The Genius Asylum: Sic Transit Terra Book 1

by Arlene F. Marks

  Chapter 13

  The lights in AdComm were coming back up. Night shift was ending, and Drew finally had his office. Following his exact orders, Jason Smith and two of the maintenance crew had brought the carpet in, unrolled it where he’d directed them, and “stuck a desk on it”. Then they had walked away, muttering to themselves about station managers and their stupid blue rugs.

  There were no interior walls on C Deck, and even if there were, Drew’s aim had been to define his workspace, not barricade himself inside it. Lydia had already claimed her corner of AdComm, and Ruby’s console took up nearly a fifth of the deck, directly in front of the observation port. The spot Drew had picked for his desk was just off-center, facing a piece of bulkhead halfway between two tube car doors. The blank wall was plaincoated in solid beige and already boring to look at. Maybe, if he dropped a hint or two, the Midnight Muralist would decorate it for him.

  The tall gray metal filing cabinets, Drew had discovered, were filled with records left by his predecessors. They would make interesting reading if he ever got a moment to review them; meanwhile, the cabinets, banked together in an ‘L’ shape, made a passable office partition.

  “It must be a station manager thing.”

  Drew turned at the sound of her voice and saw Ruby McNeil walking toward him, smiling, as the tube car door closed behind her. “I heard you were into interior decorating,” she commented. “Not bad.” Lips pursed, she surveyed the fruit of his considerable labors. “You know, that is one sorry piece of carpet, Chief. I didn’t think it would survive decon. But now that I see it lying there like the skin of some repulsive alien beast, I must admit it pulls the room together.”

  “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” he warned her.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. I came by to ask if I could buy you a cup of java in the caf.”

  “A second cup of Fritz’s brew in one day? That would probably keep me up for the next five with indigestion.”

  “Drew, trust me,” she said, all the laughter gone from her voice, “you’re going to want this cup of java.”

  They were the caf’s first customers of the morning. Drew let Ruby shepherd him to a table in the far corner of the eating area, his curiosity deepening as she hollered into the kitchen in passing, “Java, black, and keep it coming!”

  Jensen personally brought them two large mugs and a pot of his most potent blend. Ruby waited until he had filled their cups and disappeared back into the cooking area, then asked, “What’s this I hear about you having friends in high places?”

  Drew cursed silently. He hadn’t wanted anyone to overhear his conversation with Bonelli, but Ruby and the Doc had insisted that the confrontation be monitored from AdComm ‘just in case’. Now questions were arising, and he would have to obfuscate like mad to control the damage.

  “That was just Bonelli, blowing smoke,” he told her. “I did something he couldn’t have managed without someone intervening for him, so he assumed I had help. He was wrong.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Ruby, if I had friends with that kind of pull, why would I be here?”

  “That’s precisely the question I’ve been asking myself ever since we met. There’s something about you that makes my brain itch, Mr. Townsend. But never mind, I’ll figure you out. Meanwhile, drink your java.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  There was good news and there was bad news. Ruby waited until he’d taken several swallows of Jensen’s sludge before breaking either one to him.

  “The good news is that the paintbrush turned up on Devanan’s desk this morning. He and Spiro are already checking it out. If we’re lucky, we might be able to use it to turn the casing around the Meniscus Field generator transparent without setting anything off.”

  “I hope you told the Muralist thank you for us.”

  “I had nothing to do with it, Drew.”

  Right. Of course, she didn’t. “Well, thank him anyway.”

  There was a long pause until Drew prompted her, “You said there was bad news?”

  “Yes,” she replied reluctantly. “You’d better not plan on sleeping for a while, Chief. The latest tekl’hananni scores have been posted and the Krronn is on her way. In less than thirty-four station hours, this hub will be full of Nandrian warriors. You’ll need every minute of that time to prepare for the First Meeting ceremony with their Chief Officer, Nagor.”

  Despite the hot mud in his stomach, Drew felt instantly clammy inside. He took another gulp of java.

  “There’s a ritual speech you have to recite,” Ruby continued. “Gavin is waiting on A Deck to teach it to you.”

