by Rolf Nelson
“If all you are going to do is talk down my ship,” Helton says to Bipasha, “I’m not so sure I want to hire you.”
“If all you can see is light and roses,” she answers, “I’m going to prove you wrong.”
“Well,” Harbin says after a long and awkward pause, “I’m glad to see you two getting along so well. I think I’ll go check on something urgent while you hash out the details.” He walks out, leaving Helton and Bipasha to glare at each other.
Four Rules
“Can you teach me to shoot, Mr. Ski?”
Corporal Kaminski is sitting on the cargo deck cleaning his rifle, a dozen recruits around him doing the same. “Sure, Quinn. When you are a little bit older.”
“But I can pick up a gun now.”
“There’s more to shooting than just picking it up, you know.”
“I know. You have to aim, too.”
“That is important, but you have to know what not to do as well.”
“Like when you yell at them to not point it at you on accident?”
“Yes! Exactly like that.”
“Please?”
“Tell you what. If Allonia says okay and is willing to join us, I’ll see if I can find a good time for a little one-on-two training, and let you take a few shots if you prove you’re safe. How ’bout that?”
“SHINY!” Quinn jumps up, and runs off.
“That’s one way to get some one-on-one time with the cutest bed-warmer on board!” Darch says. “I’d let her handle my gun any time!”
“Put a sock in it, recruit.”
Darch doubles down. “Besides, girls don’t need to know how to fight like real men.”
“How would you know?” asks Horkle.
“You have a lot to learn about people,” Kaminski warns. “And you’d best watch what you say about her.”
“Even if you’re pulling rank for off-duty fun?”
“Unless you want a lot of pushups…”
“Okay, okay, shutting up already.”
Two silhouette targets stand three meters apart at the foot of the berm. Kaminski faces Allonia, casually dressed in comfy, layered, protective clothes; and Quinn, wearing Allonia’s homemade uniform, standing at his five-year-old version of parade rest, which isn't much worse than that of most of the recruits.
“Tell me the rules again.”
“Finger off the trigger–”
“-Until you are ready to shoot! Pew-pew!”
“Point it in a safe direction–”
“-Like at a bad guy! Pew-pew-pew!”
“Unloaded until you are ready to use it–”
Kaminski cuts off Quinn, politely but firmly, before he can interrupt again. “This is serious. Play it straight or you don’t get to shoot. Clear?”
“What if you don’t know you are going to need it all of a sudden, Mr. Ski?”
“Great question! For you, because you won’t be carrying for self-defense or going on patrol for a few more years yet, the answer is: your weapon will be loaded only on the range firing line when a Range Officer is present; that’ll be me for now. It’s a little more complicated for me, but I have the practice. So I usually carry mine with a magazine in, but no round in the chamber, at least around here; it’s a low-threat environment. So, tell me the rules, straight up, together, like on the drive over.”
Together, with Kaminski counting on his fingers, they chant:
Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.
Keep it pointed in a safe direction.
Keep it unloaded until you are ready to shoot.
Know your target and what is behind your target.
“Perfect. Now, you’ll need practice so you truly understand what those really mean, but that’s a good start. We don’t have a lot of time before the sun goes down, so just the basics. Do you want the 6.5mm rifle first, the carbine, or the 10mm pistol?”
Starting with the suppressed carbine, the two new shooters progress through the basics of safety, load-one-shoot-one, aiming, trigger squeeze, stance. Gradually, as their confidence grows under Kaminski’s skilled instruction, they move up in power, speed, and accuracy.
Allonia’s rapid increase in proficiency surprises Kaminski, as she demonstrates she’s a natural, quickly and easily falling into a good stance with minimal coaching, and with surprisingly good control and comfort even with full shotgun loads and the powerful handgun. They turn a lot of ammunition into spent brass.
Quinn likes the carbine the most, and gets an entire magazine on paper before the end of the afternoon. The silly grin on his face is the sort every parent hopes to see on a kid.
