messenger bag slung over her shoulder which five colored electric pens stuck out of the slots on the front flap. With these small details alone, he deduced that every detail docket was in her bag, and she likely had spent the entire night memorizing them.
As soon as he was whole again and the protection barrier lifted, she said, “Captain Barnett.” Wrigley saluted. “Your crew is assembling in Lucas Hall, sir.”
“Thank you, XO.”
Tru stepped off the octagon and headed for the double doors of the transport room. She fell in beside him. They exited the room onto the crowded International Space Station promenade. The two attempted to stay together as they dodged the crowd of humans and other species.
“Is all the crew accounted for?” Tru asked.
“Except for one communications officer. She claims there was a riot at the Mare Tranquillitatis spaceport and it delayed all outgoing transports. Would you like your crew’s detail dockets?”
“Did you read them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you memorize them?”
Amanda stopped short. Tru didn’t. She quickly caught up.
“I…” She hesitated.
“Did you or didn’t you, Wrigley?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tru nodded. “You can fill me in if I have any questions. I see that you assigned the crew bunks already.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you told them their bunk assignments?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You assigned the bunks randomly, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. That’s the most efficient—”
Tru looked at her. “First xeno crew you’ve been XO of, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Why?”
Tru heard a hint of irritation in her voice.
“You don’t bunk particular species with other species. In some cases, you don’t even bunk species with any of their own kind, Wrigley. That’s just asking for a fight or worse.”
“And how would you know that? You’ve only been a captain for a week!” she bit back.
He stopped and stared at her with raised eyebrows. Her anger dissipated into nervousness and she looked at the floor.
“Sorry for speaking out of place, sir,” she quickly said.
Tru started walking again, and she followed in silence.
“My father’s crews were always xeno,” Tru finally explained. “That’s how I know that certain species cannot be bunked with other species, or their own species, for that matter.”
Amanda didn’t say anything for a few moments. “And who was your father?”
“Doctor Barnett. The architect.”
Tru glanced at a holographic sign as he passed under it. The commercial on it ended and indicated Lucas Hall was the next right.
“The Doctor Barnett?” she asked.
“The one and only.”
“Sir, I’m… Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Just do yourself a favor next time, XO, research your captain before insulting him.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The two were silent for a few seconds.
“Sir, about the tardy communications officer, Ensign Jackie Rhoades,” Amanda picked up her pace to stay at his side, “She’s a Silerium, sir.”
“And?”
“She has a lengthy disciplinary record. I recommend that you request her transferred.”
“Your recommendation is noted, but I’m going to give her a chance to prove she’s a problem if it’s all the same to you. You understand, don’t you, XO?”
They turned at the next right, and the crowd rapidly thinned. The two passed the Merchant Raitor Union office where a Yiquar, an ugly, fleshy species, was briefing a class of new recruits on filing complaints. The Merchant Raitor Patrol office was the next room on their right. The MRP patrolled Merchant Raitor ship and cargo areas on all Merchant Raitor spaceports. They were known as the toughest law enforcement in most solar systems, and local law enforcement avoided getting in their way.
“You are going to be disappointed with Jackie’s service,” Amanda insisted.
“Really?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tru stopped, holding his hand out. “Show me her record.”
She fished out Ensign Rhoades’s docket and handed it over. Tru tapped the activation corner and information appeared on the document sheet. He skimmed past the twenty-something image of the human in question and scanned the document. He turned the pad off and gave it back to her.
“Sounds like her previous captains didn’t understand Sileriums.”
“Sir, it says she has interrupted senior staff meetings, interfered with negotiations, and reported crewmen committing traitorous acts.”
Tru started walking again. “Are you worried she’ll find out about your traitorous actions, Wrigley?”
“I haven’t committed any traitorous acts, sir!” Amanda sharply retorted.
Tru turned into a hall that sloped steeply down to the briefing hall stage door. The corridor reminded Tru of a secluded library corner: cool, sufficient light, and the only sound was the soft swoosh of their shoes on the carpet and the fans working somewhere deep within the spaceport.
