“What’s wrong with the First Defender?” asked the man. “She looked like she just ate something sour.”
Menuv shrugged. “We just had a difference of opinion, that’s all.”
“Better watch your back with that one,” warned Mogi. “I heard she can hold a grudge.”
Her dance partner grinned. “Well, I heard that she holds more than the First’s ear, if you know what I mean.”
The redhair burst into scandalized laughter at this bit of rumor. Menuv, however, looked across the crowded hall, after the departed First Defender.
Well, she thought, that explains a lot.
* * * * *
Nutip Fe had always been a morning person. Back home, in Jifuto Province, the moment the sun cleared the peak of Mount Ivis, Fe would be out of bed, eager to meet the day. That had not changed when he joined the Guard. The only thing that had changed was that instead of the sun waking him it was the soft hum of his comm.
Carefully, Fe slid out of the large bed he shared with Zunova. Every morning, he did his best not to wake the woman, and every day he failed.
“Good morning.”
Fe sighed and gave up any pretense at stealth. He turned and smiled at his First Defender. “Good morning yourself. You came in late last night.”
“There was a party in the crew halls.”
“Any particular reason?” asked Fe, genuinely curious.
“No,” said Zunova. “It just happened. One of those spontaneous things.”
“You should have commed me. I like a good party.”
“Actually, it really wasn’t that good. The music was too loud and everyone was getting drunk.”
He grinned. “Sounds like a good party to me.”
Zunova shrugged and climbed out of the bed. She slept in her skin these days and Fe took the opportunity to admire her.
“When do we shunt back to homespace?”
Fe glanced at his timeband. “About 1000 hours.”
“And when are we getting rid of the devotees?”
The First frowned. “Zunova, is something the matter?”
She had pulled her uniform out of the refresher and was digging for her eyepaint. “No, I just want them off the ship.”
“I know,” said Fe. He sat on the edge of the bed. “They are unsettling, aren’t they?”
Zunova looked at him. Her mouth was a hard line. “They’re disgusting. The Health Authority should do something about them.”
He didn’t bother to hide his shock. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? It’s not their fault that they are what they are.”
She looked at him for a moment, frowning. “I’m going to bathe. I’ll see you on the command.”
Uniform slung over her shoulder, she walked out of the bedchamber. Frowning, Fe wondered what had caused her to wake up in such a sour mood.
* * * * *
John Epcott woke to the gradual brightening of his bedchamber, a warm body pressed against him. He looked down, into the sleepy face of one of his bedmates.
“You’re awake,” said Nitomi Gez, making it sound like an accusation.
John stifled a yawn. “I’m afraid so.”
Nitomi snuggled against him. “How’s Lef looking?”
Raising his head a little, John peered past Nitomi to their other bedmate, Lef Heji. “Sound asleep and hogging the covers as usual.”
She chuckled. “He doesn’t do it deliberately.”
“I know, I know. It still irritates me.”
Nitomi grinned, her eyes still shut. She had a pretty, pixie-like face that made her appear much younger than she actually was. Her long yellow hair was so pale it almost looked white.
“Where are you working today?” he asked.
“Genelabs, with Medic Jinola. You?”
John sighed. “Where else?”
“Crew hall?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s not for much longer,” said Nitomi. “Right?”
“Hopefully.” He patted her backside. “Let’s get up. Do you want to try waking Lef first? Or me?”
She sighed and sat up. “Me. I have more experience.”
John nodded and climbed out of bed. He stretched and turned, caught Nitomi looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Just admiring the human animal.”
He rolled his eyes and padded over to the refresher, pulled out their uniforms. “Show’s over. Wake Lef and let’s get going.”
* * * * *
The wetchamber was always crowded just before a shift change, and this morning was no exception. John, Nitomi and Lef stepped into the large room and found spaces beneath the showers. Naked Junians of both genders and all ages surrounded them, taking the opportunity that the communal showers provided to exchange gossip and news. John, still something of an oddity among the crew, attracted a few curious looks, but he had gotten used to such attention at the Institute. Finished bathing, he and the others dressed in their green and black shipsuits, and then headed toward the dining hall.
