Ships of My Fathers Page 8
“Your father?” Hans finished it for him. “Your father was Peter Schneider.” He pushed back from the table. “He was a good man, and he loved your mother very much, and she loved him. This colorful father figure of yours had always been a no-good ruffian with no family and no breeding, tossed aside by your mother’s good judgment. A better man would have accepted it and moved on.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Hans cut him off. He shook his head twice, struggling with his words before turning to stare him right in eye. “The unpleasant truth is that Malcolm Fletcher was nothing more than a pirate with friends in high places, and when he couldn’t have your mother, he murdered her right along with my brother. That’s right, Michael, murder. You can think of him what you will, but you are never to speak of him to me again.”
Hans stood, pulled his napkin from his lap, and threw it onto his unfinished dinner. He walked from the room in silence.
Chapter 9
“Don’t like the new guy? Too bad, because he’s the one who keeps you supplied with oxygen.” — Malcolm Fletcher
MICHAEL BOLTED FROM THE ROOM after a few more seconds of silence, but Hans was nowhere to be seen, already lost around one corner or another. He paced back and forth for a few moments, but decided he had had enough for one day. He went back down the corridor, past the lift, and started down the ladders.
Two decks down, he wandered down one hall, then another, and then backtracked to the correct turn. He found his quarters, now with a name plate slid into the bracket. Michael Schneider. Again.
“Dammit!” he shouted, and pried the name plate out with his fingers.
A head popped out from two doors down towards the bathrooms. “You ok?”
He shook his head. “Long day.”
The head was followed by a body, a short muscular woman in a tank top and sweat pants. “You’re the new guy. Michael, right?”
He sighed and punched the door’s button. “Yeah, but I’ve had enough introductions for one day.” He walked in before she could remind him that he had a full week before the test.
Inside, a double-wide crate blocked access to his bed. He flipped open the lid and found his new utilities. Harry worked quickly. He lifted up the top shirt and looked it over. It seemed a bit trimmer than the one he was wearing now, and this one had the name tag.
Michael Schneider.
“Fuck!”
Elsa Watkins relaxed in her cabin aboard the Blue Jaguar. The name on the door was Jana Lewis, and that was fine with her. After sixteen years, it fit fairly well. The title of Captain fit even better. The Jaguar was not her first command, but she had held it longer than any other before.
Her security chief was waiting outside the door. She did not have to look at the security monitor to know it. He was due for a meeting in another minute, and his punctuality was notorious. She could have opened the door to let him in early, but she was enjoying making him wait. As the seconds counted down, she started to refill her wineglass.
He entered after she signaled the door and stood before her, watching her empty the bottle. There was no second glass laid out for him.
“You said you had news, Bishop,” she prompted.
“Nothing concrete,” he replied, “but I heard through a well-informed source that the organization is about to complete a long-running operation at Arvin.”
She raised an eyebrow. Normally she would have ignored such a vague report, but Robert Bishop had proven to be a prescient judge of information. “What kind of operation?”
“I believe it to be the acquisition of valuable property.”
She thought it over. Arvin was one of the larger trading hubs in the sector, but it also had the largest naval base for thirty or forty light years in any direction. “Military property?”
“That is what my source led me to believe.”
“Are we being tasked in this operation?”
Bishop shook his head. “My source would not have had that information. If we are going to transport the property, I would expect those orders to come through your channels.”
She eyed his tentative stance. “But?”
“But the source implied that this operation might have originated with a very high patron within the Yoshido organization.”
Father Chessman. Bishop was unlikely to say the name out loud even in the security of her cabin, but it was clear that was who he meant. She waved her hand for him to continue.
“If you wanted to be involved in the operation, particularly in the transport or use of that military property, it might be wise of us to stay within the Arvin operational area. The decision, of course, is yours.”
She weighed it. Good performance on one of Chessman’s missions is what earned her this command, as well as her elevated status within the Yoshido organization. Another critical success might vault her even further up the chain. On the other hand, she knew of a miserable few who had failed the mysterious Chessman. They simply were not around anymore.
“Anything else?” she asked.
He shook his head.
She started sipping at the wine. “It might work out to stay in this sector for a little while anyway. Have you ever heard of a man named Malcolm Fletcher?”
“I’m familiar with him, something of a fence and smuggler,” he replied. “I believe he died recently.”
She saluted him with her glass. “You are well informed.”
Bishop gave a single nod.
“You may or may not know, however, that Fletcher has been an irritant for certain parts of the organization.”
“I had heard rumors. I understand he was, shall we say, a collector of secrets.”
“Among other things,” she said. “I have an interest in his collection.”
“You intend to acquire it?”
“Perhaps. Failing that, I would like to see it destroyed.”
“I see. Is it nearby?”
