A World of Hurt

by David Sherman

  "Tomorrow the CNSS Grandar Bay, a Mandalay-class Amphibious Landing Ship, Force, will arrive in orbit. Within a week 34th FIST will embark on her and head out for a colony world called Maugham's Station. We don't know what we're going to find there. It might be Skinks. It might be nothing.

  "Now if there are no other questions, I will hand you over to the ministrations of Sergeant Major Shiro." He ignored the hands that shot up and turned from the podium.

  "A-ten-SHUN!" Shiro bellowed.

  The Marines snapped to.

  "Sit down and listen up good," Shiro roared as Sturgeon strode through the theater wing to the exit--the sergeant major wasn't about to let the new men dwell on what they'd just been told. "What I'm about to tell you will save your lives one fine day. Look at the display. That ugly character is what we call a 'Skink'..."

  Chapter Ten

  True to his word, Commandant Aguinaldo dispatched a drone to the CNO before he left Thorsfinni's World. Admiral Joseph K.C.B. Porter, Chief of Naval Operations, was not pleased when he received the message the drone brought him.

  The Skinks and the need for secrecy were increasingly complicating his job. The Fairfax? How had the Fairfax slipped through the cracks, why wasn't she quarantined, or "lost" like the Grandar Bay? Her officers and crew knew more about the Skinks than anyone in 34th FIST other than the one platoon did, yet all of 34th FIST was quarantined, and the Fairfax's officers and crew were allowed to go on with their lives. By now most of the people onboard her were scattered throughout the fleet; some may even have retired to civilian life.

  Obviously, when the decision for quarantine was made, someone overlooked the Fairfax. He breathed deeply. Obviously, the someone who overlooked the Fairfax was him. As CNO, it was his responsibility, and he had totally muffed it.

  What to do about that was a problem for another time. The immediate problem was Commandant Aguinaldo's request for this--what was his name?--SRA3 Hummfree. Where was he now? Was he even still in the navy? As a sailor, Porter knew he should bristle at a Marine telling him how to assign sailors. But the Skinks were a problem that transcended interservice rivalries.

  Admiral Porter pressed a button on his desk. While he waited for the person he summoned, he jotted what little information he had on Hummfree on a slip of paper. Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy Hiram Jiminez rapped on the frame of Porter's office door just as the admiral finished. He waved him in.

  "You called, sir?" Jiminez said as he took a seat by the side of Porter's desk.

  "I need a sailor found." He slid the slip of paper to his top enlisted man.

  Jiminez looked at it. "Can do. What do you want him for?"

  "I want him assigned immediately to 34th FIST on Thorsfinni's World, transportation there by the most expeditious means possible."

  Jiminez looked at his boss with mild surprise. "Will do. Two questions. One, why do the Marines need a surveillance and radar tech? Two, what if he's been released from active duty?"

  Porter's lips tightened. "Second question first. He is to be found and recalled to active duty and given no more than three days to put his affairs in order. As for your first question, I'm sorry, Chief, but that's so secret even I'm barely cleared for it."

  The Confederation Navy's top enlisted man gave his boss a steady look. That level of secrecy could only mean one thing: Skinks. He didn't say that, though, since he wasn't supposed to know the damn things existed. Instead he merely said, "This Hummfree is as good as on his way."

  "Thank you, Chief, I know I can depend on you."

  Jiminez stood and left Admiral Porter's office to begin tracking down this Hummfree. And while he was at it, he'd use his own sources to find out what was so special about this particular SRA that he had to be assigned to the Grandar Bay. That was something else he wasn't supposed to know about. But it's impossible for any service to keep secrets from its top enlisted man.

  Hummfree was indeed still in the navy, and had been promoted to SRA2. What's more, he was on the CNSS Philadelphia, a Nelson-class cruiser en route to the Mars Port navy yard for an overdue upgrade of its weapons systems. Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy Hiram Jiminez skimmed the cruise orders of the ships in-system and those along the probable route of the Philadelphia. One, the HM3 Gordon, a newly reoutfitted fast frigate, was about to depart Mars Port on a cruise to that part of the outer reaches of Human Space that just happened to include Thorsfinni's World. Better yet, the Gordon's chief of ship was Master Chief Petty Officer Wondun I'wazari, who Jiminez had known since they were third class petty officers together.

