Fool's War

by Sarah Zettel

Yerusha shook her head and threaded her way between the tables to the coffee urn that had been built into the wall.

  Chandra, a grey-haired, bark-brown woman, appeared at the window with an open-lidded bucket in her wrinkled hands. It sloshed. She held it over Dobbs’ head.

  Dobbs took one look up and scuttled backwards like a frightened crab. “Help!” She dodged under the nearest table. “That’s a declaration of war, Cook! I’m telling everyone I saw you put blasting gel in that sauce!”

  Chandra clapped her hand to her forehead and staggered backwards. “Oh! I am found out! I am undone! I am ruined!”

  “I am upstaged,” remarked Dobbs as she crawled out from under the table.

  “Now behave yourself, young woman,” Chandra reached meaningfully for a ladle. “There’s work to be done, and unless you want to do it…”

  Dobbs slapped her own forehead and stumbled away in perfect imitation of Chandra’s gesture. A comm assistant, who’s name Yerusha had forgotten, chuckled appreciatively. Then, he caught sight of Yerusha. Yerusha nodded to him and sat down at the next table. He got up immediately and moved over to a table on the far side of the room.

  Yerusha swallowed her anger with a long draft of very strong coffee. When she looked up, the Fool was sitting across from her, both feet on the table. The chair would have been tilted back if it hadn’t been bolted to the floor.

  “I’d be careful with that stuff.” Dobbs pointed toward Yerusha’s coffee cup. “The curry’s not the only place Cook puts the blasting gel. I don’t want to see Al Shei’s face when she’s got to scrape her new pilot off the ceiling.” Dobbs raised an imaginary umbrella and squinted angrily out from under its rim. “That does it,” she said in a good imitation of Al Shei’s Dubai accent. “That is the last time I hire a cook who says she’s a demolitions expert!”

  Despite herself, Yerusha chuckled. The comm assistant gave her a disgruntled glance. Dobbs waved cheerily and gestured expansively for the man to come over and join them. Instead, he got up and left.

  “Good sign.” The Fool folded her arms. “He at least recognizes when he’s just contributing to a ridiculous situation.”

  “You trying to tell me you’re on my side, Fool?” Yerusha took another drink of coffee, smaller this time. The stuff really was strong.

  “I’m on all sides. Sometimes all at once,” she added. “Defying relativity is one of those things they teach you when you’re going for master’s rank.”

  Yerusha lowered her cup and looked at the other woman speculatively. “I’ve never shipped out with a Fool before. A friend of mine took the Guild entrance exam once. He didn’t even make the first cut.”

  “I would sooner jump head first down a black hole than go through the Fool’s Guild qualification process again,” Dobbs gave her a quick smile. “You can’t imagine, the custard pies, the pratfalls, the water balloons…yuch.” She shuddered.

  “And the psychology, the sociology and physical aptitude,” added Yerusha. “It seemed like you were expected to have several advanced degrees to get in.”

  “Nah.” Dobbs waved the idea away. “We just do that to keep out anybody who doesn’t really have a sense of humor.” She smiled again. “Actually, one of the best Fools I know comes from a Free Home. Cyril Cohen. He’s two years younger than I am, but he took his master’s rating three years before I did, the upstart.”

  “Yeah, upstarts,” said Yerusha into her coffee. She wished her memory wasn’t so accurate. “Some people you have to watch every second.” She took another swallow and stood up. “If I don’t get back to the bridge, Schyler’s going to be hollering down the intercom for me.”

  Somehow, Yerusha knew the little Fool was still watching her as she left.

  Al Shei rolled her shoulders backwards a couple of times, already hearing Baldassare Sundar tch-tching her about making sure she took more breaks during her shift. Shim’on was stowing his gear in the tool locker. The hatch opened and the relief watch, Ianiai, who looked like he was mothered by a black bear, stepped through. At twenty-four, he was the youngest of the crew and still believed he could do nothing wrong. This was only his second trip out.

  All of her engineers were younger than she was. Not quite green, but not quite experienced enough to price themselves out of her range. All of them were capable though. Al Shei had put them through their paces alone and with each other before she had hired any of them.

