by John Ringo
As soon as the lighters had pulled away from the ship he was accosted by a female petty officer.
"I'm PO Su Singhisen," the petty officer said. "You're Seaman Annibale, right?"
"Right," Joel said. "Joel Annibale." The PO was a medium-height blonde with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
"You looked like you knew what you were doing, there," she said, waving at him to follow her below.
"I've worked ships before," Joel said. "None this big, but it's pretty much the same."
"And they made you a steward?" Singhisen laughed.
"They did?" Joel replied. "Nobody told me what my duty station was going to be."
"Grand," the PO chuckled. "The navy finally finds somebody with experience on ships and they make them an officers' steward."
"Sounds like any bureaucracy to me," Joel chuckled.
"What did you do before the Fall?" Singhisen asked as she led him below. The companionway was short and while the PO didn't have to stoop, Joel did.
"I mostly sailed in the Asur Islands," Joel replied. "After the Fall I took up fishing for a living."
"How'd you get here?" she asked. She opened a door on an incredibly cramped room with four tiers of bunks spread across it in six rows. "Home sweet home."
"Grand," Joel replied as she led him down the narrow aisle between the bunks.
"You're the newbie," she said, pointing to the top bunk. "So you get the worst spot."
Joel had already seen that the seabags were set at the base of the bunks. He climbed up and lashed his in place.
"What next?"
"Galley and then I get somebody to show you the route to officers' country. Then we put you to work."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Herzer followed the two far back into the bowels of the ship. The corridors were impossible to figure out, or so it seemed; most of the time he didn't know if he was facing the rear of the ship or the front. But finally they entered a high, wide corridor that was unmistakable.
"This is where the dragons walk?" he asked.
"We call it Broadway," Evan replied with a nod. "There's a ramp for them to walk down. The hatch is a major structural weakness, but we think we've shored around it sufficiently."
"Jerry, how much weight can one of the wyverns carry, over the weight of the rider?" Herzer asked.
"About two hundred kilos depending on the weight of the rider," Jerry replied.
"So why was I told to fly one alone?" Herzer mused. "I could have doubled up with, oh, Vickie. Or you, for that matter."
"We'd brought a spare," Jerry replied with a shrug. "Why overload them?"
"Hmmm . . ." Herzer followed them down to the stalls and checked out the arrangements. Sure enough, there was a method to slip food through to the permanently installed food troughs as well as spigots for water at each of the pens, feeding into a separate watering trough. The stalls had points to hook up chains in case the wyverns got out of hand as well as ways to close the stall down and press the wyvern up against the back if one got completely out of control.
"I think this will work," Jerry said, reluctantly. "Actually, it's better set up than our rookeries. I'll take some of these ideas back. Where's the mixing area for the mess?"
"Down the corridor," Evan said. "You'll love it. The material is brought up on lifts in premeasured quantities and then you just pour it in the mixer. That's powered as well, if we have take-off time. If not there's a four-man capstan for mixing and running the feeding chutes."
"I hope you remembered the ketchup," Herzer said jokingly. The mechanical feeding contrivance looked like a recipe for feeding body parts to the wyvern to him, but as an officer he hoped he'd be spared the job of using it.
"We've got two tons of ketchup powder," Evan said earnestly. "That should cover a hundred days even at the standard use of one kilo of ketchup per day per wyvern, which was what we were given as the measure. How do they like fish?" he asked.
"I have no idea," Jerry said. "We're from inland. Why?"
"I was wondering if it becomes necessary if they would be willing to substitute dried fish or fish sauce for meat or ketchup?"
"We'll find out," Jerry said with a laugh. "I'm sure we will find out."
"Evan, we met a 'Chief Brooks' earlier," Herzer said, rubbing his chin. "Who is he?"
"Brooks is the command master chief, the senior chief on board," Evan said. "Why?"
"Know where I'd find him?" Herzer asked.