  He wasted no time putting a radio call through to I'wazari. The time lag between Earth and Mars orbit made for a hesitating conversation, but both men were used to the inconvenience, and kept a record of what each other said while waiting for replies. And they both had other things to keep themselves occupied during the waiting times.

  "Wazi, are you ready for Earthside duty yet?" Jiminez sent, once the connection was made. "You know I can get it for you, almost anytime you want. But I hope you don't say you want it right now, because there's something I need for you to do first. How's this Skipper of yours? I don't know him."

  The reply, in I'wazari's oddly cultured voice, came about an hour later. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. How's your salty ass? It's a good thing you've got something you need me to do out here in deepest darkest space, because hell no, I don't want any damn Earthside duty. That'd turn me into a deskbound old geezer, just like you. May as well retire to the old sailors home as do that. The new Skipper's okay. He's new on the Gordon, but this is his third cruise as boss, and he knows to listen to his chief of ship. What do you need? How are the wife and kiddies?"

  Jiminez smiled when he heard the reply. It was the reaction he'd expected to the offer of Earthside duty. Sometimes he was sorry he'd taken it himself; he missed being a chief of ship. "You would want to go to the old sailors home," he said. "The food there tastes just as bad as the swill you fix for yourself in your cabin aboard ship. I can't believe anybody can eat that shit and not die from it. Alice is fine. She goes shopping all the time and spends so much money I can't afford to retire. The kids are grown and on their own, which is a damn good thing--if I had to support them too, I'd need to get into honest work in order to pay all the bills. How are your children?" He didn't ask about a wife; I'wazari was married to the navy, and his "children" were the sailors on board his ship. "I'm getting orders cut for a diversion in your cruise. The first thing I need from you is to make sure you don't break orbit before the orders arrive. The orders are coming from BUPERS"--Bureau of Personnel--"but they're really from Uncle Joey"--the nickname given Admiral Porter by most enlisted sailors. "You need to intercept a starship, the cruiser Philadelphia, and transport a petty officer from it to Thorsfinni's World. I need you to make sure you get that done without any delay whatsoever."

  The reply this time took a bit longer than an hour. Jiminez wasn't surprised. He'd dumped something fairly heavy on his former shipmate, and I'wazari probably had to think about its implications.

  "Well, if that's what Uncle Joey wants, and you concur, I don't see any problem. But what's so damn important that we have to go that far outside standard procedure for a personnel movement? My kids are doing fine. I had a couple problems that some other starship wanted to dump on somebody else, but they've got their acts straightened out now." He chuckled evilly. "I saw to that."

  Jiminez had his answer ready. "Uncle Joey says he's barely cleared to know the why of this, so you know I'm not supposed to. But I've got my suspicions. Someday, after you accept Earthside duty, I'll tell you what I think over a few brews. Then I'll probably have to kill you to make sure the secret is kept. Otherwise, I'll visit you in the old sailors home and tell you then." He snorted. "If I tell you in the old sailors home, I won't have to worry about security, because you won't remember what I tell you. Not that you'd remember it if I told you now. One more detail about this petty officer. It might be a very good idea if he has lim
ited contact with your crew.

  "All right, Wazi, we've both got work to do, and these interplanetary calls cost more money than the navy wants to spend on a couple of old chiefs like us. Jiminez out."

  He leaned back, satisfied that the orders he had BUPERS cutting and transmitting would be executed. Now to find out what was so important about SRA2 Hummfree.

  It took less than two days standard for BUPERS to cut and transmit the orders for the HM3 Gordon to intercept the Philadelphia and transport SRA2 Hummfree to Thorsfinni's World for duty at the convenience of Commander, 34th FIST, Confederation Marine Corps. A second set of orders was cut and transmitted at the same time. It was to be given to the executive officer of the Philadelphia, and gave a different reason and destination for Hummfree's departure.