That night, on the wall of his cubbyhole in Tajemnica, Quinn mounts a target with five holes — widely spaced, but one is in the 10 ring. He sits back and looks at it proudly.
“Very good!” the Ship AI says in a friendly female voice. “With practice, you’ll be doing better than most of the recruits. Now, how about you tell me the story of the Battle of Marathon, so I know you have the story right?”
“Okay. A really long time ago, the Athenians and the Persians…”
Mail
Helton is hard at work in the cargo bay, leaning into a panel on a bulkhead, when Allonia walks up with a package in one hand and a strapped bundle of boxes in the other. “Mail call,” she says cheerfully.
Helton looks the package over before unsealing it, sees the Possenti Cross next to a brief return address: Monastery, Eridani IIA. Inside is a simple but elegant wooden box and a plain handwritten note, which reads: “Was informed you needed these more than I — Brother L.” On the box top is carved, in neat calligraphic lettering, Lost Soul.
Allonia looks on curiously as Helton slides back the box top. Inside, nestled into a form-fitted, cloth-lined space, are the three reddish crystals from Father Libra’s desk. “Huh,” says Helton.
“What are those?” Allonia asks.
“Crystals. Of some sort.”
She looks closely at the note. “What’s it mean?”
“Dunno. Just one more mystery of the monks, I guess. Must think I’m a lost soul.”
“Kind of late to the party, but they’re welcome to join.”
“Now there’s a picture.”
“Inviting monks to a party? Not normally my first choice, but if they can dance to the tune being played, I doubt God would frown too hard.”
Allonia walks into the galley and into an argument.
“We can’t make the posole, Seraphina, because we don’t have the red chilies–”
“But we do have the jalapeños, Kwon, so if we–”
“Meal Salvation delivery!” Allonia calls. “Smells good!” She hands her bundle of packages to Kwon.
“Ah, my spices at last! Thank you! Now we can– UGH!” He nearly drops them. They are much heavier than they look. He glances at Allonia briefly in surprise. “Now we can make the posole properly! Hard to believe I only sent Helton out to get them a month ago.”
“Ah, thanks dear,” his wife says. “Would you be so kind as to get John for me? We have to finish these sandwiches, and that nice Mr. Kaminski said he was busy and couldn’t help get the washer working again.”
“It’s Corporal Kaminski, Sar,” says Allonia. “Sure, I’d be happy to find John. I’ll be back later if you need a hand. A few more things to deliver.”
Sitting alone in her cabin, Allonia holds a piece of dark blue fabric up to the light. “So, how shall we do this?” She takes up a piece of dark red, black, and gold brocade cloth and turns it this way and that, pondering.
Family
Dinner in the Officers’ Mess. Helton, Lag, Harbin, and Allonia are chatting, having just sat down at the table. Sar comes in with her own tray and sits next to Helton. Allonia, without being asked, passes Sar the jalapeños.
Lag: The limits on the zone got extended past New Ranchi. Lots of people moving around down there.
Sar: I heard some of the ladies in town saying that they are having a hard time contacting
relatives in Korba. Something about jamming?
Helton (shaking his head): I’d think a bigger worry is hacking. Losing touch with a cousin is less of a problem than crashing air traffic, or losing electronic medical support at a hospital.
Harbin: Maybe a crashed flier makes the news, but a large number of refugees poses problems for everyone: government, military, even civilians in the path of the refugee movement.
Ship AI (brisk male military voice): Your statements are not exclusive. Deliberate large civilian population displacement is potentially very serious.
Lag looks up sharply at a screen. No ship avatar of any sort is present. He cocks his head slightly.
Lag: … Indeed. Tajemnica, whom were you responding to?
Ship AI: Confirming statements, based on current news and available information.
Helton (shrugging off the AI’s flakiness): Not being able to call Aunt Nellie isn’t likely to kill anyone, but it is worth watching. Noncombatants wandering the war zone would complicate things for you.