  “Welcome on, Ianiai.” Al Shei pulled a set of films out of the drawer near her station and touched her pen to the first one. The assignment notes she’d been recording in it flowed out onto the film.

  “How’s things running, Engine?” Ianiai leaned his rear end against the boards.

  “Smooth and quiet.” She switched off her pen and put it back in her pocket. “But you’ll be happy to know you won’t be bored. We need a check on all the valves in the water recycling tanks.” She gave him the film. “Don’t want anything compostable backing up.”

  Ianiai took the film and folded it away, waving at her in an imitation of an Arabic salute that Al Shei would never forgive Resit for teaching him. “In the meantime, however,” she climbed to her feet, “you have the joy of manning the big chair.” She bowed and swept her hand out towards it. “Relief.”

  “Relief active.” He settled into her chair, took out his pen and began tapping menus and writing orders to slave the other monitors to Station One and display all their output in front of him.

  Satisfied, Al Shei gave Shim’on a parting wave and headed for the stairs.

  Main Engineering was the only inhabited section in the bulb at the end of the drop shaft. The spiral stairs provided a clear view of the cabling, pumps, juncture boxes, and piping that kept the gases, fluids and power that made up the ship’s life blood flowing steadily. Work was mostly done right from the stairs or the sets of staples that served as foot-and-hand holds from the walls. There were obvious reason that the slang term for ship’s engineer was “shaft monkey.”

  Al Shei’s eyes scanned the walls of the shaft. She remembered when all of this had been a bewildering tangle. Now her eyes tracked individual lines and pipes to their junctures. Air, electricity, fuel, everything running like it should. The atmosphere around her practically purred.

  She smiled at the thought. Good kitty. She patted the stair railing.

  As she climbed, her gaze automatically picked out each of the display boards. Deck Four O2, green. Deck One main electric, green. Deck Three water, green. Deck Two nitrogen, blank.

  Al Shei stopped in front of the board and snapped open the cover. She swung it back and pried the light strip out with her thumbnail. She held it up to the light and saw the crystals had gone dark grey.

  She put the strip back and closed the cover. She took her pen out and wrote BURNED OUT STRIP on the display’s memory board and added the engineering seal so the message wouldn’t be wiped out accidentally. Ianiai would find it when he did his walk-about.

  On the way back to her berth, she stopped in at the galley for a hot-box full of Chandra’s curry and a thermos of tea to take back to her cabin.

  “Got to know our new Fool today, Al Shei,” said Chandra as she handed over the box.

  “Oh?” Al Shei picked up the thermos. “What do you think?”

  “I either love her or she’s going to be dead before the week’s out,” answered the Galley chief with a wink.

  “Oh, please don’t kill her off,” Al Shei waved the thermos. “The last thing we need is to be black-balled by the Fools.”

  Schyler was waiting in the corridor when she reached her cabin. His arms were folded against his chest and he was leaning his head and shoulders against the wall. Al Shei felt her good mood begin to drain away. This was not a posture Schyler adopted when things were going well.

  “What’s up, Tom?” she asked as she palmed the reader for her cabin hatch.

  “I’ve got to talk to you about Tully.”

  Al Shei’s mood fell straight into her boots. The cabin hatch
cycled open. “Come on in.”

  Schyler followed her into her cabin and let the hatch shut behind them. Technically Al Shei was not supposed to do this. Although for centuries it was common practice for Islamic women to earn at least part of the household income outside the home, it was, by some interpretations of the law, haram, forbidden, for a married woman to be alone in a confined space with a man who was not her relative. She had gotten around the problem years ago by having Resit draw up adoption papers. Schyler was an orphan and Islamic law explicitly encouraged the adoption and maintenance of orphans. On paper, Schyler was Al Shei’s son. They kept the fact very quiet, since neither of them particularly wanted to deal with the jokes that were sure to arise from it.

  It also meant that, technically, she could take off her hijab in front of him. She had never exercised the option.

  “So, Tom, what’s the problem?” Al Shei tucked the hot box under her arm so she could fold the table down from the wall and deposit her dinner on it.

