CHAPTER 11
“Dila’entha an?” I asked, following Redius through the crew corridors of the Bonchance.
“An thale,” Redius said, pointing to a door. He switched his tail back and forth in excitement. I felt much the same emotion. It always excited my curiosity to investigate the workings of a new ship.
My small scout, though equipped with ultradrive engines, would suffer undue wear and tear should it be expected to make the journey to the border by itself. Instead, the Rodrigo would occupy a berth in the flight bay of the carrier Bonchance, and my crew would bunk in with the carrier’s ordinary complement while the larger vessel conveyed us within a few days’ journey to the frontier. It was almost nine days after departing from Keinolt that Oskelev settled the Rodrigo gently in the echoing landing bay among individual fighters, scout ships and corvettes. We were welcomed by a lieutenant commander who gave us a brisk but thorough orientation briefing and set us loose to make ourselves at home. So to speak.
I palmed the panel at the door lintel and peered in.
“No,” I said. “I must have misspoken. I thought I asked you where my quarters were, not yours.”
“Grammar correct. Yours indeed,” Redius replied. “Mine Nesbitt shares alongside.” He nodded to the next door.
I studied the chamber with a jaundiced eye. A single bunk had been made up, though I could see the outline of a second bed base folded into the wall opposite. A floor-to-ceiling hatch the width of my shoulders stood open to receive my personal possessions. But it was no exaggeration to say that I could stretch out my arms and with a single sidestep either way, touch the walls of the chamber. I admit my arms are long, but the cabin was definitely on the small side. It measured less than two-thirds the size of my cabin aboard the Rodrigo. My scout had been constructed with me in mind. Its quarters were more generous, along the lines of the White Star, the in-system vessel that I and my relatives had served aboard during our Academy training. (Since only members of the imperial house were in our class, it might be excused that we were given more comforts than the average commoners who were not used to similar luxuries.) Still, it was a shock to expect to wedge myself into so small a container.
Even more by contrast, I had just come from escorting my cousin and her entourage to their quarters. Those pleasant domiciles were in the guest area, not far from the hydroponics gardens, a dedicated break room and the nursery crèche. Each lady was given a chamber to herself, with hygienic facilities shared between each two cabins. There were no other guests on board beside them, so all the amenities were theirs alone to enjoy. Those bedchambers were easily three times the size of the cabin I was expected to occupy, in spite of being granted single occupancy instead of double. In Jil’s case, and those of our distant relations, I would not have had it any other way. Still, I took it a trifle hard not to be placed similarly.
At least the bed was comfortable and the cabin spotless. I could not discern a single dust mote out of place. A sink with a large mirror stood in one corner, along with a fold-out booth containing a sonic cleanser. The latter was only to be used in need of haste or chemical contamination requiring isolation. Bathing and sanitary facilities were close by, across from Anstruther’s cabin. I realized that nearly all of those in active service to the Imperium Navy lived in quarters like this, but I thought some exception could have been made in deference to my rank.
It took only moments to stow the contents of the standard case I was permitted in the closet. I spruced myself up before the room’s mirror, then answered the tap at my door.
“Glad together,” Redius said, showing the tip of his tongue.
“As am I,” I said, heroically subduing a sigh. I consulted my newly downloaded housing chart. Anstruther and Oskelev were together beyond Redius’s quarters. All of our quarters were on the same corridor. Plet had a single on the other side of mine. As if invoking her name caused her to appear, she emerged from her chamber and came to join us.
“Are you settled, sir?” Plet asked.
“Well and truly,” I said. “Though it’s a trifle cramped. Our last guest occupancy was on a much more spacious vessel.”
“The Wedjet is Admiral Podesta’s flagship,” Plet reminded me, with the same toneless voice I might have heard from my viewpad’s LAI. “It is also the newest of the destroyer class. The Bonchance is thirty years older and part of the carrier class.”
“I do know that,” I said. “I studied the floor plans. I simply had no notion that I would be disposed down here in the smaller cabins.”
“But floor plans of naval vessels are not available to civilians,” Plet said, then the perfect ivory of her cheeks tinted ever so slightly with red.
I smiled, a trifle self-deprecatingly. “I can’t help it if my mother’s passwords are so easy to guess,” I said.