As John settled at one of the long communal tables, Lef looked with open revulsion at the contents of his tray. “What is that?”
John glanced at his tray. It held a single bowl, containing a thick, gray soup. He stirred it with his spoon. “A special mixture of proteins and minerals, suspended in a nutrient solution. I call it slush. Want to try it?”
“I don’t think so,” said Lef.
“Smart man. It tastes much worse than it looks.” To prove his point, John scooped up a spoonful and swallowed it, grimacing.
“Can’t you just eat ordinary food?” someone else at the table asked.
John shrugged. “Most of the time. Nine times out of ten. But I don’t get everything I need from ordinary Junian food. So.” He waved at the slush.
“That’s put me right off my breakfast,” complained Lef. “Can’t you eat some fruit or something with it?”
“I’ve learned its best not to eat anything else with the slush,” said John. “It doesn’t interact well with other foodstuffs.”
The others at the table watched as John began to shovel his breakfast into his mouth. When he was done with the slush, he gulped down a tall glass of water, and sighed.
“Well, that’s the worst part of my day over with.”
People laughed or gave him sympathetic looks. One of the other diners suddenly frowned, nodded at the entrance to the dining hall. “Look.”
Heads turned and people stared as a group of gray-robed devotees joined the queue at the food dispensers.
“I thought they were taking their meals separately,” said an older man with long red hair wearing blue and yellow eyepaint.
The man seated next to him, about the same age but with short, pale yellow hair and violet and blue eyepaint, shook his head. “They’ve been using the secondary dining hall, but it’s closed for maintenance.”
Everyone in the dining hall had noticed the newcomers, and now seemed to go out of their way to pretend they had not. John observed that although no one was overtly rude, none of the crewmembers seemed comfortable making eye contact with the strangers. People in the line with them turned away and fell into animated discussions with other people. The devotees, for their part, seemed oblivious to this behavior. They chatted amongst themselves, smiling, heads bent close together.
“I’m surprised the First lets them wander around. They should be in quarantine.”
John glanced at the speaker. It was the man with the blue and yellow eyepaint. He was frowning at his tray.
“Why?”
The fellow glanced up. “What?”
“Why should they be in quarantine?” asked John.
Lef looked at John. “Don’t you know what they are?”
“Devotees of Oba. Right?”
“Yes,” said Lef. He studied John’s face for a moment. “But you don’t know what that means, do you?”
“No, not really,” admitted John. “Every time I’ve asked about Oba, folks get nervous and change t
he subject.”
“People don’t talk about Oba,” said the fellow in the blue and yellow eyepaint. “Not if they were properly raised.” He gave Lef a stern look.
“This is the part when not being Junian gets irritating,” complained John. “There’s all this inherent cultural knowledge that everyone around me knows, but that I don’t.”
“You should talk to Cleric Til,” suggested Nitomi. “She could probably answer your questions about them a lot better than any of us.”
John frowned. He had met the ship’s cleric shortly after coming aboard the Harmonious Maiden. Til was probably in her fifties, with a slim figure and long graying hair, still dark red at the tips. The cleric wore the same black and green uniform as the other guardsmen, but with the addition of a long, multicolored scarf.
“I don’t know,” said John. “The cleric always seems distracted whenever we’ve spoken.”
Nitomi shrugged. “It’s just a thought.” She glanced at the timeline on the far wall, and stood. “I’m off to the genelabs. See you all later.”
Others were also leaving for their shift stations, rising from the tables, dumping breakfast trays into the recycler ports as they hurried out of the dining hall. John lingered, since the crew halls were just down the corridor. He watched the devotees, sitting together at a table across the hall. Except for their clothing, they didn’t act any differently from any of the other people in the dining hall. He wondered, vaguely, what their story was, then shrugged and joined the exodus from the hall.
