Ships of Valor 1: Persona Non Grata (4 page)

Lysha was wearing something I could only describe as downright amazing, slinky, and shade a red matching my vest. I wasn’t sure if she planned it or not but based on the way the dress draped over her that was inconsequential to me. I am no expert on women's fashion, but I know what I like, and this plumage fell distinctly into that category. Going into more detail would not do the gown or her justice; I would seem like a pervert for trying. "Hey sailor, buy a girl a drink?" she said as I approached. Again, I notched up my assessment and wondered how in the hell I got it wrong the first few times.

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and waved over the bar-back. I'm cautious to bring this up because I hardly knew her at this point and it wasn't intentional but she smelled like fruit. I love fruit. Absolutely love it. Can't get enough of it. I've wasted more money on fruit than I have on books, and that's saying something.

I'm jumping off topic, though. I've spent about half my waking life on ships. Recycled air really doesn't have a smell. People living on boats are careful about their personal hygiene. Those who don't quickly find themselves the subject of involuntary baths, or worse. Even too much soap can set someone off after spending a year together due to the cabin fever effect.

I'm hyper aware of smells, particularly body odor, but her quick peck and the smell of oranges and vanilla had me reeling. I did my best to hide my reaction during the couple of seconds as the bartender approached. I requested a scotch on ice while she nursed what looked like a white wine of some type. I have decent skill at identifying drinks, but it’s been my experience most are named after regions, and after getting into intergalactic travel, the possibilities quickly become infinite. I learned as a young trooper; never drink the local stuff unless knowing exactly what it was, and what its effects would be.

Back when I was much younger and way dumber a few of my squad-mates and I got lit on what we later found out was distilled arachnid venom. By later I mean about four drinks in when the local guides invited us to hunt our own drinks and we thought the idea was great. Until we realized our prey weighed almost three kilos. Five drunken Legionnaires hunting giant spiders in the jungles of a low-g world. I'm not sure how much of my memory is a drunken haze, and how much the story has grown from the retelling, but spiders jump. And battle hardened Legionnaires have no problem running from them, screaming like little girls when those spiders do.

Those visions always gave me shivers when I thought about drinking new or local stuff and after being gone so long; the local stuff may as well have been brand new to me. Who knew what new and crazy concoctions had seeped in, so I stuck to the old standbys, at least until I re-acclimated.

"So glad you came. I really dread these things, but they come with the job." I caught a genuine smile in the eyes when she said that and told her I was happy to help. We chatted for a bit, getting a feel for each other, mostly about nothing until we were slowly ushered to our seats. As the resident authority, she sat center-stage, and as her date, I was on her right. On my other side were the representatives from Mars. The seats to her left were empty.

The event, a misnomer, began without much fanfare. A server provided water and presented a few meal options. Having been aboard ship for a long time, I've been effectively vegetarian for as long as I've been in the Legion. I'm not meat adverse, but it's a luxury more than a necessity at this point. When I do eat it, I lean towards animals who aren't self-aware.

I've run into enough other intelligent species in the galaxy, I don't want to be on the wrong side of that arrangement, and I'm hoping I build up enough karma in the present to pay off in the future. The last thing I want is to be dinner on some higher predator’s table.

I selected the least objectionable, but still a palatable option, and introduced myself to the Marsans to my right. Folks from Mars are a hard people. They have to be. Mars has never been a kind place. Worse than the moon in many ways.

Not that I'm stereotyping, it's the first colonists went over on big sub-light transports, and rather than using deep-sleep, they chose a combination of genemod and psychological conditioning instead.

When people talk about Marsans not having a sense of humor, it's not a far stretch. Near impossible to get them riled up. It's not that they can’t be made to laugh, it takes an understanding of what Marsans think is funny. For Terrans, we tend to lean towards the pain of others. It's a sad fact. We take a perverse little joy in seeing others hurt. Not necessarily injured, emotional pain is near as funny. Laughter is our release. Looneys love satire. They love fiction hitting way too close to the truth. Marsans love epic misunderstandings. The bigger the better. If someone could die because of it, the joke can have them rolling on the floor. They don’t want to see people hurt, but the potential due to a misunderstanding is hilarious to them.