Ship AI: In the third Chi-Stan war, coordinated propaganda and communications disruptions and personalized misinformation messages were used to herd masses of civilians into cities and areas along rivers, and limit lines of movement. When thirteen dams were broken in coordination and near simultaneously with conventional and kinetic strikes, the floods killed more than 125 million directly. The ensuing infrastructure and communications disruption, paranoia, famine, looting, disease, winter weather, and general disorder created a billion refugees and killed an estimated 750 million in the following three months.
A long silence. Lag, the military historian of the group, breaks it.
Lag: Where did you get that information? That is not what most history books say.
Ship AI (flat and unusually mechanical tone): That is what the accurate sources say.
Helton: Isn’t there a dam and reservoir near Korba?
The Ship AI does not reply. The room is silent but for the clink of silverware and the sound of chewing. Quinn comes in with his own tray, a complete place setting with a brightly colored selection of food. He sets the tray on the table next to Allonia, climbs into the seat, sits down on his heels, and starts eating like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Helton: You’ve been spending an awful lot of time around here lately, Quinn. Doesn’t your mom wonder where you are?
Quinn shrugs.
Allonia: Does she know you are here?
Quinn shrugs again.
Lag: Do you know where your mom is?
Quinn shakes his head very slightly.
Allonia: … How long has it been since you saw her?
Quinn shrugs and shakes his head.
Helton: Ship: where are Quinn’s parents?
Ship AI (quiet female voice): Father believed deceased. Mother’s last known location was boarding the Mockingbird on Pad C6 three days ago.
Allonia gasps.
Helton (quietly and carefully): Do you have any grandparents, aunts, or uncles around here?
Quinn shakes his head.
Allonia (faltering): Do you have any family?
Quinn nods and makes a small motion indicating the room around him and the people in it. Allonia loses it. She starts crying, grabs Quinn in a huge hug, mumbles choking words of support and care. Sar comes over to join in.
Helton: You can stay here until we get it all sorted out, of course.
Quinn: It’s okay. Ship already said I can stay!
Lag: I know war and unrest creates orphans, but I didn’t expect any quite like this.
Quinn: I’m not an orphan. Orphans don’t have families!
Helton: Kids are tough. You’re tough. You’ll be okay.
The First Sergeant suddenly gets something in his eye.
Harbin: He’s a little younger than normal, but I’ll see if I can work a powder monkey into the training rotation.
Secret Agent
“Secret Agent Quinn on a super-secret special assignment. All clear. No enemy troops in sight.”
It’s night time on Tajemnica, and Quinn is creeping along a passageway on A-Deck, narrating as he goes, wearing his uniform and a small backpack. He peers around a corner, then scampers down the hall, stopping in front of the captain’s cabin. The light on the security panel changes from red to green and the door unlocks with a soft click, then opens slowly and silently. Quinn peeks in. Helton is not there.
Quinn sneaks in, goes to the desk, and looks at the three reddish crystals on it. “Yes, those,” the Ship AI whispers in a female voice. He takes off his pack, puts the crystals inside, closes and shoulders it, then heads for the door. He peeks around the corner to check the passageway, then steps out. The door closes silently behind him and softly clicks as the security panel light changes back to red. Quinn slips down the passageway holding his finger pistol at high ready.
He makes his way back to his cubby, takes the crystals out of the pack, and holds them up to the screen. “Now what?”
A diagram appears, depicting the screen itself and the dozen empty sockets next to it. Then it turns into an animation of removing the socket covers, inserting the crystals, and putting the socket cover back on. Quinn does as the animation indicates, biggest on top, smallest on the bottom. “Thank you very much, Quinn,” the Ship AI says in its friendly teacher voice. “Now remember, I’m keeping it as a surprise for them, so please don’t tell anyone about this. It’ll be fun.”
“Ex voto. Keeping secrets is what secret agents do. When’s my next assignment?”
“All in good time, Quinn. Soon. In the mean time, what story would you like to hear?”
“How about the one where you met the first starship captain?”
