Metal Boxes - Trapped Outside (2 page)

Stone needed to get Jay and Peebee to their cage in the midshipman barracks if 1LT Hammermill couldn’t watch them. The custom built bars couldn’t keep the drascos in if they wanted out, but the symbolism of the bars made the other midshipmen relatively comfortable around the drascos when Stone left them alone in their shared dormitory. ASAP didn’t mean he had time to dawdle. Setting his destination address into his dataport caused it to broadcast a warning message through the base-wide system, making way for the drascos as he rushed to get them put away and get himself to the meeting.

Stone glanced behind him. Following along behind, none too discretely, was his babysitter Master Chief Thomas. “Damn the man!” Stone muttered. “He just won’t give me a moment to myself.”

FOUR

Stone was only a few hatches away from LCDR Butcher’s office when he received a second call to report to the base medical corps section. He was to report immediately. He was navy, so his supervisor’s ASAP call overruled other military services or civilian requirements on his time. Immediately from the medical corps meant as little to him as on the double from any marine officer when compared with his navy requirements. He had been poked and prodded by a long series of doctors since his return from Allie’s World and he wasn’t interested in doing it all over again. They could wait until his supervisor was done with him.

He glanced down at his shoes, hoping they were clean enough for his supervisor’s tastes, and bumped into Petty Officer Tammie Ryte—again. The bump was pleasant enough since Ryte was wonderfully soft in all of those places women are supposed to be soft, yet he was on time and any delay might make him late. He wasn’t sure how being late to ASAP was possible, but he knew Butcher thought it was more than feasible and that somehow Stone accomplished it on a regular basis. Previously, being late didn’t bother Stone, however he was beginning to get quirky about being at the right place at the right time.

Ryte snapped to attention as they were in a part of the ship frequented more by officers than not. She didn’t salute since they were inside, but she was close enough to him that throwing her shoulders back and thrusting her chest out, caused her nipples to brush against his arm. He couldn’t help but look down, although he tried not to stare. She’d changed and wore a flimsy uniform blouse. Her hard nipples strained against her uniform’s thin fabric, barely containing her breasts as they struggled to undo a row of partially closed buttons. Her uniform jacket hung in her hand, the hem dragging on the deck. It didn’t matter if she dragged her jacket through puddles of mud, the material for class A uniforms wouldn’t wrinkle or get dirty. It just looked so unprofessional.

He wanted to wonder about the jacket, instead he wondered why and what made it possible for Ryte’s nipples to always be hard. He’d looked up nipples in the station’s database. What guy hadn’t? It informed him that nipples hardened when a person was cold or when they were sexually excited. This corridor wasn’t cold.

“As you were, Petty Officer,” Stone managed to say. It felt odd to be so suddenly professional when they’d spoken like colleagues just a short while ago. However, when a small group of senior officers walked past them, it all made sense. Senior officers all seemed to love the spit, polish, and pomp surrounding military life.

“Thank you, Mister Stone. Golly, I seem to be bumping into you all over.” Ryte grinned at him. “Busy day? Maybe we could get together over lunch and you could, you know, tell me all about it? Okay?”

“Sorry, but my day is booked.”

“Well gosh, sir. That’s too bad.” Stone didn’t want to correct her. He was a midshipman and should be addressed as mister not sir. Anyone achieving the rank of PO3 should be more than well aware of the tradition. Still, sexy or not, she wasn’t the brightest light in the night sky. He let her babble on while he looked for a place to interrupt and disengage so he could get to his meeting with Butcher. “You know, I was thinking about those animal things you got. Well, it seems to me if you got a male thing, um—you know, not your thing, I mean a male animal thing, you could get some baby things and sell them. I know you don’t really need the money, but I could help you breed—” She smiled and gave him a sly wink. “Well, that too, but I mean breed your animal things and we could be partners, you know?”

Stone nodded. “Nice suggestion, Petty Officer Ryte. I’ll think about it. However, if you’ll excuse me, I do have a meeting in Lieutenant Commander Butcher’s office.”

“Really? I’m headed down to office A-316. Is that near his office? I don’t know my way around officer’s country and maybe you could, you know, like, guide me?”