  Schyler paced the room between her folded up bed and her nest of faux silk pillows in the far corner. His hands were jammed so far into his pockets, she could see the fabric strain at the seams.

  At last, he faced her. “I think Marcus Tully’s finally gone too far.”

  Al Shei leaned her hip against the edge of the table and reached up under her hijab to rub her temple. It was not surprising to find that Schyler’s abrupt confirmation the suspicions she’d laid out for Asil did not make her feel better.

  “I know.” She lowered her hand. “Or at least, I suspected. Do you know exactly what he did?” she asked.

  Schyler shrugged without taking his hands out of his pockets. His coveralls hitched up and down. “I’m not sure. You know he never tells me when he breaking local law…”

  “So you won’t have to tell me.” Al Shei finished for him. “What’s different this time.”

  “Whatever it is he… acquired, he’s left it here.”

  Al Shei jerked her head up. “What!”

  “Or part of it, or evidence of it.” Schyler finally extracted his hands and waved them towards the walls. “He tried to get back on board after he’d checked out. Needed to get some things he’d left behind he said.” Schyler jammed his hands back into his pockets.” He’s never done that. The change-overs have always been smooth. Something is up this time.”

  Al Shei nodded. “I agree with you. What could he have left? It’s not in the engineer’s cabin, or if it is it’s hidden…” An idea struck her and Al Shei faced the wall. “Intercom to Houston.” She waited the single second while the intercom located and paged him.

  “Houston, here, Engine,” came back Lipinski’s voice. She could hear the faint noise of voices in the background, so ‘here’ was probably the comm center, as opposed to the data-hold.

  “Houston, what did you do with those burned out wafer stacks? Did you cash them in with the recyclers at Oberon?” The look that crossed Schyler’s face that was part revelatory and part fearful.

  “No,” answered Lipinski. “It looked like some of the sectors might be useable, so I kept them for spares. I haven’t gone over them yet.”

  Al Shei tapped one finger against the wall. “Just put them aside for now, will you, Houston? I’ll be down later to talk to you. Intercom to close.” The wall chirped as the connection closed.

  Al Shei tugged at her tunic sleeve and faced Schyler. “You know, if this turns out to bean on-going situation, Resit is going to have fifty fits.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you have any idea at all what Tully was doing?”

  Schyler nodded reluctantly. Al Shei bit her tongue. She hated it when he acted like a guilty child. Most of the time he was a fast thinker, cool under pressure and quick to give an order or take on a job. But very now and then, the sheepish, confused Schyler she had helped out on Station Kilimanjaro resurfaced.

  “So, what is it?” The chill she felt in her blood was reflected in her voice. She’d had plenty of time in the off watches to speculate on what Tully had been up to on his run. Part of her did not want confirmation of any of the ideas she had dreamed up.

  She waited while Schyler made up his mind. She forced herself to be patient. Schyler functioned in a small world of self-imposed rules. One of those rules dictated that he never discussed Al Shei’s doings with Tully, or Tully’s with Al Shei. He was about to break that rule. She could spare him the time he needed to finally decide to do it.

  “I think he was data smuggling from Powell Secured Sector. You know, where Toric Station is.”

  Al Shei closed her eyes. “Allahumma inna nasta’inuka,” she said reflexively. Oh, Allah, we seek Your help. “It’s possible. Resit picked up a rumor that a security plug had been pulled out of there.” She through up both her hands. “Why, Tom? Why is he doing this? He doesn’t smuggle, he broadcasts. If he got hold of some military secret, why isn’t he just blabbing it all over the next six systems.”

  Schyler looked at her bleakly. “We did not make any money last trip, Katmer. We had a totally flat run.”

  “But there’ve been deposits in the acc…” Al Shei’s voice trailed away. She took a deep breath. “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got Asil checking into where they came from, isn’t it?”

  Schyler started a little at that. “I guess it is.”

  “All right.” Al Shei sat down in the room’s one real chair and tried to smooth her turbulent thoughts. “All right. We can’t leave all of this to Asil. He’ll just be able to track the buyer, or the contractor, assuming we’re right, of course. On this end, we need to find out exactly what Tully’s done, and to whom, and how if we can. We can’t panic appropriately when we haven’t got the facts.”