"Just go up on deck and ask, somebody will know where he is."
"Jerry, I've got the funny feeling that I'm going to be ordered to get a, pardon the pun, crash course in dragon flying," Herzer said. "But I assume one of you will be bringing in Chauncey?"
"Absolutely," Jerry said with a frown. "I'm not even sure about . . ."
"Trust me on this," Herzer said. "I've learned to read part of the way into that opaque mind of my boss. We'll have to figure out how to get me trained on a ship."
"We'll try," Jerry sighed.
"Okay, I'm going to go find Chief Brooks," Herzer said. "Later."
"Later," Jerry replied as he walked away.
"I wouldn't want to be in his shoes," Evan said. "Chief Brooks doesn't like his time wasted. If he's not happy with a lieutenant it doesn't keep him from, with great respect, of course, eating the lieutenant a new asshole."
"I'm not sure I'd want to be the chief that tried to eat Herzer a new asshole," Jerry said musingly. "Now, human being quarters?"
* * *
"I think I can live here for a while," Daneh said, looking around the cabin after the others had left.
"It's more comfortable than I expected," Edmund admitted. "I was figuring we'd be in bunks."
"You're a duke now." Daneh smiled. "And a general. People want to pamper you."
"Like I need pampering," Talbot said. He reached down and opened up the box again, then dug into the bottom, pulling out a small gemlike device.
"A datacube?" Daneh said. "I can't believe she's expending so much power on this! I've had people die because I didn't have power."
"Daneh, if we get this wrong far more people are going to die than will ever go under your knife in a very bad lifetime," Edmund said. "And it's not just a datacube."
"What's it for, then?" she asked.
"Communications among other things," Edmund temporized. "And . . . in the event of a direct energy strike by Paul or any of his faction, they'll draw power from Sheida's protections. That's how important this is to her. But we're not to use it unless we really have to."
"This is more than just an invasion," Daneh said. "I mean, about more."
"There are so many balls being juggled I'm not even sure which are in the air," Edmund admitted. "But just concentrate on your mission and we'll be fine."
"I hate it when you get all inscrutable," Daneh said, sighing. "Speaking of which, I have an interest in Herzer's well-being. Why did you really bring him along?"
"When Jerry and his friends were racing wyvern, Herzer was fighting orcs in enhanced reality," Edmund said, frowning. "With the pain protocols turned up. He's a hard, cold, thinking bastard of a fighter. Harry tried to get those flyboys to pay attention to the mission, which is to force the enemy to admit defeat. He didn't manage it. I'm hoping that Herzer has better luck."
"And?"
"And . . ." Edmund smiled. "After the job he did in Harzburg he needed a nice vacation to the Southern Isles. A pleasant cruise, a beautiful roommate, who knows what might happen?"
"Edmund, are you matchmaking?" Daneh said, aghast.
"For Herzer? Always."
"Your own daughter?!"
"Why not? They're young, they're compatible . . ."
"And Rachel treats him like a brother," Daneh said, throwing up her hands. "Herzer is a stallion stud, Rachel, as far as I know, is still a virgin. And apparently uninterested in changing that fact. It's not going to work."
"It's worth a shot." Talbot shrugged. "Frankly, Rachel needs him more than vice versa. Sh
e just doesn't realize it."
"She's making a fine life for herself," Daneh answered. But even she knew it sounded defensive.
"Certainly," Edmund replied with a nod. "If she wants to live it alone."
"That's up to her," Daneh said. "I tried it."
"How was it?" Edmund asked. "It was hell from my end."
"Not that good," she admitted with a smile. "Speaking of which, how long until we need to make an appearance?"
"Long enough."