  TheGordon successfully intercepted the Philadelphia at a scheduled jump point.

  "Hummfree, front and center!" Chief Kem bellowed over the intercom.

  "Hmmm?"

  "Wake up, Hummfree, the chief wants you." SRA1 Kisegito, the senior of the petty officers who shared the compartment, shook Hummfree's shoulder.

  "G'way. M'zleebin'." SRA2 Hummfree had just finished a twelve hour shift a couple of hours earlier and had been asleep less than an hour.

  "Not when the chief wants you, you're not!" Kisegito ripped the sheet off Hummfree.

  Hummfree rolled over and flopped out an arm, pawing for his missing sheet. "Zleebin'," he murmured.

  "Not any more you aren't," Kisegito told him. "You don't get up right now, I'm dumping you on the deck."

  "Mmmrph." Hummfree curled himself into a ball.

  "Don't say I didn't warn you." Kisegito slipped his key into the control panel for Hummfree's acceleration couch, which was flattened into a bed for travel under gravity, and pressed the button that flipped it upside down.

  "Awk!" Hummfree yelped when he thudded onto the deck. He started to spring to his feet to face whoever had attacked him, and slammed straight into his couch, which was now above him--the collision knocked him back down.

  "On your feet and get dressed, Hummfree. The chief wants you."

  "Wha'?" Hummfree looked bleary-eyed at the senior petty officer. "Whazza chief wan'?"

  "You, though why anybody would want you is beyond me."

  Hummfree grumbled as he crawled out from under his upside down bunk, the linen trailing from it to the deck, and looked at it. "Whoever did that better put it back by the time I get back," he said, giving Kisegito a dirty look.

  While Hummfree was pulling his uniform on, Kisegito turned his key again and the couch returned to its normal position. "Who did what, Hummfree?" he asked innocently, ignoring the sheets that hung from the bunk to the deck.

  Hummfree looked at the bunk and made a noise in his throat. "I want my sheets back in place too," he said. "Where is he?"

  "In his quarters. Where do you expect to find a chief off shift?"

  Hummfree made another throat noise. Dressed, if not totally squared away, he left his compartment.

  "Took you long enough, Hummfree," Kem snarled when Hummfree reported.

  "I was asleep."

  The chief gave him a hard look. "Time enough for that when you die." He scowled at Hummfree for a long moment, then asked, "What the hell did you do?"

  "Chief? What do you mean?"

  "I mean, you had to have done something. The chief of ship wouldn't want to see you if you hadn't done something."

  "Th-The chief of ship?"

  "Did I stutter? What did you do?"

  "I didn't do anything! What's the chief of ship want to see me for?"

  "It may come as a surprise to you, Hummfree, but the chief of ship doesn't always confide in us lowly division chiefs. Why the hell do you think I'm asking what you did?"

  Hummfree looked at Kem aghast. The chief of ship never sent for a petty officer unless the PO had done something wrong and was going to get reamed a new one. "I swear, Chief, I didn't do anything."

  Kem shook his head. "Well, I guess I just have to wait until you get keelhauled to find out. Report to the chief of ship immediately. If you get there fast enough, maybe he won't add to your punishment for being as late as you already are."

  "Right, Chief. Immediately." Without waiting for further encouragement or permission, Hummfree took off at a sprint. He hoped he wouldn't encounter another chief on his way--sprinting in the passageways was forbidden except when General Quarters was sounded.

  The chief of ship was in his office-cum-quarters, adjacent to the executive officer's quarters. The hatch was open and Hummfree rapped on it.

  "Chief, SRA2 Hummfree, reporting as ordered," he said in as strong a voice as he could muster.

  Master Chief Petty Officer Underhaven looked up from his reader and crooked a finger for Hummfree to enter.

  Hummfree stepped inside and stood at attention, eyes fixed on a 2-D of a sailing ship on the bulkhead behind the chief's desk. Chief Underhaven stood and casually walked over to Hummfree. He leaned toward his face and sniffed.

  "You've certainly done a good job of cleaning the smell," he growled.

