“Oh, okay,” Sivarek said, “that’s no problem.”
I’ve upset him, Sivarek thought. Not paying attention, I said the wrong thing.
But maybe I can salvage the situation…
“You still play chess, right?” Sivarek said. “Well, I was thinking that, you know, if you wanted to play sometime, we could discuss—”
Seutter was looking at him, face cold again. “You’re the new Head Engineer, right?”
Sivarek nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course, I’d love to talk about this ship, it’s quirky but I can’t tell you how excited I—”
Seutter shook his head. “Too bad. I usually get along with Engineers.”
He turned, without further word, and walked out with measured strides.
Sivarek sighed.
I try so hard with people, he thought. To know them, to like them. To get them to like me.
But why does it seem that machines are just so much easier?
8
Brattain was making her way toward the sickbay when she saw a figure walking toward her. Even at a distance she recognized that severe, but childlike face.
Seutter, the Psionicist.
Another man was following him down the hall: a middle-aged man with long, disheveled hair and a bushy beard, clad in beige medical coveralls.
“I’m just saying, Graham, you have to cut back,” the older man said. “The suppressants are a crutch. It’s not helping you to build the barriers you need against ambient thoughts.”
Seutter turned back towards the man following him. “Then take everyone on the ship out of shouting distance,” he said, “Or give me my damn suppressant.”
The other man sighed, and shook his bushy head. Then he reached into a pocket on his coveralls and pulled out several small cylinders. “This is the XN,” he said. “You haven’t used this in a while. You’ve probably built up a tolerance to the Neura-D.”
Seutter grabbed the cylinders out of the man’s hands. He removed a small nano-injector from his pocket and slid one of the cylinders in, and then pressed it to his neck with a hiss.
Now, the Psionicist was staring directly at Brattain. She could hardly pretend that she hadn’t been watching him.
“Ah,” she said, “Um, Mister Seutter… Actually, I was hoping to run into you. I’d like to discuss your position, and how it functions. It would help me to better understand—”
Seutter stared at her with his dark, cold eyes. “Are you versed in the grand unified theory of transcendent quantum consciousness?”
“I’m sorry,” Britain asked, “what?”
“Niven’s space-time probability algorithm? Kaku’s deca-dimensional holistic paradigm?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “Um—”
Seutter shot her a severe smile. “Well, that was a short conversation, then.”
He walked right by her and continued down the corridor. Brattain turned to the disheveled looking man in the medical coveralls.
“Please tell me this is some strange initiation ritual, and that it will all be over soon.”
The man smiled sympathetically and extended one of his arms, beckoning her closer. “No, my dear,” he said, “you’re simply new to the oldest ship in the fleet, and her zany band of loveable misfits.”
“Seutter is loveable?” Brattain asked.
“Ah, well… He’s not so bad if you overlook his attitude, personality, and manners.”
Brattain laughed. She realized it was the first time she’d actually relaxed a bit since boarding the ship.
“So you’re Doctor Xon?”
The doctor extended his hand to her. “Call me Ishmael.”
“Oh,” she said, taking his hands. “Um, alright, of course, Ish—”
“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess that was a foolish joke. I’m sorry—you wouldn’t get that. I’m something of a history buff.”
“Oh,” Britain said. “Like Captain Kane?”
Xon nodded. “Well, the Captain and I are old friends. Did he tell you about Miyamoto Musashi yet?”
“Mmm,” Brattain said, “Yes, he did.”
“It was supposed to give you confidence, but it just seemed to add to the pressure, didn’t it?”
Brattain smiled. “I suppose it did. But how did you…?”
The Doctor shrugged. “I moonlight as a guidance counselor, so if you ever feel like sharing a drink with the galaxy’s most literate roustabout, harboring a few pearls of wisdom, stop by.”
“Well,” Britain said, “I hope I get that chance. Captain Kane says you’re leaving for a while.”
Xon sighed, and nodded. “True, as soon as they send a replacement I shall ride the tide. The Wastelands just aren’t very scenic, and I feel like I could do more good in the outer Colonies right now. I hope you won’t try to change my mind. I can assure you, the Captain’s already wasted quite a bit of breath and effort on that pursuit.”
Suddenly, Brattain felt a slight vibration at her sleeve.
A yellow rectangle flashed. She tapped it.
“Commander Brattain,” said a voice. She recognized it as the Comm Officer. “Commander, please report to the bridge.”
Brattain turned to the doctor and smiled, nodding. “Well, it was very nice meeting you, Doctor, uh… Ishmael.”
The doctor slowly saluted her. “Be brave, Commander.”
9
Brattain returned to the bridge. The rest of that shift was uneventful…
But, when Captain Kane took the command chair, she noticed that the crew seemed to sit up straighter, pay more attention, their actions crisp and deliberate.
They do respect him, she thought.
Even Cruz seemed to behave—for the most part—although Brattain thought she saw the petite pilot turning her head back, sneaking a glance at her a few times.
I wonder if she’s worried about being put on report, Brattain thought. But somehow that didn’t seem very likely.
She’s just… Looking at me? Was she seriously… expressing interest with what she said back there on the shuttle?
