Perkins couldn’t actually see much, with Shauna’s arm in the way. “And?”
“And, ma’am, this fluid reservoir is empty, even though the instruments say it’s full. That’s what clued me in to look; the fluid level should have dropped a little while the drill was operating.”
“Can you remove the reservoir?” Perkins asked.
“I can do it, but this gentleman here,” she pointed at the enraged Ruhar, “says we humans are not authorized to perform maintenance on this machinery. I wasn’t even supposed to open this inspection hatch, even though,” she glared back at the Ruhar, “it is a hatch that is designed to open so you can inspect the inside of the rig.”
Perkins nudged Shauna aside gently, so she could get a better view inside the hatch. “Remove it.”
It was an awkward move, but the reservoir was designed to be easily replaced, so Shauna’s nimble fingers were able to get the retaining clips undone, then she rotated it ninety degrees until it came loose. “Son of a bitch,” she spat as she pulled it out of the hatch. “Look, the fluid level indicator here is jammed, stuck. That’s why it read full, when it was empty. I, oh, shit.” She handed the clear bottle to Perkins. “Someone messed with it, Major. The indicator has glue or something holding it to the full position.”
Perkins examined the reservoir closely, then held it out for the others to see. “Yes, I see it. It looks like glue, it could be some residue, if the fluid dried out and congealed.”
“No way, ma’am,” Dave said, shaking his head. “That little dot of glue is dark blue. The lubricant fluid is pink. Shauna’s right, ma’am, this is total bullshit.”
Perkins shook the reservoir suspiciously. A few drops of light pink fluid ran down the inside of the bottle. “This is odd. Sabotaging the reservoir would not have prevented us from participating in this mission,” she observed. “We wouldn’t have known about it until, oh, shit.”
“Yes,” Shauna stated. “It’s worse. We would have flown all the way out there and busted the drill. This coupling is one component we don’t carry a spare for; it’s integrated with the housing and the motor. If the coupling burned out, it would be faster and easier for the Ruhar to fly out a new drill.”
“A new drill, with a Ruhar crew to operate it,” Perkins glared at the Ruhar mechanic. “Because the stupid humans burned out their own drill. I get it. As sabotage goes, this was reasonably smart.” She turned to Nert. “Cadet, can you inquire whether there are spare reservoirs like this on the base?”
“Oh,” Nert fairly bounced on his toes with eagerness to show his knowledge. “Yes. Yes, there are spares. This is a common component used in our trucks and aircraft.”
“Excellent. Please arrange to have three reservoirs delivered, and my team will install one of them.”
“No!” The mechanic protested. “I will replace-”
Perkins’ wrath focused on the mechanic. Although he was more than a head taller than her, she stepped forward until they were toe to toe and she was glaring up into his brown eyes. “I am Major Emily Perkins. What is your name?”
“Slonn Janes. I am a master mechanic,” he replied stiffly.
“Mr. Janes, this is my team, I am responsible for the success of this mission. My team will replace the reservoir. I take full responsibility for any damage to the drill rig.”
“It is not necessary-”
“This could be sloppy workmanship, or it could be incompetent workers, or it could be sabotage,” she paused for the translation to catch up. “Either way, this is a very serious matter. This incident can either be reported up to the highest level,” she looked meaningfully at Nert, knowing the mechanic likely knew who the cadet was related to. “Or, we can assume this is a simple mechanical failure, and take care of it ourselves, right here. Right now.”
In one way, Ruhar culture was like human culture. Neither species liked higher authorities to be notified about problems, if it could be avoided. The mechanic spoke slowly so the translator could keep up, and he could see Perkin’s reaction to his words. “There is no need to involve anyone other than myself.”
“I would appreciate it if a master mechanic, such as yourself, would show my team how to properly install the replacement reservoir.” She stepped back from Janes, smiled, and softened her tone. “If there is a problem with another reservoir during our mission, we will need to replace it in the field, by ourselves.”
That made sense to Janes. “Major Emily-”
“Major Perkins,” Nert interjected unhelpfully.