At the sound of our voices, our fellows emerged from their cabins.
“Where is Commander Parsons?” Anstruther asked, glancing over my shoulder as if to find my mysterious aide-de-camp a pace behind me. I offered a magnificent shrug in return.
“Where Parsons is disposed, I have no idea. For all I knew, he sleeps upside down like a bat somewhere within the ventilation system. We will see him when he chooses to allow us to see him, and not a moment before. In the meanwhile, I shall catch up on my Infogrid updates. I fear I have let them slip the last week.”
“No, sir,” Plet said, in that irritating fashion she had of contradicting me. “Our crew has been ordered to report to the senior officer in Maintenance. That is our duty for the duration of our passage to the frontier.”
“Curse it, Plet, that’s no way for a gentleman of my rank to spend my time!” I said. “Nor is it fit for my highly-trained crew to paint what doesn’t move and salute what does.”
“Review your instructions,” Plet said, imperturbably. “You will see our rota.”
I brought out my viewpad and clicked upon the message that was pulsing red with official impatience.
“Orders different now,” Redius said, peering over my shoulder.
I glanced down at the entry. Was I mistaken at my first reading? My duties, listed as belonging to Kinago, T., Second Lieutenant, were to be carried out in “‘laboratory, hydroponics.”
“Well, that is a good deal more pleasant,” I said. “I would welcome duty in those lovely gardens. Wouldn’t you all prefer that?”
“Not for me, sir,” Nesbitt confided, looking a little embarrassed. “I have hay fever.”
In any case, Nesbitt did not need to attend infirmary for anti-allergy treatment. Ship’s bells sounded, indicating that it was time for mess. Crew members wearing the insignia of our host vessel began to appear out of cabin doors and head for the lifts. We joined the throng. I realized that I had not allowed my viewpad to download the correct shiptime schedule, and followed along with the mob.
Crew on duty aboard a working warship had their day essentially divided into four portions. The first and most important was the work shift, eight hours, followed by first rest period. Formal mess was at the beginning of this period. What time was left following the meal was for personal use before the sleep shift. The fourth was the second rest period, during which one prepared for the day, socialized a trifle, and undertook personal chores. A ship typically divided its crew into three contiguous work shifts. The rest periods were designed to be sacrificed during enemy action or emergency, for greatest overlap of personnel.
I was most intimately familiar with the mess hall aboard the Wedjet, which featured a head table at which its master, Admiral Podesta, had sat surveying his flag crew with an eagle-like eye. The rest of the room was filled by round tables, waited upon by both serverbots and living staff. As the Bonchance was not a flag-ranked vessel, serverbots were the order of the day, with only the occasional spacer or ensign helping out.
A much smaller vessel meant a smaller crew and, hence, a smaller dining room. The tables were long rectangles, with the exception of an oblong board at one end of the room. A flag on a small standard flicked and waved as though caught in a breeze. To my eye, experienced as it was in picking up the nuances of diplomatic dinners, teas, luncheons and every other dining experience to fete visiting dignitaries, I deduced that must be where Captain Naftil entertained his guests. I straightened my mess tunic, adorned with my sole medal, and made for a chair not at the head or foot of the table, but modestly along one side. I took my place and stood at parade rest.
My studies of the day before we arrived had included looking up the captain on the Infogrid. Therefore, when he arrived, accompanied by his executive officers, I was able to recognize him readily. I straightened my shoulders. When he approached, I favored him with my most enthusiastic salute.
“Captain Naftil!” I said. “Lieutenant Thomas Innes Loche Kinago. I and my crew are very pleased to be aboard.”
The captain was a slim Human male with the broad shoulders of a long-time space soldier. As my mother had said, he was fairly young for such extensive responsibilities, but he carried them easily. His warm ochre complexion contrasted in a striking manner with his glossy black hair and eyes. The eagerness of his expression told me that he possessed considerable natural energy and enthusiasm. I felt that we could be good friends. I had readied several topics of conversation to get to know him. Such courtesy would please my mother.
He returned my salute with a snap of his wrist.
“Lieutenant Kinago, I am glad to make your acquaintance. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He did not invite me to sit down. I paused for a moment to give him a chance to gather his thoughts. No doubt he was unused to having so many members of the aristocracy in his complement at the same time.