“Taschin.”
“Do you intend to go yourself?”
She shook her head. “There appear to be some complications, and Fletcher’s son is involved. I encouraged Jimmy Anders to investigate it.”
Bishop scowled.
“You disapprove?”
He tried to hide his frown. “Captain Anders has been useful in the past, to be sure, but if Fletcher’s... collection... is as extensive as I have heard, I would prefer a more reliable agent to handle its extraction.”
“All the more reason for us to stay in this sector, don’t you think?”
Bishop nodded. “Is there anything else, my Lady?”
“One last thing,” she replied, setting the wineglass down on the table, careful to align it precisely with the empty bottle. “Your source for the Arvin operation...”
“Yes?”
“I don’t believe the organization appreciates the careless spread of information about its long-running operations, especially if those operations are being run by that particular patron.”
“No, my Lady, I don’t believe he would appreciate it at all.”
“Did you make that clear to your source?”
Bishop allowed a brief smile. “Rest assured, my Lady. This source will not be spreading any more information. Ever.”
She locked eyes with him and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bishop. Your initiative will be noted.”
Karen Larkin spun around in her chair as her shift wound down. Air quality was fine. Clean water tanks were down to eighty-two percent, but that was typical as the first shift went through its morning routines. The new pump on tank four was working as advertised, keeping the pressure up on deck two portside. It was another perfectly boring third shift.
Charlie Feldman came in through the pressure hatch forty minutes before shift change. “Morning, Karen. Everything flowing that’s supposed to be flowing?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Tank four?”
She nodded and punched up the readout on the big display. “Five point five four K-P and holding.”
“Good.”
She nodded. “You’re early.”
“Yeah, I wanted to chat a moment before the rest of the shift comes on. Have you met the new guy?”
She sat up a bit more. “Briefly. I saw him in the hall last night. Looked like he was having a bad day.”
“Yeah, well, let me tell you—”
“About the blowup with the captain? I already heard.”
He frowned. “From who?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got my sources. You know how it goes. Brown water isn’t the only thing that finds its way down here.”
“Well, it was bad.”
“Is he going to work out?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s up to us to help him out, because it doesn’t look like the captain is exactly smoothing the path. I was talking with the other shift leads, and unless we get orders otherwise, he gets full new-guy privileges, hand-holding, drilling, the whole thing.”
She thought about it. The Heavy Heinrich was something of an elite crew. She had had to work two other posts at S&W before she could get it. Even then, it had been a bumpy transition, and she could remember some others who had had an even harder time. “I hear you. For how long?”
“As long as it takes. He’ll either make it, or he’ll wash out, but I think it’s a point of Heinrich honor to see to it he makes it. The Old Man can shit family politics all day, but we’re going to welcome this kid. Got it?”
She nodded.
“Good. You’ll pass the word?”
“Aye, sir, I’ll pass the word.”
Michael woke to the sound of a chime. The screen by his desk was flashing. He poked at it and the screen switched to a login prompt. A keyboard rose from the desk. He thumbed the scanner, and the screen read, “Michael W. Schneider recognized. Messages: 2”
He resisted the urge to scream again. His throat was pretty raw from the last night, not so much the screaming as the crying. He had not wept for Malcolm like that since his first night at Annie’s.
He went to the sink for a drink and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit, he realized. His hair was all askew, and he had slept in his unlabeled utility uniform, giving it all manner of wrinkles. He was desperate for the bathroom, but the screen started flashing at him again.
He went back and stabbed at the screen again. Red text flashed, “Appointment in five minutes.”
He pulled up the interface and looked at the messages. The first was from Harry late last night. “Please come by for environmental fitting. You’ve got some funky shins.”
The second was from the XO, Felicia Corazon. “Report to my ready room, 09:30.”
He looked at the clock in the corner of the screen: 09:26.
Crap, and he desperately needed to use the bathroom. He thought it over for all of two seconds and dashed down the hall. He finished up as fast as he could and got back to his room. 09:28.
He washed his face and slicked back his hair. This uniform absolutely would not do. In addition to the wrinkles, he had sweated through it during the night. He looked back at his new utilities scattered across the floor from the night before, all with their damned name tags. No, it was time to make the point. He stripped off his dirty utilities and grabbed his old Sophie utility uniform out of the closet. He put it on with practiced ease and pulled on his boots. 09:32.
He headed out the door, back to the ladders and started climbing. He had to switch to a different ladder to get from deck two up to deck one, but at least now he knew he had been portside and knew the other ladder would be more central. He came up on deck one and bounded into Gabrielle.
She caught him and steadied him. “You okay?” she asked.
“I’m late. Where’s the XO?”
She pointed forward. “Through there and right. Find me later.”