Stone gave a small internal sigh. A-316 was the waiting room for a dozen officers. A pair of senior chiefs, acting as gatekeepers, staffed the room. He didn’t see how he could avoid showing her where to go, as Butcher’s office was one of the dozen offices branching off that waiting room. He simply nodded his agreement and was startled when she hooked an arm through his and began chattering away about some vid or other on the entertainment channels.

FIVE

LCDR Butcher’s angry glare slid over Stone, transforming into a smile and greeting at MCPO Thomas. Stone’s supervisor glanced at the time on his dataport and went back to reading through a series of reports displayed on his desk. There wasn’t an announced time for this meeting and clearly Butcher was impatient to begin, but he didn’t. The commander showed more patience than Stone suspected was possible, but the man ground his teeth in anger or frustration about something other than the delay.

Seated on a hard plasticrete-molded chair, Stone glanced around the room and cursed under his breath. “Dammit!” Since the call was broadcast for the meeting in Butcher’s office, MCPO Thomas managed to get a haircut, change into his class B uniform, complete with ribbons, decorations, and awards, and polish his shoes to a mirror-like gloss. The man was completely irritating whether he said anything or not. Stone still wore his everyday utilities with standard shipboard boots that couldn’t be polished, just wiped clean.

The senior chief gatekeeper in the lobby determined PO3 Ryte was called for the same meeting and sent them into Butcher’s office together. Now, she was seated in the corner smiling back at him. Earlier in the day, she’d been wearing an undersized duty uniform, yet sometime between getting the call to go to A-316 and bumping into him in the corridor, she’d managed to change to her class A uniform, resplendent with medals, braids, and shiny brass. Sitting alone in a corner, reading something on a dataport was a young, navy lieutenant senior grade. Stone didn’t know the man, yet even he wore a class B uniform with polished shoes and a shave so close it gleamed.

Stone wondered what was going on and why Ryte was here. He hadn’t had anything more than navy business with Ryte, except dodging her overt advances. She was in communications and often contacted him to hand-deliver notices from the court, navy correspondence, and notes from Allie. Family letters were routed directly to his personal dataport and all official messages were subject to review, revision, and routing through channels. Stone understood why. There was a war on, after all. However, why was she here? He hadn’t even come close to sexually harassing her, never making suggesting comments, not even leering, ogling or eyeballing her perfectly formed backside as she sashayed down a corridor in front of him, at least not so much anyone caught him at it. If anything, Ryte had harassed him. He’d never made any official complaints, as Ryte’s innuendos and advances didn’t ever measure up to Barb Tuttle’s common, blatant, and quite often public offers to give him the giggles.

Maybe Ryte had filed a harassment complaint against him. He hadn’t harassed her, he was actually trying to ignore her beyond anything not related to navy business. Ignoring her classic beauty and oozing sexuality wasn’t easy, but Allie was always on his mind. Truth be told, he might have caved into Ryte’s advances—he was a guy after all. With MCPO Thomas and 1LT Hammermill around all of the time, he couldn’t figure out how to get Ryte out of her uniform without word getting back to Allie. Making his girlfriend mad at him was something he wouldn’t do again, no matter how tempting Ryte’s wiggles, giggles, and jiggles. Maybe Ryte had grown tired of him ignoring her and filed a complaint against him as nothing more than an attempt to get his attention.

The room was quiet and warm. He kept himself from checking his dataport or the time on his personal dataport, not wanting to appear impatient with his supervisor. Stone began to realize he would have had time to change into any uniform he wanted and still be on time for whatever this meeting was about, and even bathe Jay and Peebee, relax in a steam bath, get a massage down at the gym, eat a leisurely lunch, and go see what the medical corps wanted. His eyes were beginning to droop when MCPO Thomas’s voice rasped, “Admiral on deck. Room ‘ten-hut.”

Left to his own reflexes, Stone might have groaned, grunted, and levered himself to his feet in some semblance of attention. However, his reflexes weren’t his own. His body had been taken over by the navy, infusing him with muscle memory, so he was on his feet before his mind registered the command. After months of legal wrangling, award ceremonies, and social functions, admirals held no special place in his heart. Even catching the reflection off three brass stars didn’t cause any shiver of excitement, just a tingle of curiosity.