“Then what’s the problem?”
She didn’t answer so he stopped and looked back at her.
“There is no problem, sir.”
“Good. Then let’s go meet our contestants.”
“Contestants, sir?”
Tru smiled, walking to the door. He stopped and buttoned the top three buttons of his uniform top. He turned to Amanda and found her holding out a doc-slip.
“What’s that?”
“I took the liberty of preparing your briefing, sir.”
Tru turned and entered the room. She attached to his shadow, struggling to get the doc-slip back in her bag.
Equ’Wixal was a skinny example of the Drasken race. He entered the briefing hall and stopped at the head of the stairs, looking over the variety of species below him. The seats were arranged in a half-circle around a stage, and each row was raised high enough so that every seat had a good view of the stage. Equ’Wixal started down the stairs, looking for a familiar face to sit with.
Normally, Draskens were stocky and incredibly strong; however, a childhood racked with an illness that had left him scrawny and stole his hereditary strength but instilled in him the desire to cure diseases. His species was often mistaken for humans because their skin hid the differences between the species. Evolution had given Draskens an exoskeleton to protect their organs from their home planet’s violent weather and seismic activity. The exoskeleton gave all of them a well-toned appearance, as well as rendering skin as useful to a Drasken as the appendix was to a human. On their home world, it was common for Draskens to have their skin removed after they reached voting age, and keep it removed the rest of their life.
But for Draskens that traveled with other species, like Equ’Wixal, they kept their skin to better blend with other humanoid species. Luckily their eyes didn’t require such drastic steps to conceal, despite also being very different from their human look-alikes. They had translucent inner eyelids to protect they eyeball from their desert planet’s harsh elements and thin outer eyelids that blocked the UV light from their system’s quadruple suns and nine moons.
In Drasken years, Equ’Wixal, or Q’al for species unabl
e to pronounce his full name, was a baby at the age of seventy-one, but he had married well to four very wealthy older Draskens. His wives had married him because he was young and his craft was generating more wealth for them. But Q’al married his husband, Equ’Arihel, because the two had fallen madly in love with each other.
Q’al yawned, feeling his lack of sleep. All of his immediate family had come to Earth the night before and kept him up all night with a custom passed down from The Prophet Tales. Each had sex with him so that if something happened during his journey, he would leave his family on favorable terms.
He rolled his lips, so the tip of his tongue touching them. At the transport octagon in Q’al’s apartment, Arihel had kissed him good-bye, surprising Q’al with the intoxicating sweetness of Garis’hmal nectar coating his lips. The sweetness would linger on Q’al’s lips for hours, a constant reminder of his beloved husband. And his whispered departing words would carry Q’al through the entire stint: Give yourself to other species, commit your heart to the Makers and the Drasken race, but your kiss always belongs to me, sweet Q’al.
“Q’al,” a voice called. “I saved you a seat.”
He stopped to search out the owner of the voice. A young Paskian female waved him over to the empty seat next to her. Q’al started across the aisle toward Aris Dariket.
Aris was a cute creature with the face that resembled pictures of Labrador puppies. Her dark brown eyes always looked mischievous, and it appeared that her body was covered with short brown and white silky hair. Q’al knew the body parts that silky hair did not cover because every stint they served together, she spent a lot of it in his bed. He wasn’t the only male in Merchant Raitor that knew which body parts on Aris Dariket didn’t have hair. She was skilled at enticing men to sleep with her, regardless of whether they had a spouse or mate back home or on board.
Promiscuity and the very short temper she had should have put a quick end to her Merchant Raitor career, but she had one talent that kept her employed. She could fly any ship she was put at the helm of, and she was only one of three Merchant Raitor pilots brave or crazy enough to go into the Outer Rim to reclaim Merchant Raitor ships from Marauders and outrun them. It was rumored that she’d once even found her way out of a black hole when the rest of the crew had died – but then one of Aris’ many faults was she loved starting rumors.