Back on the
Rope,
I met a Marsan whose call sign was Guano. Most of us get them either in basic or in our first unit, or we go by our last name. Mine's Rattlesnake, in part from the flag bearing my surname. Being significantly easier to pronounce than Gadsden. People seem to have a hard time with the double-ds. As for the Rattlesnake, at least that’s what I tell people. Back when I was younger, I had a bit of temper and the name stuck.              

Well, this guy apparently was given a snipe-hunt during some downtime in basic. Someone told him to clean out an old thorium reactor on the camp. Normally, involving getting into full scrub-gear, deconning up, and spending the better part of an afternoon. Well, as I said, Marsans are hard people and don't really have a sense of humor. He grabbed a mop and started scrubbing the place down. About three hours in, the senior instructor went looking for him to end the fun, figuring he should be about thirty minutes from actually going into the reactor, only to find him inside, wearing nothing but shorts and a smile.

Thought the prank he had killed him. Thorium can be nasty stuff. Luckily, Marsans are damn near immune to that level of radiation. Earned himself the nickname, and a vacation sitting in a decon chamber for the next week while he regenerated off the tan he gave himself. When Guano told his family back home, they thought the event was hilarious and sent the squad cookies with the frosting decorated with little reactor symbols.

The pair I was sitting next two were comparable to ambassadors, not that Mars really has them. Once a Mars cycle, lots are drawn and a batch is sent to each of the major worlds. They treat the trip like a vacation. The pair I was talking to had been on the moon for a quarter year and were enjoying the lower gravity, the abundance of people, and all the delights Luna had to offer.

Mars isn't really a bad place these days. But it's all relative. I'm from Terra, and comparing her to the Luna is hard. Comparing Mars to Terra would be impossible. The nice part of Mars is no domes. The not so nice part of Mars is no domes. The first Marsans Terraformed it using big ships like the
Compass Rose
. Landed there and changed the place into something sort of like Earth of old. Terraforming works best on places with an atmosphere and no population. Mars was perfect for it, unlike Luna. It’s not that we couldn’t convert Luna, only it didn’t make sense because of the number of people already living there. Mars, on the other hand, was desolate in comparison. The Marsans relocated the few settlers into the ships while the beginning processes happened. Once kick-started and with a breathable atmosphere, the rest was relatively easy. In another 500 years or so, Mars will actually be like Earth was, before she became known as Terra. A lush green planet. That's assuming they can get enough water on it, and keep the atmosphere there. But as I said, Marsans are hard folks and conditioned not to give up.

It's what can kindly be called an arid plain. Water is liberally rationed but still rationed. Lots of food is grown. More than the planet can use, and they trade it for water, and elements. All to make the place better. Mars has a plan, a schedule, and does not run behind. They're the perfect trade partner for the Luna Corp.

At first, I thought this was the reason for the honored position but turned out to be much more mundane reasoning. The host sits at the head table I understood. To avoid any perception of added influence, everyone was arranged by proximity to each other. So the head table was Venetians, Terrans who were not present, Luna Corporation, Marsans, and then Ganymede's representatives. The next batch of tables was organized in a similar fashion, trying to keep things as close as possible.

These are all asides. I had this running in the background of my head, as I engaged in the conversation at the table, to the best of my very limited ability. Since I had been out of the system for so long, I wasn't able to speak intelligently on matters relating to Sol, so I swapped to an old standby I kept my mouth shut, and asked questions, trying to learn as much as I could, as quickly as I could without looking like too much of an imbecile.

Humans, no matter where they are from tend to be talkative creatures. What's more is that a solid portion tends to be extroverts, unlike me, and are willing to share their knowledge with only a little prompting. The group I was with gave me an advanced course on local history, rivaling anything I could pick up from the net, but with far better context, and actually made sure I understood it, and how each piece affected every other bit.