“Major Perkins,” Janes tried again, “I will instruct your team in the proper procedure for replacing the fluid reservoir. And,” he glanced at Nert, “I will investigate how a malfunctioning component was installed by my team.” Janes appeared genuinely embarrassed and angry. Impulsively, he stuck out a hand, and Perkins shook it briefly. Briefly, because she was sure the Ruhar did not enjoy touching a human.
Master Mechanic Slonn Janes kept his word. He showed Shauna how to replace the reservoir, and supervised as she instructed Jesse and Dave how to do it. Then, with the mechanic assisting, and a half dozen idle and curious Ruhar watching, they set the drill rig upright again and put it back in action, drilling down to one hundred feet in the relatively soft soil.
“Jarrett,” Perkins asked their de facto drill rig expert three hours later, “are you satisfied with the performance of this rig?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shauna replied wearily. She was hungry, and it was growing dark.
“Excellent. Lt. Bonsu, get us something quick to eat. The rest of us are going to take this rig down, and store it aboard the Buzzard.”
It was 0235 local time, the way humans reckoned time, when an exhausted Irene hit the button to close the Buzzard’s back ramp. “Done. Oh, I am so tired,” Irene said, resting her head against a structural rib inside the Buzzard’s cargo compartment.
“Does anyone want to get something to eat?” Perkins asked, silently hoping everyone would decline her offer.
“I am too tired to eat anything, ma’am,” Derek responded.
“Anyone else? No? Striebich, Bonsu, you two get some rack time. The rest of us are going to take shifts here, I’ll go first.”
“Ma’am?” Jesse expressed surprise.
Major Perkins rapped her knuckles on the Buzzard’s skin. “We got this Buzzard and drill rig working perfectly; we are not going to risk anyone screwing with them. Until we take off in,” she looked at her zPhone to check her tired mind, “one day and a wakeup, we are not letting anyone near this ship, except for this team.”
Nert spoke hesitantly. “Does that include me, Major Perkins?”
There was a split second hesitation in Perkin’s reply while her mind raced through the potential risks. The local Ruhar had actively been working against her team; actively trying to exclude humans from missions of any importance. “Yes, Nert, it does include you. You will take the second shift, report back here at 0330. That’s human time.”
“Yes, I will!” Nert exclaimed excitedly, as if he were at a fun summer camp.
“Great,” Perkins had to smile at the Ruhar cadet’s enthusiasm. “I will send a duty rotation to everyone, we’ll all take one hour shifts. Except you, Striebich and Bonsu, you won’t need to be back here until 1400.”
“I don’t need that long, ma’am,” Irene said as she attempted to stifle a yawn.
“Yes you do,” Perkins insisted. “We need the two of you to fly us, the day after tomorrow. The rest of us can sleep while you are flying.”
“Yes, Major,” Irene said gratefully. “I can’t promise an inflight movie.”
“I’ll settle for peanuts,” Perkins was also fighting a yawn.
“Peanuts are in short supply on this planet.”
“Understood. Now get out of here.”
Nert arrived fifteen minutes early for his shift as guard. “Good morning, Major Perkins,” he said cheerily, not looking at all as if he had just awakened from a twenty minute nap. Ruhar, with their geneti
cally enhanced biology, did not need as much sleep as humans did, and a short, deep nap was refreshing enough for one day. Nert would need a solid night of sleep later.
“Good morning, Cadet Dandurf. You are here early,” Perkins blinked slowly to get her tired eyes to focus properly.
“I am told that your military has a saying; ‘if you are not early, you are late’. It is similar in the Ruhar military.”
“That is good to know, thank you.”
“Do you have anything to report?” Nert asked, peering across the airbase. Pools of light from poles here and there and hangars illuminated those areas, leaving twilight in between. He swept an arc around the parked Buzzard with vision-enhancing lenses, finding only two base personnel walking toward a line of Dobrehs.
“Hmm?” Perkins forgot for a moment that she had been on guard duty. “No. People came over to speak with me twice, I did not allow them near the aircraft.”
“I shall do the same. Politely, of course.”
“Of course.”
Nert glanced at his zPhone to check the time. It was 0322; his shift did not officially begin for another eight minutes. The human female appeared tired, although he was not an expert on human facial expressions and body language. “Major Perkins, you may be relieved,” he hoped he had used the correct terminology; zPhones often could not be trusted with subtle cultural nuances. “I am sufficiently rested.”