  At least she let him finish his java first. When Drew arrived on Deck A, half an hour later, Gavin Holchuk was standing in the middle of the room, looking grimmer than death.

  “I don’t have time to give you a crash course on Nandrian culture and customs, Townsend,” he snapped. “Just get us through this ceremony without delivering a mortal insult to anyone and I’ll be happy. Here,” he added, thrusting a compupad into Drew’s hand. “It’s the invitation speech. Read it aloud, exactly as written.”

  Too tired to take offence at the other man’s attitude, Drew began to read.

  “Stop!” Holchuk blew out a disgusted sigh. “Damn!”

  Drew could feel his patience giving way, one strand at a time. “Now what?” he demanded raggedly.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed, that’s what.” Holchuk spun away and spread his arms, as though imploring heaven. “We have a station manager who can’t even speak Galactic Standard!” he announced to the ceiling. Then he turned to face Drew once more, his eyes cold with rage. “What the hell kind of Eligible are you, Townsend? Is the Relocation Authority so desperate to replace plague casualties off-planet that they’re lowering the bar and granting postings to marginals? Or did you simply not bother qualifying for one, knowing that you could depend on someone high up to take care of you?”

  Even caffeinated up to the eyeballs, Drew knew he didn’t dare rise to the bait.

  He zagged. “Look, I’m doing my best. If I’m mispronouncing words, swearing and shouting at me isn’t going to help. Just tell me how to say them and give me a chance to practice. I’m a quick study, promise!”

  Holchuk’s anger drained away. He glanced upward once more and shook his head sadly. “Do you know what you just called yourself? A burrowing insect. Call Nagor that and he’ll gut you without a second thought. When you give this speech, you can’t mispronounce a single word. You can’t stammer. You can’t even hesitate.”

  “All right,” Drew conceded wearily. “You wanted to frighten me — it worked. So why don’t you invite them aboard?”

  “I would if I were the station manager. Feel like stepping down, boss man?”

  Drew sighed, wishing he could step down. That had been the original plan, after all — to get him assigned to a low-profile position like hub maintenance that he could use as a blind while he observed and orchestrated.

  “Not today, Holchuk. Okay, tell Jensen to send us up some breakfast and lots of java. Then walk me through the ceremony.”

  While the Chief Cargo Inspector was talking on the wallcomm, Drew scanned the rest of the invitation speech. It was a brief history of Daisy Hub — or pretended to be. Some of the colorful and glorious battles it described couldn’t possibly have taken place there.

  “Is there a problem?” Holchuk asked, scowling.

  “No, but it’s—” a bunch of lies, he’d been about to say, before realizing just in time that the other man had probably written it himself. “It’s very creative. Do the Nandrians actually believe this?”

  “Lord, I hope not. It’s posturing, that’s all. The Nandrians are warriors. Posturing is part of their culture. Besides, it gives the Hub some ambience.”

  Ambience and Daisy Hub in the same thought? Drew shook his h
ead slowly.

  Meanwhile, Holchuk went on, warming to the subject, “Listen, if all you wanted was to get toxed, you’d pick something up at a liquor store on your way home. But if you wanted to celebrate, you’d go to a tav. Why?”

  “The company?” Drew guessed.

  “Exactly. A tav is a gathering place. Its history invites you in, its atmosphere makes you feel welcome. History and atmosphere — that’s what this speech creates.”

  “So Daisy Hub was never actually attacked by dragons?”

  “Only in one of Naguchi’s nightmares. He figured it was a dream-metaphor for a fleet of hostile ships.” Holchuk glanced at his wristcomm and winced. “Less than thirty-two hours left,” he said, becoming brisk and purposeful once more. “All right. Trokerk is leading by four, so they’ll ask to dock at module 4. Nagor will step through the archway, followed by his second and third. You will be waiting here, flanked by Ruby and me. Once the three of them are facing the three of us, you’ll deliver the invitation speech, from memory. Then, assuming you’ve given them no reason to kill you on the spot, the introductions will begin.