“I await your cousin, Lady Jil, and her party,” Captain Naftil said, lowering his voice. “She is absolutely enchanting, isn’t she?”
“I must confess, fifty percent of the time she is,” I confided in him. Only I and others who occupied her company more frequently than that fifty percent knew the quirks of her personality.
He chuckled in appreciation of my quip. But we had not long to wait. Just before the second signal to mess sounded, Jil and her friends sailed into the dining hall.
My cousin was in the vanguard of the coterie of ladies, gliding forward as if on antigrav skids. I heard Naftil’s breath catch in his throat. Jil overwhelmed the senses as if she were one of her own perfumes. The gown she wore would have been flamboyant at a club in the most fashionable neighborhoods of Taino. The blood-red garment occupied no more space than one of Jil’s swimming costumes, except for the gory streamers that descended along her legs from the wisp that concealed her slender nether regions and a cursory strap of gold braid that rose from the brassiere to circle about the nape of her neck. Poor Captain Naftil fairly quivered in his regulation footgear. Only the very best training prevented him from the social faux pas of forgetting to greet his other guests, Parsons among them, who brought up the rear of the procession. Jil swooped down upon the captain and offered him a delicate hand.
“Captain, how generous of you to offer us your hospitality.”
“I am . . . delighted to have you here, madam,” he said, holding her fingers as if they were soap bubbles. “You grace us with your presence.”
Jil gave a warm chuckle, laden with wholly unnecessary sensuality.
“You are more than kind,” she said, though she knew full well how much of a bombshell her appearance had exploded upon the senses of the assembled service people in their dark blue uniforms. “May I present my friends?” She introduced the ladies in turn. Marquessa curtseyed deeply as the captain bent over her hand. She was a vision in deep royal blue. She made way for Sinim, in a coral gown that warmed but did not overwhelm one’s vision like Jil’s dress. Banitra and Hopeli both wore shades of purple and, thankfully, more fabric than Jil did.
“You look like a bouquet of exotic flowers,” I said, approvingly. “Most becoming!”
“Oh, Thomas,” Jil said, turning to me as if surprised to see me. “Nee’af than de outhu?”
I was not caught off guard at her sudden use of Uctu.
“Salthu denau,” I said, easily. “Ene’af than drau bedothu?”
She shook a chiding finger at me. “You have got that wrong, cousin. You ought to say ‘ene’af dan drau.’”
“That’s not right,” I said.
“It is.” She tossed her head. “Perhaps you ought to go and check your grammar.”
The captain escorted her to the chair to the right of his seat at the head. Parsons and three of the other officers showed the others to their places. There was nowhere left for me.
“I say,” I said. “I believe the table has been set one chair short.”
The captain gave me an odd look.
As if in answer to my query, a serverbot rolled up to my side.
“Lieutenant Kinago?” it inquired in a mild alto. “Please come with me.”
Startled, I glanced at the captain and my cousin.
“But I should be here, shouldn’t I?” I asked. “We have so much to talk about.”
“Your assigned seat is this way, sir. Please come with me.”
I looked to Parsons for rescue, but not was forthcoming. I followed the server.
Though the room was not large, it felt as though I was walking miles through a desert. I fancied I heard scornful whispers as I went, but the sound was undoubtedly my own thoughts chiding me. Why was I not at the captain’s table among others of my rank?
I noticed Plet seated at a rectangle for eight in between others wearing the same insignia. She shone among the ordinary crew like a modest gem. I spotted an empty seat not far from hers. Her eyes shifted briefly to meet mine, then returned to the officer with whom she was speaking. That was not my place, then.
“Whither goest?” I asked the server, a bullet-shaped device on rollers concealed under its metal skirt.
“The table second along the wall from the right,” it said.
I glanced ahead. I spotted Nesbitt because it would have been difficult not to. He was at the table farthest to the right, gesturing to me to join him, Oskelev and Anstruther. Instead, my destination featured two humans, an Uctu female, one Croctoid, and two Wichu plus Redius. I knew from their lopsided faces that I outranked the humans present. The others, too, were unlikely to be members of their races’ noble class.