“Ah, one of my favorites.” Quinn snuggles down into a small beanbag chair with a blanket. The screen begins displaying images of Old Earth and a moon base. “I was based at Luna Base Four…”
Quirks
Helton, Stenson, and one of Stenson’s new hires, Erikson, are in Engineering working at a cradle holding a three-meter hunk of machinery with its guts spread out around them. They all have their hands in it, looking at diagrams and parts, and turning wrenches and screwdrivers.
“Yeah, that one right there,” Stenson says.
“Okay. Got it,” Helton answers.
Allonia walks by the open door, stops, and sticks her head in. “Seen Quinn recently?”
Helton looks up. “He was in here a little while ago. Took off all of a sudden.”
“He needs a bath. Know where he was headed?”
“Tajemnica: location of Quinn?” Stenson asks without looking up.
“Unable to locate.”
“Won’t tell me, either,” Allonia complains. “Says it would be cheating; Quinn is playing hide-and-seek.”
Helton smiles. “Follow the tracks, then.”
Allonia is confused. “Tracks?”
“We are on a spaceship, Helton.” Stenson says skeptically.
“And he’s a five-year-old boy in need of a bath.”
Allonia walks quietly through the port passageway on A-Deck, looking around carefully. She examines a bulkhead closely and smiles, seeing a small, waist-high hand-print, slightly greasy and shiny.
“Ahh, the garden. Gotcha!”
The men are still working in Engineering, focusing on diagrams and their own individual tasks. Without warning, music erupts from the ship’s PA system, fast banjos playing “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” They look at one another, confused, and Helton opens his mouth to say something. Suddenly Quinn streaks by the open door, stark naked and sprinting for freedom, with Allonia in hot pursuit.
“Quinn, come BACK HERE!”
Stenson and Helton chuckle, but Erikson is still a little surprised. “Ship’s computer is a few bits shy of a full memory bank.”
“More than a few,” Helton says. “‘Quirky’ is an understatement. Try querying for plumbing diagram.”
Erikson looks skeptically at them, then says, “Tajemnica:
‘Internal plumbing diagram’.” On a nearby screen, an image of the female reproductive system appears, including ovaries and uterus.
“That’s new,” says Helton. “I got a schematic for an early hydropower dam last time. Just have to be very specific.”
The music ends abruptly with a screech. They exchange glances and resume working. Moments later Allonia walks by the door with Quinn tucked under her arm, struggling futilely. “But I DON’T WANT A BATH!”
“Tough,” Allonia says. “It’s time, want one or not.” The sounds of struggle disappear down the corridor.
“Little guy doesn’t know what he’s missing,” says Erikson. Helton and Stenson nod and grin, and they all go back to work.
Rule Two
Recruit Darch stands at the top of the stern stairwell on A-Deck, listening. He cautiously sticks his head out and glances both ways. He steps into the passageway furtively, then into the nearby hatchway to the hydroponics garden. Darch shuts the door behind him carefully, and the hum of the air system covers the sound of its closing.
Allonia is alone in the garden. Her newly made blue uniform, with more pockets and a belt with small pouches, is both functional and flattering. She stands near the back of the room, among bright lights and growing plants, a workbench to one side and racks of supplies on the other. She is pollinating flowers with a soft brush, so intent on her work that she does not hear Darch enter.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Allonia jumps and spins around. Darch looks at her with a hungry, lustful expression. He’s wearing light body armor, carrying a pistol and large fighting knife on his belt.
“You know, you really are too gorgeous to be alone in the world. How about we not be lonely together?” She shrinks back in fear as he steps toward her, undoing his body armor with his left hand. “I think your flower needs some pollinating, too.” He reaches for her. She knocks his hand aside, hard, and his face shows surprise, then an ugly snarl. “A pretty but poisonous flower.” He draws back his hand to slap her.
The table surface screen in the Officers’ Mess displays a diagram of Tajemnica. Helton and Kwon sit at the table with Lag, Harbin, Kaminski and Kat.
