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  I turned to look at him. “Mr. Burnside,” I acknowledged, responding to his informal goad with carefully prescribed formality.

  He stared at me for a moment, his expression held a certain amount of pity—or maybe it was resignation. I couldn’t be sure.

  “You’re fresh out of school, wet behind the ears, and way out of your depth. Keep your eyes open, your mouth shut, and try to learn to be an officer. What you learned at the academy is only an introduction, and now it’s time for you to get off the playground and into the ring. I don’t care what you think. I don’t wanna know about your problems. Your job is not to bring me problems but to solve the problems and bring me the solutions. That’s going to be a problem for you, because you’re too green to know what a problem is, but eventually, given enough time and incentive”—here his eyes took on a menacing gleam—”you’ll eventually learn the difference between a solution and a problem. Do I make myself clear, Ishmael?”

  “Crystal clear, Mr. Burnside,” I replied carefully.

  He was being deliberately provocative in his manner and attitude. I resolved not to give him an edge to cut me with. I’d seen this “alpha male” attitude before but didn’t really understand it.

  “Do you have any requirements for me during this watch?” I asked.

  I hoped that catering to his need for control would defuse his animosity.

  “What do you think you should do?” he asked in return.

  He was still testing me. I needed to get a collection of shipsuits at the appropriate livery. Until I was actually on the crew, the orbital’s chandlery wouldn’t issue them. I probably should have attended to that instead of touring the ship, but I was loath to leave so soon after coming aboard. I considered my priorities for about four heartbeats before responding.

  “I need to order some shipsuits, get my systems and communications credentials established, familiarize myself with the systems configuration and backup procedures. I need to know more about the ship’s layout, and review the standing orders for in port responsibilities for Officer of the Day. I’ll need to review the procedures for getting underway, debarkation protocols, and standing orders for bridge watch standers underway.” I paused, considered that to be sufficient to the moment and asked, “Do you have any preferences as to which I do first?”

  Mr. Burnside targeted me with a baleful stare for about half a tick, then turned to his terminal without responding. A few keystrokes later, my tablet bipped indicating a changed status and I looked to see that he’d given me the system’s access I needed to perform my systems manager duties.

  “You’ve inherited training officer so you’ll be running the ratings exams and coordinating the ship’s drills. Please see the standing orders regarding those drills and don’t make the same mistakes your predecessors did. Required drills will be held during day watch on the day before the required ratings exam period. I trust I don’t need to tell you what those dates are?”

  It was another challenge.

  “I know them and I’ll be sure to check the relevant ship policies.”

  Mr. Burnside grunted. “Good. Now get busy and if you have a question, my advice is to try and find the answer yourself before you waste my time with it. If you ask me a question that you could have answered from reading the standing orders, I’m not going to be happy. That would fall under the not good heading. Do you copy?”

  “Roger that,” I responded, using the formulaic response almost without thinking.

  “Good,” he replied, and turned to his monitor, dismissing me with his posture.

  I settled back to the desk and ordered a set of shipsuits with DST livery at the orbital’s chandlery. As I suspected, being the corporate home, the appropriate specifications were on file and the order was completed in less than five ticks. They promised fulfillment by the end of the watch and I paid extra to have them delivered to the ship. I had a feeling I would need those extra minutes and I certainly wanted those shipsuits.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DIURNIA ORBITAL

  2358-JULY-6

  The thing about in-port OOD watch is that you’re nominally in charge of the ship. Unlike my previous watch standing duties where I’d had specific tasks and assignments to accomplish, the OOD really was there only if something broke or required arbitration.

  At 12:30 we went to the wardroom—a small dining room off the mess deck—where the officers could eat without mixing with the crew. The noon meal consisted largely of cold cuts and bread on an iced platter. I wasn’t sure what the crew was eating, but I suspected not much different. The coffee was predictably horrendous.