* * * * *
Anu Jesot, John’s supervisor in the crew halls, was waiting for him when he stepped through the doors. In her fourth decade, Jesot was the Eighth Allocator aboard the Maiden, a position that she regretted having taken, mainly because it required her to command others.
“Some people are able to bear the burden of command,” Jesot had told her own supervisor. “But I have discovered that I am not one of them.”
Seventh Allocator Kem had accepted Jesot’s self-appraisal without question. It was common for low-level supervisors to realize they were not comfortable with command. Kem had tasked Jesot with overseeing the floaters in the crew hall. It was easy work and Jesot usually enjoyed it. But today, she did not look like she was enjoying herself. John suspected it was because of the man standing next to her, First Medic Tujec.
Jesot flashed an unhappy smile at John. “Guardsman Epcott. The First Medic would like to speak to you.”
Tujec was a decade younger than Jesot. He was short, wiry, with dark skin, and light red hair that fell to his shoulders. “So, you’re the man who invented the Sunset Tornado?”
John’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, sir.”
“The infirmary has been giving detox injections to crewmen since the start of first shift, guardsman,” said Tujec. “Do you know why?”
“It can’t be because of the drink, sir,” said John.
Tujec’s eyes narrowed. He produced his PIN, switched it on and handed it to John. “This says differently.”
John studied the display. It held a complex chemical breakdown. He shook his head, frowning. “This isn’t my formula.”
“You’re saying someone altered it?” The First Medic sounded skeptical.
“Yes, sir.” John passed the PIN back. “That formula is made completely out of synthesized materials. The main ingredient in mine is natural.”
Tujec sighed. “Can you prove it?”
“Yes, sir. I had Sixth Medic Jusojo approve my formula before I offered it to anyone in the crew.” John produced his own PIN, called up the relevant info and showed it to Tujec.
The First Medic scowled. “How do I know you didn’t alter the formula after you showed it to Jusojo?”
“Why would I alter something that was already a success?” He glanced at Jesot. “You were there, ma’am. You saw how popular the drink was. Right?”
“He’s right about that, First Medic,” said Jesot. “People were drinking them all the way up to first shift.”
“First shift?” John frowned. “That’s impossible.”
“Why?” asked Tujec.
Before answering, John walked over to the bar he had been working yesterday. He knelt and retrieved a large bottle of pink fluid from a storage bin beneath it.
Jesot and Tujec examined the bottle.
“All right,” said Tujec. “What is it?”
“Blisswine,” said John.
The First Medic gaped.
Jesot’s orange and purple decorated eyes widened. “Where did you get blisswine?”
“It was a parting gift when I left the Thunderbolt. First Officer Emiz gave it to me.” John grinned at the memory. “After my shift ended, I put it away, in the storage bin beneath the bar.” He nodded at the bottle. “You’ll note that this is a genelocked cap. No one but me could open it.”
Jesot frowned. “Hesec was mixing Sunset Tornados all fourth shift.” She went to the synthesizer behind the bar and pulled up the history. “Ah.”
Tujec turned his attention away from the blisswine. “You’ve found something?”
The allocator slid her PIN into the synthesizer’s interface slot, and then passed it to the medic. “This is the formula Hesec was using to make the drinks.”
The First Medic slotted Jesot’s PIN into his own, and studied the info flowing across his screen. He grunted. “It’s a match.”
“How could Hesec copy my formula?” asked John. “I haven’t loaded it into the ship’s infobase yet.”
Grinning, Jesot reached under the bar and pulled out the handscanner. “From this.”
“Crap,” muttered John.
“Why do you have a handscanner behind the bar?” asked the First Medic.
“Did you know that if you mix Old Towep’s Number 38 with Jurkuroi narkmog, it tastes wonderful, but makes a potent emetic?”
The First Medic blinked. “No, I can’t say that I did.”