  “As the one arriving, Nagor will introduce himself first. He’ll tell you his name, his father’s name, and his position within the House of Trokerk. You’ll respond by introducing yourself the same way, as Drew, son of…?”

  “David and Caroline.”

  “Just David. Nandrian lineage goes through the male parent. Drew, son of David, Third Shield of the House of Americas. Say it.”

  “Why Third Shield?”

  “Nandrian First and Second Shields are essential to the defense of the House, so they hardly ever leave the home world. The Nandrians already know that we have six different Shield levels represented on the Hub. The station manager has highest authority and would therefore have to be part of the highest possible Shield. Third Shield. Now say it.”

  “I am Drew, son of David, Third Shield of the House of Americas.”

  “You could sound a little prouder,” Holchuk chided. “Nagor commands a starship and is only Fifth Shield.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’m Fifth Shield as well. Ruby is Fourth. Hagman is Eighth. You’re the only Third Shield on the Hub. There, are you happy?”

  Holchuk was deathly serious. Drew managed somehow not to smile.

  “All right. Nagor will then introduce his second the same way, and wait for you to introduce Ruby.”

  “Then his third, and you?”

  “Exactly. Then each leader describes his most recent battle victory. I’ve already begun scripting yours.”

  He reached over and scrolled down several pages on the compupad. Curious, Drew scanned the first paragraph. “Bonelli?” he protested, glancing up in disbelief. “That wasn’t a battle. It was barely a skirmish.”

  “Once I’ve finished embellishing it for our Nandrian guests, they’ll think it was a historical milestone. It doesn’t have to be the truth, Townsend. All it has to do is keep you alive. Just remember that Nagor goes first, and that it’s an insult if your victory is not equal to his. So pay attention to his account. If he fought single combat, you fought single combat. If he fought ten opponents, you fought ten Rangers, and won.”

  “But—!”

  “Townsend, think of this as the Nandrian equivalent of saying please and thank you at a tea party. If your victory is greater than his, you make him appear inferior and are a poor host. If it’s lesser, you make yourself appear inferior, and then he won’t respect you as a leader. And, Third Shield or not, if he doesn’t respect you he won’t take orders or even suggestions from you. And neither will his crew. And then we’re all fried.”

  “All right,” Drew sighed. “I fought a whole battalion of Rangers and sent them home defeated and disgraced. What next?”

  “Then he has a speech praising you for being a gracious host and a mighty warrior, and thanking you for the invitation.”

  “And then?”

  “Then his crew swarms into the caf, Jensen starts setting up tall ones, and after my people have inspected the cargo holds, you get to go shopping. Unless you’ve mispronounced a word and gotten yourself killed. Then Ruby belongs to the highest-ranked Shield on the Hub and has the privilege of going first.”

  Chapter 14

  All alone in AdComm, Drew sank down wearily in the chair behind his desk, his entire body aching with tension. Fortunately, a previous station manager had declared C Deck off-limits to aliens. Everywhere else on the Hub, jubilant Nandrians were chug-a-lugging lemon punch, loudly bragging about their exploits, reenacting them with whatever props came to hand, and generally giving new meaning to the phrase ‘party animals’.

  Humans liked to party, too. Devil Bug kept spinning past the observation port as ‘Mom’ showed off her skills to Nagor’s officers, two at a time. Drew imagined they were debarking from the little shuttle a shade or two greener than when they’d boarded it. In the caf, Jensen was gleefully experimenting with new ways to mix lemon drinks. Lydia Garfield had opened up the comm system Hub-wide, and everyone who owned a musical instrument was down on L Deck, jamming. Everyone who appreciated good music was consequently up on B Deck, jamming in a different sense of the word. The Muralist’s work was on display, of course, and the Nandrians were making quite a fuss over it — in their own hissing, snarling language, not Gally. And Orvy Hagman and the dock and maintenance crew were circulating quietly, identifying guests who had overstayed their welcome and politely but firmly escorting them back up to A Deck and onto their ship.