As the meal ended Lysha grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor. I apologized for bringing work into her work dinner, and she laughed. A full-throated one that was infectious. “It's fine. You actually made it somewhat enjoyable. That's the first time I've seen the Marsans actually talk to the Venetians about something other than ammonia or vapor trading. You have a way with people.” She leaned into my chest as we danced. The floor zooming in and out on the system and galaxy as we did. We were there for a half dozen songs before I begged us away for another drink.

I lost track of time, but we spent the rest of the evening with the two of us chatting, laughing, and enjoying far too many libations. Eventually, I looked around and realized we were the last of the night's guests. I could see Robert standing off in the corner. I wasn't quite sure if he was trying to usher his boss off, or merely waiting patiently. Lysha caught my glance and followed it.  I think she ran the math and realized the time.

The thing about living in space is the acute internal clock that comes with it. It's a product of necessity. Not only the daylight piece but good old fashioned Oxygen. Planet-side, O2 isn't usually an issue, but on station or ship, there’s a need to track it. It's a number that's always running in the back of the head.

Robert approached and gave me a nod, "Ms. Kellinger, upstairs is ready for you." She stood, and took my hand and we slid up to what appeared to be one of the observation decks. Our timing couldn't have been more perfect. Across the moon's horizon suspended a near perfect duplicate of my left cufflink.

I don't know how long I was staring, but I know my eyes were dry and my cheeks were wet when I finally pulled my eyes away. Homesickness is a hell of a thing. I apologized and thanked Lysha for what I assumed was supposed to be a beautiful gift, and was.

I stole glances between her and home. Memories flooded back. But they were the memories of youth. Nostalgia. How things were before I joined. Not the Terra of now. She was still the blue marble. Smudged a bit more, but she was mine.

I found myself dividing my time between a few key locations, but the majority was either seeking employment or spending whatever leisure time I had with Lysha.

We had a unique relationship mainly because we didn't have any conflicts of interest. We were looking at each other’s problems with fresh eyes. That isn’t to say we didn’t have the occasional spat. She was absolutely correct to light me up when I would get into a funk and I’d have to remind her humans need food beyond the occasional takeout. But we were actually able to talk like adult human beings. I hadn't dated much before the Legion, and what I did while in was mostly at the fling level. I never really knew how long my ship was going to be anywhere, so I never tried to put down roots. Lysha had dated, but her issue was one of peer group. At a certain point, there were only so many people at the same relative level that it became self-limiting. Combined with her and their work schedules, she had almost decided to become a confirmed bachelorette.

My surprise stay on Luna gave me a chance to try something new. This was a positive out of this storm of negativity. Without her, I would have likely retreated to my White Caps’ room and read myself into oblivion trying to avoid thinking the situation. I was still trying to work through my frustration regarding not getting back home. She helped a lot.

It wasn't even that I needed to go back to Terra immediately. Going back could wait, but I had set myself up with a plan, and I felt like the rug had been ripped out from under me. Pissed me off more than anything. I couldn't really understand what was going on down there, and I couldn't seem to get a straight answer regarding it. No, that's not right. Everywhere I went; from the news to Lysha I got answers. I wasn't happy with them was the problem, because I couldn't change things. That slammed me back to when I was a corporal and learned sometimes policy would tie my hands so badly I wanted to scream. I had to focus on something, anything else at least for a little while.

Lysha was that something. Although her schedule was eclectic, it mirrored up nicely with my ability to eat at any time and limited need for sleep. I became her regular dinner companion and we would attempt to do something simple before she was called in for the newest emergency. We were normally able to spend a few minutes in the evenings together usually lightening my mood tremendously.

I asked her one time what she saw in me, and got a quick shake of the head and “First, you're nice to look at. And tall. I've always liked tall men. But it's not like I have a whole lot of opportunities to meet people on a social level, and having you drop in my lap was a bit of godsend. You are a bit oblivious sometimes.” I caught the gentle teasing, and a quick kiss. “But I like that too. It's endearing. You don’t try too hard. You're yourself. I've never gotten the impression you are trying to impress me. It's rather pleasant. A great many people try too hard.” I let her know it was all a very good act and I was doing nothing but, and was called a liar for my efforts.