The admiral said, “As you were, people. Thom, I appreciate your kindness in inviting me to your briefing.” He glanced around the room, staring at Stone longer than a good-sized bowl of ice cream would last at a fat man’s convention, but he said nothing to him. His eyes slid past Ryte and the first lieutenant as if they weren’t there. He grinned at MCPO Thomas. “Percy! Good to see you again, you old fart sniffer.”

Stone almost choked on his breath, master chiefs were not as rare as vice admirals, but they were gods among the enlisted. He wasn’t surprised an admiral would call a lower rank by their first name, admirals held that right if anyone did. Calling a master chief a fart sniffer was a little over the top, but he wouldn’t argue with an admiral. What caused his momentary brain freeze was the name; who in their right mind would name a child Percy?

The master chief laughed. “Takes one to know one, boss.”

The admiral asked, “How’s Silvie?”

The master chief frowned in concentration, “Two wives ago, Admiral Temple. She left me for a commander with a larger pension.”

“What is it now, five wives?”

Butcher laughed, forgetting for a moment he was supposed to be angry about something. “Four by my count, Admiral.”

Thomas shook his head while counting on his fingers. “GayLynn, Tressa, Silvie, Bobbie, and—and—dammit, boss. What was her name? Anyway, it’s five now.”

Butcher nodded, “I forgot Tressa.”

Thomas laughed, “I would like to forget Tressa.”

Admiral Temple said, “I think we would all like to forget Tressa. Nevertheless, let’s get this show on the road.”

Butcher didn’t sit. He displayed a set of orders on the desktop. “I have been sent a packet of orders. I will be taking command of the Vasco de Gama, a class three explorer ship.” He pointed at the lieutenant in the corner. “Lieutenant Bhutros will be my XO. On our first deployment, we will be transporting an ensign junior grade and Master Chief Petty Office Thomas with a contingent of navy support personnel and a platoon of marines with their officer to their next duty station.”

Vice Admiral Temple hadn’t taken a seat and they were standing at as-you-were status so Stone pulled up the specification on his dataport for the Vasco de Gama. He was becoming familiar with many of the navy’s ship types, but the unfortunate incident at Point Alpha-Beta had skewed his studies to combat vessels. The legal wrangling around UEN Periodontitis charted out all manner of warehouse and supply ships. Explorer class ships were almost an unknown type to him. Of course, specifics about the Vasco de Gama itself were classified, nevertheless there was a great deal of information available about the type of ship.

Stone wondered where the Vasco de Gama was headed. Marines weren’t sent on explorer craft, certainly not one as small and middle class as a level three. A full platoon of sixty-four marines, with their officer, would be more cramped than usual, even having to sleep in shifts due to available bed space. The thought was brief. He felt a surge of joy hearing the master chief was going with the commander to babysit an ensign jg instead of a lowly midshipman. Butcher hadn’t said anything about taking a midshipman along, and a class three didn’t need more than three officers, one of whom was the chief engineer. Neither Butcher nor Bhutros wore engineer insignia.

He doubted he’d been called into this meeting to get an assignment on the Vasco de Gama. He didn’t expect reassignment anytime soon. The legal wrangling about the events swirling around UEN Periodontitis was almost done and he didn’t have any scheduled meeting with the Empire’s Military Investigative Service, the Navy, or the Marine legal departments. However, they had said they wanted to keep him around for any follow-up questions. There always seemed to be more follow-up questions, although, at this point, their questions were becoming annoyingly repetitious.

Butcher selected a set of orders from the displayed packet on his desk. He pressed a finger against one, tapped it twice to make a copy for his own files, and then flicked his finger, throwing the document’s cyber bits at LTSG Bhutros. Bhutros caught the bits with his dataport and glanced through the form with the experience of a man who had seen more than his share of official documents.

Butcher copied and threw a second set of documents at Thomas. He de-stacked a couple of records and flicked the documents across the room, adding, “We also have an amended packet of orders to transport PO3 Ryte as a dedicated communications technician.” He looked unhappy that an officer of his rank and stature was dispensing common transfer orders to a low-ranking NCO instead of Ryte going to BuPers like all other enlisted and low ranking officers. He sounded like he wasn’t happy her assignment was added to his shipboard complement after the fact, even for transport. The small ship was scheduled to be packed and stacked with people like an unopened jar of sliced pickles.