  Mr. Burnside stood on no ceremony, helping himself from the trays, sitting in what was apparently his accustomed seat—on what would be the right hand of the captain. I took a seat well down the board. It’s not like there were a lot of choices, but I didn’t need to see the roster to know that I was the junior officer aboard, and I had no desire to attract the attention of the erstwhile alpha male. As I chewed my sandwich of mystery meat and cheese, I idly wondered, how the captain related to the first mate. I suspected that there would be more ceremony when the ship was underway and the captain presided over the mess.

  The afternoon passed to evening without incident. I had plenty of time to review the relevant policies and procedures under the careful non-scrutiny of the first mate. Periodically, he’d ask a question about ship’s procedures or operations. Most of them were textbook stuff although a couple had hidden teeth relating to local conditions in the Diurnia quadrant. The ship’s fittings and fixtures were common enough. I’d not worked with these precise models before, but the manufacturers were certainly familiar.

  At 18:30, Mr. Burnside stood, stretched, and headed for the door.

  “Come on, Wang,” he said. “May as well introduce you to the sewing circle.”

  When we arrived in the wardroom, he introduced me to the engineering and cargo officers—Amelia Menas and Frederica DeGrut.

  Amelia Menas was an older woman, smartly turned out in a shipsuit. The gray hair and crow’s feet made her look distinguished. “Welcome aboard, Ishmael.” She greeted me warmly with a two-handed handshake. Her dark eyes held a sparkling humor.

  Frederica DeGrut, on the other hand, was twitchy. She didn’t look me in the eye and only offered the most perfunctory of handshakes. She was birdlike, even frail. She avoided Mr. Burnside as if he carried some plague.

  Mr. Burnside led the way to the buffet. He browsed through it like a goat on a junk pile, helping himself with his fingers, pausing to pick up the odd tasty and pop it in his mouth. It was a bit off putting, but he didn’t seem overly concerned about making an impression on any of us. Ms. Menas sighed softly and gave me a small shrug when Burnside’s back was turned, as if to say, “What can you do?”

  I stood back to let the senior officers go ahead of me. Ms. Menas smiled and nodded her thanks, but Ms. DeGrut seemed not to notice until I extended a hand indicating that she should proceed. She almost flinched, but then offered a fleeting smile and a tentative nod, stepping up closely behind Ms. Menas at the steam table.

  By this time, Mr. Burnside had seated himself and proceeded to tuck into the piled platter. As he sat, a side door opened and a delicate girl in a white waiter’s uniform, complete with side-buttoned tunic and black trousers, stepped into the wardroom with a silver coffee pot. She smiled at Mr. Burnside and placed the pot handy to his setting and slipped quietly out of the room without speaking. She came and went so quickly and quietly, that if I hadn’t been watching, I might not have noticed.

  Ms. Menas waited while Ms. DeGrut and I finished at the buffet and took our seats, before beginning her meal. I saw Mr. Burnside’s sneer at this small courtesy, and I wondered, again, just what I’d gotten myself in to.

  “So, Mr. Wang,” Ms. Menas started, “this is your first billet as third mate? Are you excited?”

  She seemed honestly interested and smiled as she offered the opening volley on the dinner conversation.
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  “Yes I am, Ms. Menas. I spent two years on a container ship over in the Dunsany Roads Quadrant before I went to Port Newmar. It seemed a good thing to do at the time.”

  “You were a crewman?” Mr. Burnside asked with a low chuckle.

  “Yes, I was. Two years on the Lois McKendrick. It was…um…enlightening for a land rat.”

  Ms. Menas forestalled further comment from Mr. Burnside by asking, “You don’t come from a spacer family? And you went to the academy?”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Yes, well, my captain rather twisted my arm until I submitted the application. After all she’d done for me, I would have felt ungrateful if I hadn’t even tried.”

  Mr. Burnside barked a laugh. “She? Your captain was a woman?”

  Ms. Menas frowned at Mr. Burnside’s outburst. “David? Half the captains in space are women. Don’t sound so surprised,” she chided him gently.

  “Not in this company, they’re not,” he retorted with an emphasis on the word “this.”

  Ms. Menas pursed her lips. “Yes, that’s true enough,” she said but failed to comment further on that subject.