* * *
Joel's duties were simple enough, if rather time consuming. He had the middle watch, from midnight until eight in the morning. He was to support the cooks that fed the watch and run coffee to the deck officers or any officers who were in the wardroom. He was only the steward for the XO on down; the captain had a separate steward who stayed on his schedule. It meant though, in effect, that he had the run of the officers' quarters and wardroom and if there was a leak among the officers, he had a good chance of picking it up. In addition he had battle stations with the sickbay as a stretcher-bearer, was part of the capstan crew for raising anchor and had a position lowering the whaleboats in air-operations. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to be getting much rest.
After getting him familiarized in his duties PO Singhisen released him to go try to get some sleep; he had to be back on duty at midnight.
In the cramped quarters he tried to drown out the noise of a card game at the end of the compartment, not to mention the quiet conversations of other off-duty seamen around him. Finally, he rummaged in his seabag and pulled out the penny dreadful he'd picked up, opening it to the dog-eared page and finding a grammatical error in the first sentence. Jeeze, this guy was bad. But at least it passed the time.
* * *
"I think we've waited long enough," Shedol said.
"No, we haven't," Shanol answered, flicking him with his tail.
Shanol Etool had spent plenty of time wondering if he'd made a huge mistake taking a Change to orca form. Admittedly, after the Fall it was easier to survive as a Changed orca; knowing how to climb out of the water carefully and get back in just as carefully had yielded more than he could eat of seals.
On the other hand, an almost continuous diet of raw fish and marine mammals palled quickly. He might have starved in the Dying Time if he hadn't changed, but while hunting dolphins for sport was one thing, eating them raw was another. And they could be brutal if you got separated from the pod.
The alliance with New Destiny had meant no more hunting, having servants on land to prepare food and take care of the occasional parasite, a comfortable and guarded harbor to rest in. But he knew, even at the time, that the markers were going to be called in eventually.
The pod of Changed orcas were tired and hungry. They had gotten a bluntly worded order to move from their usual grounds near the Asur Islands and make their way to the deep water near Bamude. The problem was that the open ocean between the two areas was nearly devoid of life. They had happened upon one pod of natural dolphins but the damned beasts were hard to catch. Other than that they hadn't eaten since leaving their home waters. And the swim had been brutal.
But the ships they were meeting were supposed to be bringing supplies, as well as orders. Not to mention the fact that the tersely worded orders had still contained enough to make clear they were not a request. So they would wait.
"Do you hear that?" Sikursuit pulsed. "Sounds like a boat."
"Yeah," Shedol said. The second in command was nearly as large as Shanol, and both were outsized for normal orcas. They had both Changed at the same time as various forms of underwater hunting had gotten boring and they decided to try it "au naturale." It had been their combined energies that had gathered the pod together. They had separated out the female orcas and the females now languished in pens in the harbor, reserved for mating to Shedol or Shanol unless one of the other males in the pod was especially graced. "Waves slapping on the hull."
Sikursuit lifted himself up to the surface and looked in the direction of the sound but when he came down he shook his head from side to side.
"Still below the horizon," he said with raised pectoral fins. Like all the Changed he had stubby fingers on the end that were barely capable of holding implements.
"I'm tired of waiting," Shanol announced. "We'll go to them."
* * *
"You're late," Shanol squealed from his blowhole, rolling an eye up at the figure leaning over the side of the ship.
"The winds were terrible and this tub isn't exactly graceful," Martin replied. He slipped a membrane over his head and dove in the water.
"There, that's better," Martin replied. The membrane separated out oxygen from the water column around his head and transferred it as he breathed in a manner that made it seem like breathing air. And as he spoke the membranes converted his words into sonar pulses that were comprehensible to the orcas. "Unless I'm much mistaken, you're away from the rendezvous."
"We heard you coming and we were hungry," Shanol replied as the pod circled the unChanged human.
If Martin noticed the emphasis on "hungry" or the circling orcas he gave no sign.
"The point is that it was a general rendezvous," Martin pointed out. "Old friends and new as they say. I'm Martin St. John. You're Shanol Etool."
"I know who I am," Shanol pulsed, tightly. "Where's the food?"