I glanced back. In fact, I could not have been more distant from the head table, where my cousin, wearing a gleeful expression to complement her scanty outfit, was regaling the captain with a story that required a number of humorous hand gestures. It would be just like Jil to steal one of my best jokes and fail to attribute it to me.
Still, my upbringing had taught me the importance of noblesse oblige. I would put myself out to be as likable as possible. I slid into the seat held out for me by the bullet-shaped serverbot and smiled around at my new companions.
“Good evening, all!” I said. “Lieutenant second class Thomas Kinago. Please call me Thomas.”
“Kinago?” the Croctoid asked, rolling one of its small eyes severely in its scaly socket. “Any relation?”
“The most important of relations, if you mean Admiral Kinago Loche,” I said. “She’s my mother.”
The smaller of the two Wichus took her viewpad from her belt and beckoned to the other.
“Pay up. You said he wasn’t.”
Some good-natured grousing accompanied the settling of the bet. Redius gave me a humorous shrug. He introduced everyone at the table, beginning with the other Uctu, a round-faced female who, by the blue scales on her coral-colored head, was even younger than he.
“Yerbinat Nordina. Thon Delaur. Mimi Chan. Bedere Lumon. Dinas Veltov. Oresta Veltov. All lieutenants second.”
Dinner began with a spicy soup. I savored the first few sips, then realized that it had been dosed very heavily with a chili extract that could not, by my observation of other diners, have been in any other bowl in the room. It was so powerful I wondered how l could hold out before I began to perspire, let alone dive for the water pitcher in the center of the table and soak my burning tongue in it. But I was a Kinago, by jay, and a son of the First Space Lord. I could take hazing. My cousins had pulled this particular jape on one another more than once.
“Delicious,” I declared it. “You must have an excellent food program on board.” I took another spoonful. “Really very good.”
Every mouthful was more painful than the one before. I had to force my throat to swallow the liquid. It begged me silently not to torture it any longer. It would devote its life to charity if only I would go find it a bowl of oatmeal laced with heavy cream.
Chan smiled a little nervously.
“I hear you know funny stories,” Lumon, the Croctoid, said, working his heavy green jaws back and forth over a chunk of vegetable. “Tell us one.”
By the sixth spoonful, my mouth had gone numb, but I fought for clarity of speech.
“I see my reputation has preceded me,” I said, searching my memory for a good joke. I possessed a superb collection that I had amassed over the years, a substantial half of which had come to me while I was on board the Shahmat. “I would be delighted to oblige. It seems that there was a young Solinian cadet who was on his first assignment planetside in a human outpost. . . .”
As I progressed through the story, my audience, as I hoped, leaned in closer and closer, not observing that I was no longer eating my soup. My tongue, in sincere thanks, put itself out to be as eloquent as ever it had been. When the serverbots moved in to replace the soup with the main course, the other junior officers hardly even noticed.
A peal of laughter interrupted my thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my cousin grasp the captain’s forearm as if in amused appreciation of a story he had related. He looked a trifle bemused at the intensity of her reaction. I could have told him that he was getting away with fairly mild treatment. A shifting of bodies at my own table told me that I had better return my attention to my audience.
“. . . Well, you weren’t supposed to eat the whole thing!” I concluded.
My tablemates laughed loudly. Dinas, the male Wichu, slapped a hand on the board. His sister applauded.
“Another!” they chorused.
“I’ll try,” I said, pointing to my throat. “But the soup, you know, it was a little . . .”
“Strong?” asked Delaur.
“Weak,” I said, and enjoyed the astonished looks on their faces. I laughed. I had over the years perfected a laugh that was part snort, part guffaw, and all mine. Those who were subjected to it were invariably impressed and often intimidated, as in this case. Everyone at the table but Redius recoiled. “Pathetically weak. You want to use tarantula chilies if you really want to incapacitate a newcomer. This was cobra pepper oil in the soup, wasn’t it?”
“Uh, yeah,” the Wichu said.
“My cousins and I train with cobra peppers for such occasions as this,” I said, hardly disguising my scorn. Then I allowed my expression to soften ever so slightly. “But if you’d like to hear about some really dirty tricks that we play on one another in the Imperium compound . . . ?”
“Yes!” came the general chorus.