I thought she was just challenging me, but maybe that’s just her way?
I must really be losing it if I’m seriously entertaining any thoughts about her… Other than finding ways to get her in line, of course.
It was near the end of the shift when the Comm Officer announced that he’d received a priority transmission.
“Put it through to me, Lieutenant,” Captain Kane ordered.
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
The Captain played the transmission on his console. It was a series of rhythmic tones, like some sort of ancient radio code.
“It’s a distress beacon,” Kane said. “It was relayed from a comm-buoy in our sector. Fleet Command wants us to check it out. Hmm… interesting. Lieutenant Reynard,” he announced, “Meet me in the wardroom in five minutes. And please summon Mister Seutter and Sergeant Molokos as well. And Engineer Sivarek… He ought to be in on this.”
“Aye, Captain,” Reynard responded.
Five minutes later, Brattain took her place at the wardroom table.
Kane was sitting at the head of the table, Reynard beside him looking eager and attentive, as usual.
Seutter was there, too. Brattain was surprised that he’d even shown up… Although he didn’t look at anyone else, seeming to stare at the table’s surface.
Sivarek sat beside him. The cyborg Engineer seemed to be assessing Seutter, trying to figure him out, as if he were diagnosing a failing engine.
Good luck on that, Brattain thought.
Finally, Molokos stood at the other end of the table. His squat, broad, massive frame was too large to actually fit in one of the wardroom’s chairs.
“We’ve received the report of a distress signal in the Wastelands,” Kane announced. “Tomorrow we make the jump as planned. We’ll alter our endpoint to rendezvous with the signal’s origin.” He turned to Seutter. “Will that present any problems?”
The Psionicist turn
ed his head up from the table and merely shrugged. “One point’s the same as another. Universe doesn’t care.”
“Alright then,” Kane said. “Any questions?”
When no one spoke he smiled. “Then that’s our agenda. Let’s prepare for shift change.”
The others began to file out, but Kane tapped Brattain on her shoulder to hold her back. “So how do you feel?” He asked, after the door had slid shut, isolating them from the others.
“Alright, I suppose,” she said. “I’d like permission to perform inspections and drills, to make sure the crew is as capable as you claim. I mean—” She realized instantly that she sounded as if she were questioning his judgement.
But Captain Kane just laughed. “Fine. Permission granted. But not tonight. Tonight I’m ordering you to get some actual R&R, maybe get to know the crew a little bit. But whatever you do, that means no studying regulation manuals. Understood, Commander?”
“Yes, Sir,” Brattain responded with a salute.
10
Brattain toured the ship, checking on the crew, and learning the names of a good number of those which she’d not yet met previously. They seemed to respond to her presence, acting more alert now that they knew their new XO was watching them perform their duties.
But there seemed to be little opportunity to get to know the crew in the way that Captain Kane had wanted her to. And truthfully, such a level of casual interaction with those who she supervised seemed to go against Brattain’s nature and what she believed about command.
But it’s Captain Kane’s ship, she thought. I suppose I’ll have to learn to make compromises, whether I like it or not.
My father would never have had such issues… He was friendly with enlisted and officers alike, and they always respected him, as far as I remember.
So why do I feel the need to maintain strict boundaries?
She ate a meal in the mess hall—mango chutney pasta and cornbread sticks—comfort food. One of her childhood favorites, but she felt too tense to enjoy the food. It was tasteless and sat in her stomach like lead.
I think the Captain’s right about one thing, she thought. I need to find some way to relax—or at least release some of this tension. It won’t do anyone any good if I’m wound up too tightly to do my job.
So she made her way back to her quarters.
Brattain’s room was smaller than her quarters on Auris had been, the technology outdated compared to that that she’d had on the Juno.
Still, she thought, I shouldn’t complain. This is a lot of space for single officer’s quarters on one of these older ships.
The bed here wasn’t a cleansing pod. There was a separate foam shower; although the bed itself was designed to conform to the sleeper’s body, and was thermally self-adjusting. It was the height of technology from perhaps twenty years in the past.
There was, however, a nice reclining chair with conforming nano-foam upholstery, and hanging on the arm of the chair was a sensory headband for engaging in neuro-simulations.
Well, I suppose I could try and lose myself in a sim for a while. It’s been ages since I’ve done that…
There was a synth-silk robe hanging on the wall nearby, and Brattain considered changing into it before starting her sim session, but then she decided against it.
Why do I have the urge to cover up when I’m here by myself? Am I really feeling that insecure, that self-conscious? I was never that bad back on the Juno… was I?
Instead, she removed her suit and placed the components on the rack on the wall.
Now nude, she was still quite warm, sweating.
Was it just her nerves? Or were the environmental systems out of calibration? If it were the latter, she’d have to speak to someone about that. Regulation shipboard temperature was to be maintained at two hundred ninety-eight kelvins, after all, and—
What am I doing? She thought. Obsessed with the regs? Is that what I have as a fallback instead of my own confidence?
She had to admit that perhaps Captain Kane was right. Maybe he saw something in her that she herself hadn’t been aware of?