“Neither did I,” said John. “After that little discovery, I started sending scans of my concoctions to Jusojo for analysis.”
For the first time, the medic smiled. “A sound practice.” He sighed and stuck his PIN to the outer thigh of his uniform. “Well, that almost resolves this mess. If you’ll purge the synthetic recipe of this drink from the ship’s infobase, Jesot, we can consider the matter resolved.”
She nodded and went to the synthesizers. John picked up the handscanner and wiped its memory as well.
“We’re sorry about the difficulty we caused you, First Medic,” said Jesot.
Tujec shrugged. “Giving those detox injections is the busiest the infirmary’s been on this mission, thank the pantheon.”
“Still,” said John, “we wouldn’t want you to go back to the infirmary with a bad perception of us, here in the crew halls.” Grinning, he gripped the cap of the blisswine bottle and twisted. The bottle opened with a hiss, releasing a sweet aroma into the air. “How about an authentic Sunset Tornado?”
The First Medic laughed. “I suppose I should try one. For official comparative purposes only, of course.”
“Of course,” said John.
Half an hour later, the First Medic left, in a much better mood than when he had arrived. John waited until Tujec had gone, before collapsing across the bar. Face against the orange bar top, he said, “The next time I see Hesec, I’m going to strangle him.”
Chuckling, Jesot patted his back. “Come now, John. There was no real harm done.”
“Except to my reputation.” He lifted his head and scowled. “Half the people in the bar last night probably woke up this morning thinking I poisoned them!”
“At worst, they woke up feeling a little nauseous,” said Jesot. “Their implants probably countered most of the symptoms.”
“Watch. I bet the First has me reassigned to Recycling for the rest of my time aboard.”
“Well,” mused Jesot, “that’s one way to get out of the crew halls.”
* * * * *
Third Allocator Nosa Gev brushed
her fingertips across her workstation’s infoscreen, absent-mindedly prioritizing a request for additional system resources from Defense, while shamelessly eavesdropping. The First was listening to a report that First Medic Tujec had come to the command to deliver. Gev couldn’t see the First’s face from her position, not without turning around, but she could imagine it. Any conversation that involved John Epcott tended to make the First frown.
Tujec had finished and there was a moment of silence before Fe spoke. “Synthesis poisoning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That explains why half the people I passed in the corridors today looked green,” remarked Jusip Val. The First Scientist chuckled, amused by his own observation.
The First Defender was less pleased. “This is no laughing matter, Jusip. Half my defenders were late to their assignments because of this nonsense. What if we’d been attacked?”
Gev rolled her eyes. Was Zunova serious? Like anyone would abandon their station just because their relief was a little late. The allocator was tempted to access the login times of the second shift defenders, to see just how late people had actually been, but she didn’t. It was common knowledge that the First Defender had the system rigged to report any query regarding Defense to her. Which made Gev wonder if the woman was hiding something?
Apparently, Gev’s opinion was shared by the First Medic. “If your people can’t function with a mild hangover, First Defender, perhaps I should schedule a round of physical assessments.”
Gev heard the First Defender’s sharp intake of breath, but before she could speak, the First stepped in, smooth as ice. “I don’t believe that will be necessary, medic. Do you?”
“Perhaps not, First,” admitted Tujec. “In any event, given the number of crewmen we detoxed this morning, I thought you would want to know the cause.”
“Thank you, Tujec,” said the First. “I appreciate your notifying me in person.”
“Speaking of physical assessments,” broke in Jusip Val. “How are our guests doing?”
“They seem in good condition,” said Tujec. “They’ll be coming through the infirmary this morning for their final medical review before we arrive at Napiso.”
Gev shivered. They were talking about the Devotees of Oba now. Just thinking of the gray-robes made Gev uneasy. She had heard the stories about them. Everyone had. But she had never met any of them before, and, honestly, had never wanted to. They made her skin crawl.
Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing Page 13