I smiled. Now I had them in the palm of my hand. I leaned in conspiratorially. They shifted forward, their faces avid, as I began to reveal secrets scarcely known outside my family.
“. . . And the filament is absolutely invisible, so if you sew it into the fabric of a garment meant to be worn against the skin, they won’t realize where the shocks are coming from. At least, not for a while.”
With the unstated truce in place, we began to get to know one another. They were all eager for stories of my life at court. Gossip that was readily available within my cousins’ Infogrid files was easy, permissible fodder. I also regaled my tablemates with one gentle tale that included my mother as a peripheral character that only served to elevate her standing in their eyes. It didn’t do any harm to mine, either.
Over dessert, an unadulterated hazelnut cake that made my wounded taste buds feel mellow, we broke into several smaller conversations. At that point, I was able to get Redius’s attention. We leaned back in our seats to speak behind the back of our shared neighbor.
“Fear not use of tarantula on you?” Redius asked, his mouth slightly open to show he was smiling. The Wichu between us was arguing loudly with the two humans across the table.
“Not now,” I said, with a little smile. “Tarantulas are classified as a weapon of war on a naval vessel, not a food. They will be in the armory, not the pantries. But some unlucky souls might stumble on some in their meals planetside.”
“Unfortunate them.” Redius studied my expression. “Expression puzzled. Trouble?”
In the course of my immersion in Uctu over the last couple of weeks, I had come to realize that his stilted command of Imperium Standard was almost a direct translation from Uctu. In his tongue, each of the words meant so much more. With every day’s study, I began to get a greater sense of how well he expressed himself in spite of the shortcomings of my native language. His staccato phrasing concealed a wealth of meaning.
“Redius, I have a question of grammar. Just a few moments ago, Jil just asked me how my day went, and I told her my labors were rewarding. Then I asked what she did today, and she corrected my phrasing. Doesn’t such a question begin with ‘ene’af than drau’?”
“Confirmed,” Redius said. “What she?”
“She told me it was ‘dan drau.’”
Redius burst into hissing laughter.
“Means wasted, not spent,” Redius said. “Common courtesy becomes insult.”
I emitted an exaggerated growl.
“So! Jil is going to use underhanded psychological means to confuse me,” I said. “We will see about that. I can play that game as well as she.”
I did not, however, let the matter of my placement in the dining room rest. At the end of the meal, I cut Parsons out of the pack as the senior officers and their guests attempted to flee.
“Parsons, I have a quibble,” I said in a low voice, as the rest of the diners streamed past, replete with the excellence of the cuisine that I had been largely unable to taste. “Why was I not seated with the captain and the senior officers? It is unquestionably correct that my cousin and her friends were there, but why not me? Even you were there. I was with the lowest of the low. Not that they are not all good and worthy people, but I would expect to be given a place according to my class. And I would ask that my circumstances, when I represent special operations, also to be considered.”
Parsons drew me further off the beaten path, into an alcove near where the serverbots were stacking piles of dirty dishes.
“It is for the best, sir,” he murmured, his voice covered well by the clattering of plates and flatware. “Your presence on the Bonchance is as a simple emissary from the court of the Emperor. No one except the captain is party to your actual function, and he does not know all of it. You should take advantage of that anonymity. Such placement frees you to ask for information from the Bonchance’s crew at large.”
My eyebrows went up.
“Is there anyone specific whom you suspect of misdoing?” I asked, feeling the hounds of inquiry raising their noses in a group howl in my psyche.
“It would be better not to point out anyone who is under suspicion lest it unfairly arouse attention to that person. A rotation of crewbeings will occupy the four additional seats at your table. Use this opportunity to gather impressions. Data gathered over a shared collation might reveal more than a formal inquiry. You will be doing this captain a service by making use of your faculties of observation. You have been of assistance in the past.”
He gave me a deeply meaningful look.
“So true,” I mused. “Very well, I shall take my demotion in good part, although I fancy that my cousin will make much of it. She did, didn’t she? You cannot deny it.”
My emotions dashed against the bastion of his countenance, but made no impression.
“I would not attempt to do so, my lord. But she serves a purpose as well.”
“Wheels within wheels,” I said. “Although I think Jil would be mortified to learn that she had a purpose beyond her own whims.”