I can barely remember, she thought. Was I always like this? Or was it just after the Juno that I got this bad?
Trying to push that all out of her mind, she leaned back in the chair and reclined. The velvety foam cushions of the chair welcomed her naked body, conforming to its shape.
It may not be the latest tech, she thought, but it quite comfortable.
The sensory headband was a nondescript half-circle of tan plastalloy with soft neuro-conductive material on the inside. She slid it over her forehead and it instantly adjusted for a more comfortable fit.
She hadn’t used any sims in a long time. It was actually Wesley who’d recommended them to her, to help her relax when they were apart. He’d known how conservative she was, and that she wouldn’t have sought out other sexual partners in his absence.
But he’d encouraged her to enjoy herself in the artificial world of the sims, and she’d finally given in. And she had to admit, as an occasional treat, she’d enjoyed it… But since the Juno, she hadn’t allowed herself to relax in this manner.
She wasn’t feeling particularly adventuresome, so she decided to try an old standby. It was one of the standard scenarios, and she was sure the ship’s systems would have it in their library of sims.
“Classic tropical,” she said. The room around her blurred and melted away, as she felt a slight tingling from the sensory band on her forehead. Then everything came into sharp focus.
She was still reclining in her chair, but it was on a rocky island, in a small pool of brilliant blue water, in the midst of a lush, verdant green jungle. Birds with bright plumage flew overhead, and the calming sound of ocean surf came from nearby.
The tropical sun burned bright high above, but in the simulation if felt just warm enough to be pleasant on her skin.
“Would you like a partner or partners?” Came the soft voice of the computer from somewhere in the background.
“Male,” Brattain said, “Phenotype thirty-five.”
A man strode forward out of the jungle, naked, heavily muscled, glistening with sweat. She studied his body; from his bronzed, broad shoulders to the v-shape of his torso down to his powerful, sculpted abdomen… and below that, his generous… endowment.
He was designed to what the Republic considered “timeless” standards of male beauty, although this particular design was a bit larger, imbued with more animal strength than was the current trend.
Brattain had always enjoyed phenotype thirty-five before, but now he reminded her of too much of Wesley—even though Wesley had never been quite that well-muscled. Thinking of her ex-fiancé twisted her up inside, and made everything feel all wrong, despite the naturally calming effect of the simulation.
“Dammit,” she whispered, “Ah, no. Supposed to be relaxing. Not like this.”
The naked man froze in mid-stride toward her, like a hologram paused in playback.
What do I want? Brattain wondered.
It was as if her memory and imagination were constricted by her current state of tension. She remembered the Musashi crew members she’d recently met.
I could always call up one of them into the sim based on their files… Not like the real crewman would know, right?
What about Reynard? He was pretty enough, certainly, and no one could blame her for having a fantasy about one of her crew, least of all a handsome and capable fellow officer…
But, no, Brattain thought.
Captain Kane had spoken about focus and certainty. At least in a trivial matter like this, she had to be honest with herself about what she wanted.
“What the hell,” Brattain said out loud, “Download file image for Cruz, Xue-Mei, Ensign.”
The request felt decadent and wrong coming off her lips.
Why did she crave that badass flygirl with the childish attitude? Maybe it was just stress and Brattain’s current state of vulnerability… But the petite pilot
’s face had been coming up in her mind all day.
Now the broad-shouldered hunk vanished and Cruz appeared, wearing nothing but a grin. She had no tattoos in the simulation. Apparently, when she’d been scanned they’d either been turned off, or not recorded. Her hair was cobalt blue, as when Brattain had first met her, but it was cut much shorter than it was now. She was hairless from the chin down, and her body was taut and tight, with subtle curves.
“I know what you need,” the simulated Cruz said with full assurance. The real Cruz, of course, would have been cocky, using innuendo, looking for a reaction… But the simulation wouldn’t mimic that, just the subject’s voice and physical appearance.
Still, as the sim-Cruz came forward, kissed Brattain’s neck, lips fluttering down to her breasts, her stomach, Brattain smiled and sighed to herself.
Yes, she thought, this works.
Right now this really is what I—
There was a chime somewhere in the distance. Brattain tried to ignore it as the sim-Cruz slid lower, her tongue probing Brattain’s naval, then going lower, lower—
Brattain gasped and the chime sounded again, louder, louder.
“Dammit!” Brattain swore. She reached up and ripped off the sensory headband.
The door to her quarters chimed again. She rose from the chair very quickly, grabbed the synth-silk robe from the wall and wrapped it around herself, then commanded the door to open.
It was Cruz. The real Cruz, or at least Brattain thought so… Though, for a moment, she wondered if she was hallucinating.
The pilot was lounging in the doorway. Her hair was platinum white now, and she wore a shimmering, clinging, violet robe which terminated not far below her waist. Below that was a skimpy white thong which left little to the imagination.
Relax, Brattain thought. She can’t have any idea of what I was doing in here.
But Cruz’s eyes seemed to go wide, and she looked Brattain up and down. “Am I interrupting anything… interesting, Commander?” She asked.
Space Cruiser Musashi: a space opera novel Page 6