  She turned to me once more to follow up. “Alys Giggone? She was in command of the Lois McKendrick last I knew.”

  I all but gaped.

  She smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. Alys and I were at the academy together, many moons long past. We keep up.”

  “Was?” I managed to ask. “She’s left the Lois?”

  “She’s still on the Lois, as far as I know, Mr. Wang. I think she’ll retire from there if Federated Freight can’t force her to take the training command at the academy.”

  I laughed softly at that. “I think her father has to retire first.”

  “No doubt,” Ms. Menas offered back. “No doubt.”

  Ms. DeGrut surprised me by speaking with a quick glance from her plate in my direction. “And Alys recommended you to the academy, yes?”

  “Yes, she did!” I said with surprise.

  Ms. DeGrut smiled into her plate and flickered her eyes in my direction again. “What number were you?”

  “Thirty-four,” I said.

  “Eight,” Ms. DeGrut offered with a shy smile, a kind of peace offering to me.

  Ms. Menas looked at her companion curiously but didn’t ask the obvious question and the conversation died for a moment.

  Mr. Burnside had finished his meal and pushed the plate noisily toward the middle of the table.

  “So? What was your rating, Ish?” he asked. “Did you make it to half share in your two years as crew?”

  It was a curious question. He’d obviously not looked at my hiring jacket or he’d have known. I think Ms. Menas must have realized that, too, because she froze, her fork just lifting from her plate, and stared at him.

  “Full share,” I said with a glance at Mr. Burnside. “When I left to go to the academy, I was full share.”

  Mr. Burnside’s expression went from bland disinterest to a patronizing smile. “Well, do tell! You made it all the way up to full share in just two years? That’s quite an accomplishment for a land rat? What division? Steward?” His tone made it clear what he thought of stewards.

  “All four,” I answered.

  The confusion rolled across his expression and Ms. Menas smirked.

  “All four what?” he asked.

  “All four divisions.”

  I focused on my plate. He wasn’t going to like that answer and I didn’t want to appear confrontational by looking him in the face.

  There was a moment of stunned silence before Mr. Burnside barked a harsh laugh and slapped the table. Ms. DeGrut flinched at the sudden sound and movement but Ms. Menas merely looked annoyed.

  “Excellent joke, Mr. Wang. All four divisions,” Mr. Burnside chortled nastily. “All four divisions, indeed.”

  Ms. Menas placed her fork gently on her plate and leaned forward to face Mr. Burnside. “David? Perhaps you should review Mr. Wang’s jacket one more time. It seems there are some things you’ve missed,” she said quietly in the face of his derision.

  Ms. DeGrut offered a small, furtive smile in my direction but focused on her meal.

  Mr. Burnside’s expression went blank. “Indeed?” he asked, rounding on Ms. Menas. “Pray, enlighten me, Amelia? You’ve obviously seen more in his jacket than I did.”

  “Our Mr. Wang here did in fact obtain full share ratings in all four divisions, including specialist second in environmental and specialist first in systems. His service record shows commendations from three captains, and his application to the academy was endorsed by ten officers of the line.”

  Mr. Burnside’s expression went even flatter. “This land rat?” he asked finally, looking directly at me as if I were somehow to blame.

  “This land rat,” I replied with a sheepish shrug, hoping against hope to defuse the situation.

  Mr. Burnside’s eyes shuttered. His expression gave nothing away, but his words were calm and precise. “Well, it seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Wang. Very nice credentials and I look forward to working with you in the Deep Dark.”

  Ms. DeGrut went stalk still at that last comment. She was pale before, but went positively bloodless at the mention of the Deep Dark.

  Her reaction attracted the attention of Ms. Menas who leaned over to her. “Are you all right, Fredi?”

  Ms. DeGrut looked like a bird caught indoors. Her eyes darted everywhere but she didn’t look up from her plate. “Yes, Amelia, thank you. It’s nothing.” Her eyes flickered fearfully in my direction, but she kept her head down and made no further comment.

  My tablet bipped at just that moment and startled me. It was a message from the lock watch. My shipsuits had arrived.

