Dremiks (21 page)

“Simulator still acting up?”

Her disgusted snort was enough of an answer.

“Still not sleeping?”

Maggie stared down into her coffee. Apparently finding no answers in the midnight colored brew, she muttered, “I’m fine, Swede.”

“If you keep snapping at the captain, you won’t be. Even he has his limits, ma’am. Talk to the doc. She’s a good listener. If nothing else she can give you something to help you sleep.”

She slammed the mug onto the counter. Head tilted back so she could look at his face, she snarled: “She’s the ship’s doctor, and I’m the XO. I can’t go pouring out my…
feelings…
to her and then ask for a sleeping aide. I’ll be on stand-down before I leave the medical bay.”

He knew there was some truth to what she said. “But she’s also your friend.”

“Is she? It’s hard to tell.”

“It’s hard being your friend. Give the lady a break.”

“Ha! Anyway, what do I need her for? I’ve got you to nag me.”

His expression turned serious. “It’s also exhausting being your friend. You’ll have to deal with my nagging now, since I can’t just meet you in quarters for a late night chat…”

She shuddered dramatically. “Yeah, having some idiot gossiping about us being lovers is the last headache I need.” She gave him a weak smile. Her mouth opened as she started to say something else, but she was interrupted by her alerter beeping.

“Damn civilians. Ryan Hill is complaining about the cancelled training session. I just
know
I’m going to catch hell from the captain about this. Price better get that damned thing fixed.” She gave him a more apologetic look. “I’ve got to go.”

Swede didn’t watch her unlock the door and leave. He was too busy worrying. It had taken Maggie nearly a week to break down and tell him about her aunt. The lieutenant had met Natalie during a weekend leave not long after he’d taken on the responsibility of being Maggie’s praetorian. She’d found the idea of bodyguards for her niece laudable and laughable at the same time. She’d let Swede know straight away that she didn’t approve of anyone trying to keep Maggie toeing the Admiral’s line. She did, though, approve of Maggie having a friend who could protect her from the Admiral’s enemies and the isolation of being the Admiral’s daughter. In some ways, Natalie had passed him the torch of defending Maggie.

He knew how much the commander missed her aunt. He also knew she wasn’t going to let anyone else see her pain. She was too conditioned to internalize her emotions and hide any sign of weakness. Unfortunately, for Swede and the rest of the crew, Maggie’s repression of her grief left her in a snarling bad mood that she was taking out on anyone who crossed her path. He felt a nagging concern that there might be something more to the situation—something to account for her excessive anger towards the captain. Whatever that might be, though, O’Connell wasn’t sharing.

It really was exhausting to be her friend.

***

The captain knew that something, more than the usual, was irking his second in command. He had tried to pry the information out of her as non-confrontationally as possible. If anything, that approach had increased her ire. Failing at cracking the mystery directly, he’d turned his focus on his brother.

Ryan Hill lounged in a chair across the desk from his brother. He looked relaxed, smug, and amused. A blind, deaf, man would have noticed the increased tension between captain and executive officer. Still reasonably sure that his older brother had no idea why O’Connell was upset, Ryan was enjoying the show.

“Did you take this up with the Commander?” Ryan was currently annoying his brother by bearing tales of delayed training rotations and irritable pilots. Ryan probably
had
taken the first opportunity to corner O’Connell and use the threat of complaining to the captain as a bit of blackmail. A tiny sadistic light bloomed in the captain’s mind. He hoped the commander had torn his brother a new orifice. It would be a nice change, having someone else bearing the brunt of her anger.

“The commander has an attitude problem, Captain.”

Brett Hill hated how Ryan Hill, perpetually, sneered the word “captain”.

“Can’t you control one woman?” Before his brother could respond to the taunt, Ryan amended, “Well, at least one officer? I know you are horrible with women, brother, but with all those centuries of military tradition and discipline behind you, you cannot teach your pilots better manners?”

Captain Hill reminded himself to breathe. He ran through his mental gambit of calming exercises—exercises he’d learned precisely because of his brother’s taunts and actions.