  Night shift was beginning. Again. Not counting naps stolen behind Gavin Holchuk’s back, Drew had now been awake for two-and-a-half station days. He had found the comm system controls on Lydia’s console and used them to silence the speakers in AdComm. As the lighting dimmed, he felt the chill of fatigue and knew that he really ought to be getting some sleep. But now, while the past few hours were still painfully fresh in his mind and the rest of the crew were distracted by their ‘guests’, now would be the best time to log his first routine report as station manager.

  The highlight of that report: Drew had finally met the Nandrians, face to razor-toothed face. Two meters of evolved carnosaur. Warrior-merchants. Players of a ‘sport’ in which final score and body count were synonymous. And in perfect Galactic Standard — and frozen to the deck in mortal terror — Drew Townsend had actually invited the top-ranked ship’s crew to hold their victory celebration aboard Daisy Hub — and they’d accepted.

  If this was what happened when the Nandrians liked you, it was no wonder Naguchi had had nightmares.

  Drew didn’t know whether it was demanded by the ceremony, but the Nandrians had stood still as statues, allowing him to negotiate the five hundred perilous words of his speech undistracted. As he finished, Ruby and Holchuk heaved audible sighs of relief. Then, in a spasm of nervousness, Drew managed to forget his own father’s name, blurting out instead the first thing that came to his mind. (“Well, it could have been worse,” Ruby consoled him later, grinning mischievously. “It could have been my name you forgot.”) The rest of the ceremony had gone reasonably well, he thought. At its conclusion, as Nandrians poured through the archway to get to the tube cars, Ruby congratulated him specifically on keeping his credibility as the Hub’s fearless leader by not wetting his trousers. (Jovanovich had apparently disgraced himself more than once in the Nandrians’ eyes.) By then Holchuk had already hurried off without saying a word, but the three of them were still alive and the station was being overrun by huge alien warriors, so he must have been happy.

  Yes, it was the perfect time to make his report, Townsend thought. Yawning, he leaned back in his chair and—

  “Huh!”

  Suddenly he was wide awake and the lights were up full. His neck and shoulders ached miserably. His mouth tasted the way a three-day-old corpse smelled. He checked the time on his wristcomm. It was nearly twelve hundred h
ours. Day shift was half over. “Dammit!” he spat.

  Familiar laughter rippled into his office from just the other side of a tall filing cabinet. “I don’t think your father can hear you from there, Chief,” Ruby sang out.

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” he muttered, shifting his body in the padded falsahyde chair and wincing at the popping and creaking sounds they both made.

  “Oh, so we’re talking about those kinds of friends in high places?” Ruby’s grinning face appeared around the corner of Drew’s improvised room-divider. “While you were snoring, your dance card was filling up,” she told him. “Gouryas and Singh need to see you on L Deck. No rush. Just something about our hull integrity dropping. And Holchuk says there was a problem with the cargo inspection on the Krronn. He wants to meet with you in Med Services as soon as possible.”

  Drew halted in the act of finger-combing his hair and scowled. “Med Services? Is someone hurt? Did one of the Nandrians—?”

  “No. But as soon as you’ve changed your clothes, I think it would be a good idea to go down there.” A pause, then, “Lydia dropped by, as well, to thank you for what you told Bonelli the other day. And she was curious…”

  “…to know how I knew?”

  She nodded.

  Drew eased himself out of the chair and carefully straightened his spine, wondering how thirty-six years could suddenly feel so old. “Something you told me the other day, about Lydia going over to Zulu to install their SPA room, plus the way Bonelli and the other Rangers looked at Teri when we arrived at the Zoo earlier, and your decision to come and pick us up from there right away because one of us was a woman. It doesn’t take a genius to put those pieces together. Is Lydia getting counseling?”

  “She was, and she was improving. Then Karim died, and suddenly there were Rangers all over the Hub, and, well, you saw the state she was in.”

  Yes, he had seen it — and the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. For starters, what the devil was someone that traumatized doing working shifts in AdComm? That was assuming, of course, that Lydia’s distress was genuine. After all, Ruby hadn’t shown much compassion for her during his tour, and Doc Ktumba, flying in the face of common sense and the Hippocratic Oath, had apparently decided not to send the patient back to Earth for psychiatric help after her relapse.