He waved and kept going. He stepped through the pressure door into another short corridor that led forward and onto the bridge. The door to his right read “XO Corazon.” The door to his left was “Captain Schneider.”
He signaled the door on his right, and it opened.
“Come in,” she said from behind her desk.
He stepped forward and stood at something like attention. “You asked to see me.”
She came out from behind her desk and faced him. “You’re late, Mr. Schneider.”
“My name isn’t Schneider.”
She looked him up and down. “You’re also out of uniform. Ms. Throckmorton’s shift report indicated that she had delivered your new utilities last night.”
He shook his head. “They weren’t mine.”
“Oh? Then whose were they?”
“I don’t know. Some guy named Schneider.”
She shook her head. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Schneider?”
“No.”
She stepped closer. “Then do you have some kind of attitude problem, Mr. Schneider?”
“No.”
She got right in his face. “Or are you just too stupid to know the difference, Mis-ter Schnei-der?” she asked, drawing it out.
“My name’s not fucking Schneider!”
She stepped back and looked him over again.
“So, is this the kind of discipline Captain Fletcher instilled in you?”
He fumed, but even the mention of Malcolm stiffened him into the kind of attention he held during the worst of his dressing downs. “No, it is not.”
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you are. You’re even making a fist.”
Michael’s eyes went wide when he realized she was right. He tried to relax his hands, but they would not.
“You’d like to take a swing at me, wouldn’t you, Mr. Schneider?”
“Yes, sir, I would like that very much.”
“But you’re not going to hit a superior officer, are you?”
As soon as she had said it, he knew it was true. “No, I’m not.”
“And do you know why?”
He took a deep breath and answered as calmly as he could. “Because that’s not the kind of discipline Captain Fletcher instilled in me.” He took another breath, proud that he had gotten it out without cracking his voice. He thought a moment and added a belated, “Sir.”
“That’s the proper response,” she replied, leaning back to sit on the edge of her desk. “But for the record, I prefer ma’am.”
He relaxed, his fists finally letting go. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I have some sympathy for your situation, Michael, but have no doubt that I am under your uncle’s orders. If you want us to believe that Malcolm Fletcher was the kind of captain you say he was, it’s up to you to prove it through your actions. Do you understand?”
He nodded, feeling the rage fade. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”
“The way we do things here is that new crew get rotated through all the departments for the first week. We want you to get to know the ship and all her crew. There will be a test on this in six days. You will not be allowed to hold a post until you can pass that test, and Captain’s nephew or not, I do not tolerate slackers under my orders. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right then. Take the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with the forward sections. Tomorrow you’ll report to Mr. Feldman for a shift in Systems.”
He blanked. “Mr. Feldman?”
She looked at him. “Yes, you know Mr. Feldman.”
He racked his brain. “Charlie Feldman.”
She nodded.
He looked down at himself. “But what about my uniforms?”
She gave a slight frown. “I prefer to stay out of family politics, but I think if you put your mind to it, you’ll find a solution. Now, you’re dismissed, and don’t let me find you out of uniform again.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
He had to rummage through his stateroom and the small common room at the head of his section, but Michael eventually found what he needed. After a little wor
k, he stood at his sink in front of his mirror and examined his handiwork. He was wearing one of his new utility uniforms, but the offending Schneider on the name tag was covered by a piece of tape, and on that tape he had carefully written out “Fletcher.” The lettering was not nearly as good as the stitched font, but it made the point.
He stepped out into the corridor just as the short woman from last night walked past.
“Hey, new guy,” she said.
He winced, but he turned to look at her. “Hi.”
“You look like you’re doing a little better this morning.”
He nodded. “A little.”
She looked at the tape on his name tag. “Good solution for now, but you should get Harry to fix you up right.”
“I plan on it.”
“Good,” she replied. “But while we’re on the subject of names, have folks started drilling you yet? You’ve only got... what, six days now?”
“Six days, I guess, but what do you mean drilling?”
She smiled up at him. “Here’s how it works, new guy.” She pointed to her own name tag.
“Karen Larkin,” he said.
“Right. Now look at this,” she said, pointing the patch above her name. It showed a green diagram of letters connected by lines, like a molecular diagram. “Environmental. We’re about half of the Systems department.”
He nodded. “Ok.”
“So here’s what you do, when you meet someone new, you look at their tags, read them out loud, and they’ll tell you what shift they’re on or which section, that kind of thing.”
“All right,” he replied. “Karen Larkin, environmental systems.”
“That’s right,” she answered. “Now look at my face. Ok, third shift.”
“Third shift?”
“I work midnight to oh eight hundred. First shift goes from eight to sixteen hundred, and then second shift takes it from there back to midnight. Always report a half-hour before your shift and plan on staying a half-hour after for any changeover duties.”