  "Chief?" Did the chief of ship think he'd been drinking? Onboard a starship in space?

  "Have you wondered why we've been at jump point for nearly a full day standard when we should have jumped back into Beamspace after only an hour or so?"

  "Ah, nossir, Chief, I've been on duty and wasn't paying attention to that."

  "Because of you, that's why. I expected to smell turd breath when I leaned in. You had to be doing some serious ass-sucking for this." Underhaven turned his reader so Hummfree could see the document on it.

  Hummfree read with increasing interest and confusion. The document was orders transferring him to Headquarters, Third Fleet, as a surveillance and radar instructor. "Is this why...?" he asked.

  Underhaven nodded. "This is why we were intercepted at a jump point, yes. It's why you just came off a twelve hour shift guiding us through space debris to a rendezvous." He shook his head. It happened sometimes that a starship on cruise was intercepted at a known jump point. Not often, but sometimes. Usually it was for a change in orders, the starship had to go in harm's way, or maybe the harm's way it was headed for had been dealt with and she no longer needed to go there. The only other time Chief of Ship Underhaven had ever seen an intercept to take a man off the intercepted starship, it was to arrest him for a capital crime that hadn't been discovered until after the ship sailed. He didn't quite know what to make of it, other than it was going to deprive him of the talents of the most skillful SRA he'd ever seen. "So get your shit together and say your good-byes. You're transferring in," he checked the time, "eighty-seven minutes."

  "Aye aye, Chief." Hummfree started away, then turned back. "Ah, Chief, sir? It's been good working on the Philadelphia. I've learned a lot here, this is a good ship."

  Underhaven looked at him and wanted to shake his head, but didn't. He didn't think Hummfree had learned a damn thing on his ship, but Hummfree had taught the other SRAs a lot. "You did good for us. We'll miss you. Now scoot, son."

  Hummfree grinned. "Aye aye, Chief." He turned again.

  "Hummfree!" Underhaven's voice stopped him again. "You know, the SRA trainer's billet at Fleet is a first class billet."

  Hummfree nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

  "In my opinion, you deserve it. Now get out of here before you miss your transit and we have to do it again."

  Farewells were brief. Most of the people he worked with were sleeping, and the women were in their own quarters, where men weren't allowed. He was all packed and ready at the bo'sun's chute in plenty of time. Two ratings strapped him and his gear into the deep-space skiff and a first-class checked their work. The skiff launched at the designated second, and its coxswain gentled it into the docking bay at its destination less than fifteen minutes later.

  A chief with a holstered sidearm met him at the docking bay, led him to a small, unoccupied compartment and locked him in. Hummfree spent several days wo
ndering what was going on. He hadn't expected to be locked in the brig! And transit to Third Fleet Headquarters shouldn't take so long. Meals were slid through a slot in the hatch three times a day. Twice a day he spent an hour in required physical exercise, though nobody else was in the small gym he was allowed to use. He also had access, only partly restricted, to the starship's library of vids, trids, books, and journals.

  After two weeks' incarceration, he felt the starship fall into orbit around a planet. A few hours later the hatch to his isolation compartment opened and the same armed chief met him and escorted him to the bo'sun's chute, where he was hustled onto a waiting Essay.

  "What's going on, Chief?" Hummfree asked, but the chief wouldn't say anything to him.

  He and his gear were strapped into the webbing of the otherwise unoccupied Dragon that was the only one on the Essay. Moments later the Essay launched and went into the first-ever combat assault landing Hummfree had ever experienced. Of course, he thought the Essay was out of control and he was going to die. But it wasn't and he didn't. The Essay splashed down on water and the Dragon emerged, to speed over the ocean to the distant shore. When the Dragon stopped and dropped its ramp for him to exit, a burly Marine master sergeant was waiting for him. Using an absolute minimum of words, the master sergeant walked him through an abbreviated in-processing, followed immediately by a transfer in which he was handed over to a chief petty officer. The chief escorted him to another otherwise unoccupied Dragon waiting aboard an Essay, which launched as soon as he and his gear were strapped in and the hatches closed.