  “Beware of suspicion,” quoted Schyler. “For suspicion may be based on false information.”

  Al Shei nodded and looked at her long hands where they lay in her lap. “It is also said ‘Allah’s curse will be on him if he is a liar.’” She shook her head heavily. “Brother-in-law or not, I think you were right, Tom. I think Tully’s really gone to far.” She looked up at Schyler, some part of her seeking reassurance. “But maybe we’ll find out he’s just being an idiot again.”

  Schyler gave her a weak smile. “God willing and the creeks don’t rise.”

  She smiled underneath her hijab. “Your mouth to God’s ear,” she told him. “Look, prayer is in about three minutes. I’ll get Lipinski going on those wafer stacks and we’ll talk about this after breakfast tomorrow, all right?”

  “All right, Mother,” he said because nobody else was there. He let himself out into the corridor. At that same moment, Resit walked in from the door to the bathroom she and Al Shei shared. Her face was still slightly damp from the wudu, the ablution. She saw the door close and must have spotted Schyler’s back.

  She took one look at Al Shei. “That was not good news, whatever it was.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Al Shei agreed as she got to her feet. “Time to pray hard, Cousin.”

  “As you say, oh-my-mistress.” Resit’s side way’s glance said that she really wanted to know what was going on and it was nothing short of piety that was keeping her from starting what could be a very long conversation.

  Al Shei went into the bathroom, stripped off her hijab, sat down on the toilet and went through the careful washing: rinse the hands, rinse the mouth, clear the nose, drench face, arms, quick pass over the head and down the back of the neck, both ears, the nape of the neck and finally the feet.

  “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah,” she said, wrapping her veil back around her and wishing she felt as clean inside as she did outside. “And He is one and has no partner and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and messenger.”

  She pulled her shoes back on and rejoined Resit.

  “Which way is Mecca today?” her cousin asked.

  Al Shei did a quick calculation of the relative direction of Earth from the Pasadena. “This way.” She pointed to the corner where her
pillows were piled. She knew some shipper Muslims who would literally stand on the ceiling if that was what was required. She and Resit had never gone quite that far. She got her prayer rug out of its drawer and laid it down next to Resit’s.

  They faced the proper corner and raised their hands. Al Shei took a deep breath and put the day behind her. This was not the time for her troubles. This was the time to go beyond them, to the infinite and the permanent.

  “Allahu Akbar,” she and Resit chorused. God is great. They folded their hands below their chests. “Oh, Allah, glory and praise are for You and blessed is Your name and exalted is Your Majesty and there is no god but You. I seek shelter in Allah from the rejected Satan.”

  As Al Shei went through the motions of the salah, she felt real calm returning to her. When the regular prayers were finished, she added the sajdatus sahw, for forgetfulness, since she’d been elbow deep in a maintenance hatch with a bundle of fresh wiring in her fists when afternoon prayer came around.

  After she straightened up, she faced Resit and raised her right hand, Resit raised hers. Simultaneously, they each reached out and yanked off the other’s veil. Resit’s hair fell down around her shoulders in a black cloud. This was not part of the salah. It was done in memory of the time when prayer was dangerous and the women who had survived the Fast Burn sometimes had to stop in the middle and hide their veils because vigilantes or the police had broken in the door.

  “Dining in peaceful solitude tonight, Cousin?” Resit nodded to the hot box as she settled her kijab back over her hair and pinned it under her chin.

  “I felt I needed a little peace and quiet.” Al Shei folded her own hijab over her arm and opened up a drawer. “It’s actually been a pretty busy few days.” She laid the hijab inside.

  “Hasn’t it just.” Resit picked up her carpet. “Are you going to perhaps tell me what’s going on with Schyler?”

  “Not yet.” Al Shei bent to roll her own carpet. “I’ll know more tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh. Should I be worrying about my air supply, Katmer?”

  Al Shei straightened up and stowed the carpet back in its own drawer. “It’s not that kind of problem, Zubedye.”