“I mean, really. If the girl is such a bother, just report her to her father. I hear he’s quite effective at taming this particular shrew.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ryan knew he’d miscalculated. His brother was shrewdly considering him. Ryan’s mouth, having blundered into the tactical error, clamped shut. From the increased, and thoughtful, calm Brett was exuding, it was clear that a few mental puzzle pieces had just aligned themselves. Ryan swore, mentally, and tried to re-group.

Brett asked, “Pilots? Plural? Lieutenant Price has not been helpful?”

“Your lieutenant is more than willing to push the blame off on the commander whenever possible. He’s quite petulant, really.”

Price
was
petulant, but he had a perverse sense of honor about crew interactions. The co-pilot would, the captain knew, never stoop to undermining the commander in front of a civilian. Ryan was fishing for a distraction. The captain stored that interesting development for later contemplation.

“I have a briefing with Dr. Ruger in a few minutes, so I’m afraid you will have to excuse me, Vice Chancellor. I have confidence that the commander will have the simulator fixed as soon as possible.”

Dismissed, Ryan walked back to his quarters, wondering how much longer he could prolong the rift between his brother and O’Connell. Their spat kept them off-balance and
not
working together. Ryan needed that situation to continue as long as possible. He needed to consult with his ally among the military crew.

When his brother left, Captain Hill had to rapidly switch gears and prepare for his briefing with Dr. Ruger. A message blinked for him on his desk display. He stared into space, thinking about O’Connell’s relationship with her father, while his fingers tapped the key to bring up the message. He re-focused and frowned. Dr. Ruger had postponed their meeting. If he hadn’t been absolutely certain that Cassie Ruger was more than a bit intimidated by him, the captain would have thought she was trying to provoke him. This was the third time they had put-off the meeting regarding female crew and civilians reacting to Marissa’s pregnancy.

***

Dr. Ruger stood beside the bulkhead. She was pretending to be fascinated by Commander O’Connell’s work. Mostly, she was thankful to have a few minutes of peace. Their first jump since the engine malfunction had gone off without a hitch. Despite the uneventful jump cycle, there were plenty of patients on her daily schedule. She was also avoiding Captain Hill; Cassie suspected she knew what the captain wanted to discuss, and she could happily wait another few days before having that conversation.

When the doctor first walked up to this secluded corner of the engineering bay, Lieutenant Guttmann was leaning against a bulkhead smirking slightly. He looked, for all the universe, to be daydreaming. Then the two foot by five foot section of space behind him began making very irate noises.

Maggie crouched underneath the panel system of the pilots’ flight simulator. Her curses varied in volume from whispers to loud tirades. She was aware of, and further infuriated by, Swede’s lack of concern over her ire. To both the women present, the lieutenant’s only visible emotion was amusement. O’Connell crab-walked from underneath the panel. She had to twist at her waist to raise her shoulders past the seat edge and then twist again to stand fully upright.

“From a medical stand-point, Maggie, the human body really isn’t designed to contort that way.”

The commander rolled her shoulders to work out a kink. She shot a withering look at Swede and her roommate as she collapsed into the mock-up pilot’s chair. “Well, the engineers who designed this piece of crap didn’t have human physical limitations in mind—as usual.”

Swede placed a screwdriver in her out-stretched hand. “In all fairness, ma’am, the same engineers who designed this also designed a robot to fix it.”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “You mean there is a machine to do this? You’re doing all that crouching and bending for the fun of it?”

Maggie snorted. “Hardly. While the engineers designed the `bot and the pilots certainly need it, the supply clerks—may they rot in hell—decided it was an unnecessary expense.”

“Damned supply clerks.”

Cassie watched as both officers shared a moment of silent companionship, joined by their hatred of the nefarious clerks. “So, what is it you’re trying to fix?”

O’Connell was busy squeezing herself back into the compartment. She grunted in pain and cursed again. “Tell her, Swede. Not enough oxygen down here for me to talk and work.”

“The oxygen is fine, Mags. Your lungs cannot expand due to the compression of your diaphragm.”

Maggie very much wanted to lean out and glare at the doctor. She settled for a disgruntled mumble.