“Thank you, Nert, I will remain until 0330.” Perkins did not want to appear slack in front of a Ruhar.
“Good!” Nert was delighted. “Major Perkins,” he looked away, avoiding eye contact. “During the flight, I would very much like to be aboard this aircraft.”
“Oh?” That surprised Perkins. All the other Ruhar would be aboard the lead Buzzard. During their joint missions to reactivate projectors, they had never had a Ruhar with them; no Ruhar wanted to ride with lowly, primitive humans. “We would be pleased to have you with us,” Perkins said, instantly questioning whether she should she have said ‘honored’ rather than ‘pleased’.
Nert made a short bow, grinning ear to ear. “Thank you, Major Perkins. As your team liaison, I believe it is proper that I remain with you.”
“You will need to bring your own food supply, as well as, any, other, uh, items you may require,” she stumbled awkwardly. She did not know about Ruhar sanitary habits, and even this stretched version of the Buzzard had only one cramped bathroom. The Ruhar bunks were considered comfortably large for humans; while Nert likely would not be able to fully stretch his legs out while he slept.
“I will. This will be an adventure! I have never flown so far in a, Buz-zard,” he used the unfamiliar human name for the aircraft, even knowing the name was vaguely insulting.
Great, Perkins thought to herself. We not only have a mission where our every move will be scrutinized and criticized, and now we not only will have an alien aboard for a very long flight. We will have a young, and annoyingly enthusiastic, alien aboard. Was there any way this mission possibly become even more wonderful?
Admiral Kekrando stood stiffly in his most formal uniform, waiting by the airlock door to the destroyer’s portside docking bay. On a display mounted on the opposite wall, he could see the bay’s large outer doors were open, and a sleek, dark green Jeraptha dropship was maneuvering itself into position in the docking cradle. Kekrando and a smattering of the ship’s senior officers were there to greet the Jeraptha inspection team, who would be assuring all ships under Kekrando’s nominal command were in compliance with their requirements for attaching to a massive yet vulnerable star carrier. Jeraptha star carriers had transported Kristang ships before, just as the Thuranin had transported Ruhar ships between the stars, but it was still an unusual and anxiety-inducing event for both sides.
The enemy dropship attached itself firmly to the cradle, and the outer door began to slide ponderously closed. Once the outer doors were securely sealed, air would be pumped into the bay, and the Jeraptha would emerge. Four minutes remaining, at least, before the patrons of the Ruhar would step through the airlock and formally onto the deck of the destroyer.
Kekrando fervently prayed for death to somehow strike him before that moment.
Beside the admiral, executive officer Kartow sweated in his own formal dress uniform, pressed in too close to the admiral in the narrow corridor. Kartow had prayed for the destroyer’s captain to volunteer for the reception party, but the captain had insisted Kartow take his place; the captain was vitally needed on the bridge. The bridge of a ship hanging dead in space, with reactors shut down, and nothing for the captain to do. Kartow had done as ordered.
The discomfort of the awkward silence finally got to Kartow, and he had to say something. “Admiral, you have met the Jeraptha before? What are they like?”
“I have met them,” Kekrando answered, grateful someone wished to speak with him, even though he knew the conversation was forced. What to say about the Jeraptha? That most species thought of them as insects, even though the Jeraptha had long ago lost their exoskeletons and now had a greenish, leathery outer skin? Four legs, two arms, and antennas the Jeraptha sometimes used as an extra set of fingers? No, Kartow would know all that from the clan database. “The Jeraptha appear deceptively unprofessional. They joke, and attempt to distract you. They wish you to think of them as not serious, even childish. Do not be fooled. They are a deadly enemy, with technology far beyond our capability, and even more advanced than the Thuranin.” Kekrando knew that statement was considered treasonous, and it actually felt good that he no longer needed to care. His impending death was, in a way, a sort of freedom.
“I will remain focused on my duty, Admiral,” Kartow replied, not knowing what else to say. To his relief, the indicator light above the airlock blinked then glowed steadily, as the bay was now fully pressurized. The enemy was coming to visit.