  “Excuse me,” I told the gathered officers. “My uniforms are here, and I’ve got to sign for them and have them added to my mass allotment.”

  I stood and gathered my dirty dishes, placing them on the sideboard.

  “You can just leave those on the table, Mr. Wang,” Mr. Burnside said coldly. “The mess crew gets paid to pick this up.”

  “Aye,” I acknowledged, “old habits die hard.”

  With a nod to Ms. Menas and Ms. DeGrut, I beat a hasty retreat to the gangway. I stepped off the ship to accept the delivery from the chandlery representative and the smell of clean, fresh dock air washed over me. In a matter of a few ticks, I signed in the bundles and logged them to my mass allotment. I lugged them to my stateroom, and took the tick it needed to shake one out and put it on, hanging my khaki undress uniform in the locker.

  I felt a lot less out of place wearing a shipsuit, even a brand new one with the third mate pip on the collar tabs. I brushed my hand across the DST decal on the breast and fingered the black embroidered letters of my name. The suit itself was a neutral tan, not too far from the khaki outfit I’d just taken off. My tablet dropped into the designated pocket, and I felt a bit more settled as I headed back to the ship’s office to finish up my first watch.

  I felt like I’d been aboard a stanyer, and it hadn’t even been a half day.

  When I got back to the office, I found Mr. Burnside reviewing my jacket. He looked up as I entered and I expected to get blasted.

  He nodded at the screen. “You really do all this stuff?” he asked, baldly.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” I replied.

  “Wang, I owe you an apology. This is an outstanding jacket. I don’t usually bother with them—corporate hires and corporate fires. We don’t have a lot of say about who comes and who goes.” He sounded sincerely contrite. It didn’t make what he was saying any less dangerous, but he did sound like he was sorry. “Looks like we hit the jackpot when we got you, eh?”

  I just shook my head. “I’m just a boot third right out of school. I got lucky with the Lois and I know perfectly well that I can’t expect to stay alive in the Deep Dark by relying on luck. I’m looking forward to what I can learn here, and I’ll do my best to cover my mass.”

  It sounded trite and cheesy even as I said
it, but I needed to say something.

  “Oh, I think once we get this tub moving toward Breakall, we’ll have lessons a plenty, Ishmael. Lessons a plenty.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that, but I kept my face blank and sat back down with my tablet to review the last of the ship’s policies and procedures as the watch ticked down to midnight.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DIURNIA ORBITAL

  2358-JULY-7

  I woke with a start, my sweat-soaked ship tee and boxers bound up around me. I heard the blowers moving the air, but my stateroom felt stuffy and damp. I flapped the sheets a little, trying to get some extra air moving and laid back on the pillow for a moment to let the pounding in my chest subside. I hated that.

  The chrono on the bulkhead read 09:12 so I only had a couple of stans before I’d have to report for watch. In my belly, I felt a fluttering grumble. The food aboard would take some getting used to, it seemed.

  I lay there, weighing the relative merits of putting on some clothes and heading out to one of the diners that catered to dock trade, or toughing it out and waiting for the wardroom lunch. Remembering the coffee onboard, I crawled out of my bunk, knocked on the door—Arletta should have been in the ship’s office since she had the watch, but I wanted to get into the habit—and grabbed a quick shower before skinning into my undress uniform for a trip to find some breakfast.

  At 09:40, I stopped by the office and stuck my head in. Ulla Nart sat in one of the chairs, reading something on a tablet, and Arletta worked on one of the stations. They both looked up when I stopped at the door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wang,” Arletta said with a smile. “You survived your first day aboard?”

  “Good morning, Ms. Novea, Ms. Nart.” I smiled back. “Yes, it was an interesting first watch,” I added dryly.

  Her mouth twitched in a near smirk, but with a glance at Ulla she managed to control it. “I dare say, Mr. Wang.”

  “I’m going to go grab a bite ashore, if that’s okay?” I said.

  “Get it now, because we’ll probably be underway before you get another chance,” she said in return.