Lieutenant Guttmann laughed. “I think that is the commander’s way of saying ‘No kidding, Doctor’.”

Tangled red hair poked back out into the open space. “You missed your calling, Swede. You’re a freaking prodigy at translating profanity. Give me back that wire cutter.”

He handed her the tool and turned his attention back to the doctor. “All flight simulators mimic the basic controlling mechanisms of air and spacecraft. Those are: pitch, yaw, roll, acceleration and deceleration—usually controlled by brakes, flaps, navigational thrusters or a combination thereof. Our simulator…”

“Is
defective
!”

He smirked at Maggie’s barked interruption. “…is not so much defective as it is inadequate. It wasn’t designed to withstand the constant workouts that Lieutenant Price and Commander O’Connell have been giving it.”

“Screwdriver!”

“Here. Airplanes have flaps which control friction across the wings and therefore affect maneuverability and speed. In space there is no friction from the atmosphere and thus flaps are unnecessary. But on our landing craft, which travel in space and atmosphere, we need thrusters and flaps.”

“Check it.”

He paused in his dissertation to check the electrical signal from the open panel. “No joy, ma’am.”

More cussing filtered up from the floor.

“Anyway, our pilots have been working the simulator on runs imitating the
Hudson
‘s controls and the lander controls. All of that switching between thruster and flap content has shorted something out.”

O’Connell wriggled back out of the cramped space. She stretched out on the deck and closed her eyes.

“So it doesn’t fly—or mimic flying—correctly?”

“Oh, it flies; it just keeps crashing on approach.”

“Twenty times.” Maggie didn’t open her eyes when she spoke.

“Yes, it crashed twenty times in a row. And since pilots like to keep track of such things... well, the commander is miffed.”

The officer in question opened one eyelid in a sardonic look. With seeming great effort, she raised her arm and made a rude hand gesture.

“That is not an acceptable form of salute, Commander.”

The doctor and Lieutenant Guttmann both turned in surprise to find the captain behind them. O’Connell tried to stand up quickly, but banged her knee on the over-hanging panel. She collapsed backwards with a grunt.

“I see you are busy, Doctor.” The captain held up a hand to forestall the doctor’s protest. “When you are finished supervising O’Connell’s latest exercise in self-mutilation, please come to my stateroom.” He walked past Cassie, nodded at Swede, and stopped when he stood directly above O’Connell. “Do try to contain your verbal outbursts, commander. Such emotion over a simple task is unbecoming your position.” He paused and the faintest glint of humor appeared on his face. “Though, I suppose that, having so lowered yourself physically, your speech had nowhere to go but down.”

Maggie turned her head to watch the captain walk off, confusion leaving her open mouthed. She sat up and looked back at Cassie and Swede. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

“Witty, maybe.” Swede shrugged and made a sweeping gesture at the simulator. “Can we finish this up? I have several more projects on my board.”

“But… wit? From
him
?” O’Connell shook her head. She ducked back under the console, still muttering.

“He seemed unconcerned with your problem,” the doctor said.

“Shocking, that,” was the dry retort from the simulator’s nether regions.

“But I thought the captain was a rated pilot?”

Guttmann tapped out a few notes on a tablet and returned it to a waiting enlisted man. He nodded in affirmation to Dr. Ruger. “He is. Most captains start out as pilots. They’ll rise through the command ranks with the primary mission specialty of pilot. There are a few, only a handful really, who start out as mission specialty scientists or engineers. These officers have to be qualified as pilots to attain command of a ship, but they rarely ever deploy as actual pilots on a mission.”

O’Connell shifted out from under the panel again and nodded up at Swede. While he ran the diagnostic, she took up the thread of conversation. “But our Captain Hill has to be an overachiever in the extreme. He is not only a rated pilot. He’s also a rated engineer and has a mission rating as a stellar cartographer too. He’s flown missions in all three roles. He has commanded missions as an engineer
and
a pilot.”

Cassie tilted her head; her curiosity was genuine. “Is he any good?”

O’Connell rubbed her neck. “About what you would expect: technically proficient, top scores on exams. No imagination, no
soul
for flying, though.”