The airlock door slid open, and Kartow’s nose detected a whiff of something sweet. Three Jeraptha came through the door. Each walked on four legs supporting a horizontal body segment, with their upper body vertical, though their heads barely came up to Kekrando’s chest. They wore white and black clothing and black boots, and each of the three wore a different colored band on their left arms. The first one, with a red armband, loudly slurped from a squeeze bottle, and as it drank, it became obvious the bottle was the source of the sweet scent.
“You brought beverages with you?” Even Kekrando was surprised by that. Two of the Jeraptha appeared unsteady on their four feet, as if they had been imbibing intoxicating substances during the flight from the star carrier.
“Of course!” Blue armband said as it let out a loud belch, suddenly filling the air in the corridor with the scent of fermented, something. “This is an inspection party, right?”
“Oh,” the Jeraptha with the yellow armband sputtered while drinking from a squeeze globe it carried in one hand, “this is the worst party ever. Look at all these gloomy faces! Let’s get some music on.” It waved the squeeze globe under Kartow’s nose. “Here, drink some burgoze, it will put you in a better mood,” it laughed.
Kartow recoiled from the stinky-smelling fluid, pressing his back against the bulkhead.
“You! You are Admiral Kekrando?” The red-banded Jeraptha gestured angrily at Kekrando, going as far as to poke the Kristang senior commander in the chest with an antenna. “You cost me a lot of money, you chootah!”
Kekrando stood his ground, knowing he was being baited, and suspecting the Jeraptha of being slightly drunk. Or more than slightly.
“You put that incompetent fool Gerkaw in command of your pursuit force,” red-band complained as it tapped Kekrando with its antenna. “If that idiot had survived two more days, just two days, I would have won the pool! He didn’t need to capture or destroy Commodore Ferlant’s ships, all he needed to do was survive. For two short days. But no! He just couldn’t do it, and he cost me a ton of money.”
“You wagered on the outcome of the battle?” Kartow asked, incredulous.
“Of course,” blue-band answered, as if it were the dumbest sort of question. “We always do, how we could we pass up juicy action like that? Don’t worry about Saksey,” he gestured with an antenna toward the red-banded Jeraptha, “he bet on Gerkaw to survive longer. On our ship, everyone knows,” blue-band spoke in unison with yellow-band, “always bet against Saksey!” That threw blue and yellow into uproarious laughter.
“Oh, you two are so funny,” Saksey looked at the deck while furiously sucking on his squeeze bulb, and he let out another loud, odiferous belch.
“Did anyone wager for Captain Gerkaw to succeed?” Kartow asked innocently, sparking the Jeraptha into convulsive laughter. The aliens were laughing so hard they couldn’t catch their breath, and they were pounding their rear feet on the deck.
“Hahahahahahahahaha! Oh, that is a good one? Bet on Gerkaw? I would not have bet on Gerkaw to succeed against a group of Ruhar cadets. Against Commodore Ferlant?” The Jeraptha snickered. “Ha! Ferlant is a skilled and inventive commander, we have been watching his career closely and with much optimism. No,” he laughed again, “not even Saksey would be dumb enough to bet on,” another round of convulsive laughter, “Gerkaw to defeat Ferlant.”
When the three Jeraptha caught their breath enough to speak, Kekrando addressed blue-band, who appeared to be the leader. At least blue-band was least unsteady on his feet. “Do you have a wager on how long I will live, once we return to the clan?” The admiral asked, almost with detached disinterest.
“Oh, certainly,” two of the Jeraptha slapped antennas. “Not long!” Blue-band laughed. “If you want a piece of the action, you can get in-” he broke up laughing.
Saksey finished the thought. “But you won’t be around to collect!”
The actual inspection was shockingly casual, with the Jeraptha poking randomly around the ship, missing vital areas and wasting time in places like the corridors near the officer’s cabins. By the time the inspection was over, Saksey was swaying so badly on his feet that blue-band had to support him back to the airlock. “This has been a terrible party,” Saksey complained with a hiccup. “Not even any snacks! We-” his thought was interrupted by another belch. “Oh, let’s get out of here.”
Trouble on Paradise: an ExForce novella (ExForce novellas Book 1) Page 12