Ryte looked surprised at receiving shipboard orders. Her look of disappointment faded quickly since it was considered bad form for any low ranking enlisted to complain in the presence of a commander, to say nothing of griping in front of a vice admiral. She glanced through her orders, didn’t appear happy with the transfer, but she nodded acceptance.

Stone was even more baffled. Ryte hadn’t filed sexual harassment charges against him, so why was he in this meeting? Butcher hadn’t said anything about taking a midshipman with him, either as ship’s complement or for transport. Maybe he was going to be passed to another supervisor. He had to be assigned somewhere on Lazzaroni Base if Butcher left.

It dawned on him. Often, vice admirals were as close to retirement as they can get without holding a fruity umbrella drink on a beach somewhere. Temple must have requested Butcher transfer Stone to the admiral’s staff once Butcher deployed shipboard. It wouldn’t be difficult for an admiral to find a place on his staff for a midshipman who was at least four years away from his next promotion. The thought didn’t surprise Stone. There were as many admirals trying to curry favor with Stone as there were women trying to become romantically entangled with him. Except for Barb Tuttle, the women were looking for rich boyfriends and husbands. Barb made it clear she only wanted a sexual encounter, and certainly nothing more entangling than “a quick slap and tickle, thanks, and see ya around”. The admirals were looking for comfortable second careers with the Stone Freight Company, except one admiral who’d expressed his interest in Stone, interest that was little different from most of the women looking for husbands.

He decided it might not be so bad to be on an admiral’s staff. He wouldn’t have MCPO Thomas riding his ass all day since the man was taking transport with Butcher. Maybe he wouldn’t have to watch people scrub pots, sweep floors, or empty the trash. He’d complained to his father and mother at a family dinner before their spaceship took off for a freight run. After all, they had sent him to the navy to learn leadership so he could take over the family business when the time came. Grandfather wasn’t going anywhere soon, not for decades, but time wasn’t Stone’s issue. He already knew how to scrub pots, sweep floors, and empty the trash. He had done those same things on their ship, the Golden Boulder, for as long as he could remember, certainly for most of his seventeen years. He suggested he might learn more following some career path other than the navy.

Dad had said, “The fact you mention this means you haven’t learned what we sent you to learn.” He and Mom refused to discuss it further except to say, “Keep at it.”

He would be glad to let some admiral try pandering to him for a while.

Temple said, “This next part is mine. This is most unusual. By special request of the Emperor himself, we promote Midshipman Blackmon Stone to Ensign Junior Grade. This below-the-zone promotion comes because Ensign Stone is one of the two known experts on Allie’s World. The Emperor requested him by name for the exploration and exploitation of this new planet. His missive designates Blackmon Perry Stone as the planetary governor. As such, Ensign Stone will be the liaison officer with Commander Butcher’s ship while in orbit, the commander of both the navy and marine ground detachments and all assigned medical corps, and the manager of the civilian survey crew. This posting requires an officer rank beyond midshipman.”

The admiral stepped across the room. Pulling off Stone’s midshipman insignia, he applied ensign junior grade rank with a heavy slap on each shoulder. Butcher stepped up, slapped the rank tabs with a stinging flat hand, followed by LTSG Bhutros. Having been vetted by all officers in the room, Thomas and Ryte rendered hand salutes. Stone returned the salutes by rote. He was stunned. This was the worst possible assignment.

Temple said, “I envy you, Ensign Stone. Or should I say Governor Stone? Your first planetary command and a fresh world to explore. How exciting!”

Stone tried to keep his face passive. He wanted to tell the admiral how Allie’s World may be Earth normal in mass and environment, but every available inch was populated by animals who could rip out chunks of flesh with huge teeth to eat you, rip you to shreds with claws and talons for no reason at all, or just swallow and shit you out whole as a present for a horde of huge dung beetles on steroids with claws, hooks and pincers of their own. He wanted to explain how the planet was filled with plants covered in spikes, spines, thorns, and barbs, each sharper than the last. Worst of all, the whole planet was completely outside.