"In time, in time," Martin replied. "Let's get things straight, I'm your control from here on out. We've got a complicated little problem to work out and you're going to do it my way."
"Or?" Shedol asked, clashing his teeth. "You're in the water with us little landsman; as far as we're concerned, you're just slower lunch."
"I understand your position," Martin said. "There are many in the sea that take it." He waved his arms, and up out of the depths rose a kraken, a human who had taken the extreme change into a giant squidlike creature. The kraken whipped out one thirty-meter tentacle and wrapped it around Sikursuit drawing him down into the depths as he squealed in pain and fear.
"I think we should be clear," Martin continued as the shrieks from the orca rose to a crescendo. "I'm in charge. Now, there are all sorts of theories about leadership and management. But, really, they all boil down to 'I tell you what to do and you do it.' You're not honorable, so I can't appeal to your honor. You're not patriotic, so I can't appeal to your patriotism. You're not moral, so I can't appeal to your morality. But fear and intimidation are universally acceptable methods of leadership. As you, Shanol, and you, Shedol, have proven," he added as the shrieks were cut off in abrupt finality.
He looked around at the orcas who were pulsing into the deeps. The kraken had faded from eyesight but it was apparently still in range of sonar.
"Oh, that's just Brother Rob," Martin said. "He was . . . a compatriot in some . . . businesses with me before the Fall. He made a couple of minor little errors in, shall we say 'sexual gamesmanship,' and decided that taking a very long vacation somewhere extremely unlikely was called for. And while Mother could find him in a deep-sea trench, the busybodies from the Council weren't able to. But he, too, has decided to aid us in our endeavors. Of his own free will, of course."
"Of course," Shanol pulsed. "But I'm now short an orca."
"Well, we can't have you short on personnel," Martin said, waving his hand again. From out of the gloom of the depths rose a school of what appeared at first to be manta rays. But as they approached, the vertically slit teeth made it clear what they were.
"What hell are those things?" Shedol said. "Jesus."
"No, far from it," Martin chuckled. "They are ixchitl, a recent little development of the Lady Celine. They will be supporting your endeavors. They, of course, don't have sonar or vocal apparatuses. But they do hear you quite clearly. You might not want to say anything that would get them angry."
"Not me," Shedol replied.
"What's the job?" Shanol ground out.
"The mer and the UFS are meeting. The UFS wants an alliance. The main group of mer
is located in the Isles. We're going to make sure that the alliance doesn't come about. You're going to be our . . . ambassadors in this endeavor."
"And the ixchitl?" Shanol asked.
"They're for if diplomacy doesn't work."
* * *
"Chief," Herzer said.
After getting lost twice he had found the chief supervising some sailors working with a huge mound of rope in a forward compartment. They were coiling it, carefully, and Herzer could appreciate why. The rope was at least two decimeters in diameter and the Bull God only knew how long; it was taking ten of them just to move it and another five to get it coiled properly.
"Lieutenant Herrick," Chief Brooks replied. He was medium in every way. Medium height, brown hair, brown eyes and the medium-brown skin that was normal after millennia of genetic crossing. If he'd ever had a body mod of any form it was to make him more medium. But he still had a commanding presence that was unmistakable.
"Was wondering if you had a minute?" Herzer asked.
"Sure, Lieutenant, this is under control," the chief answered, walking away from the working party. "What's up?"
"Well, when I was but a young lad, my Gunny told me that if I had something I couldn't handle I should talk to the Gunny," Herzer said with a grin.
"There's not a gunny on board," Brooks replied.
"Yep, but you're the equivalent. I need some materials and some of them are going to be rare and some of them are going to be hazardous. And I'd bet you'd know where and how to get them before we weigh anchor."
"And they're not coming on this ship without the CO's permission," the chief answered. "Not if they're hazardous."
"I'll get the permission, if you can get the materials," Herzer said, handing the chief a list.