But back to my job hunt. I was happy to temp work and had picked up day labor to keep myself busy. Manual labor was a great way to keep my mind off Terra, unfortunately, it made me a bit self-conscious around Lysha as well. I knew she didn’t care, and I was only doing it as a hobby, but she’s the kind of person that makes you want to be better just by being near her. Therefore, I had resolved to stay local, and I wasn’t exactly sure where my relationship with Lysha was going, but I really liked the direction and speed. If we lasted two weeks or a decade I think I would have been happy. She was interesting, kind, and listened to me, and I really needed her. It’s not that my past life wasn’t exciting, but it was also monotonous at times. Spurts of adventure with huge amounts of downtime and the same few dozen people to talk to.

The benefit of working temp was every day was a little different. Different made it interesting, even if it was tedious work. Most of the longer-term employment I had encountered was outside system or significantly outside my skills set. The few inside tended to be mercenary in nature. I wasn't quite ready to cross that line yet. From what I understood, I would never really know whether what I signing on for was exactly as advertised, and my ethics sway a lot closer to black and white than gray. Unless I was starving, that option was going to be the last ditch.

The best work I came across was dock work. Sure it was grunt work, but it was appreciated and also essential. My genemods made me as strong as an ox on Luna compared to almost everyone else, making me a cheap buy. I could move more, and faster than most others. I was worried about showing up my cohorts at first, but Looneys have a heavy streak of pragmatism that runs deep.  Working faster means more work for everyone. My crew ended up getting better slots, better shifts, and better bonuses. They were happy to have me, which really was a relief.

My circle of friends was light and adding a couple of work friends was nice. I had also taken to working out with Robert a couple of times a week. I hate to say it, but I picked up a few new moves. I did manage to actually hit him a couple of times, taking it as a sign I wasn't too rusty.

I found out he was Imperial Army from way back. He'd been deep frozen for longer than I’ve been alive on a transport boat and made a complete
h
space jump without them ever needing him. He was quite a bit older than me chronologically; it's hard to judge because of awake time. Experience adds a lot. I had a lot more combat time under my belt, but his hand-to-hand and close quarter training trumped me by a significant level. 

I'd love to present myself as a hardened war veteran, who engaged in countless operations, and constant training, but in reality, there was a hell of a lot of downtime while I was aboard ship. Using those skills only a few times a decade breeds complacency. I filled the gaps as best I could can, but sometimes fighting routine was far more important than practicing basic skills.

Space is a big place. Massively huge. Unfortunately, because of the way
h
space travel works and the lack of a real way to communicate effectively over anything larger than several light-minutes, we needed to patrol through inhabited space. The Legion does this by using big command ships like the
Europe
, who have dozens of smaller ships with them. Each ship is either
h
space capable or will fit into one that is.

These Legion divisions have about ten thousand people, not including Mariners and they head from one planet to another on a rotation. Some trips take days, some take months. Theoretically, most conflicts didn’t happen instantly, so there is always a division inbound once or twice a year as well as supplies.

There really isn’t much of a quick reaction except in areas where we have outposts. Normally, those are manned by a command staff and a Mariner ship full of deep-sleepers. We can’t really justify having a full complement sitting in the middle of nowhere eating and getting fat. My first tour had been deep-sleep, and my second was essentially the latter. Looking back, deep-sleep was actually more productive in a lot of ways, as the loss of skills wasn’t as pronounced.

A nice part about White Caps, in addition to the bar and the bunks, was the sub-basements had a full-scale range, which let me loosen up a bit in the mornings before my shifts. For my last couple of years in the Legion, I’d really only carried my sidearm. I’d been outside the main fray of things to the point where the only time I went to the range was during qualifiers. But shooting some of the relics reminded me of being a young stud, and the endless cleaning following the practices. Slowly replaced with less time at the range, and actually looking forward to it as the years passed and finally my weapon had become little more than an accessory, and nostalgia made me wish for those long ago days.

The range officer started me off slow, thankfully, but after a couple of quick refreshers, I was up to date on everything from the industrial age to modern. I'd need a few more weeks of gun time, but anything I picked up felt comfortable.

It was after one such workout when I got back to my room, and found two messages. One from the docks canceling my scheduled shift since the transporter had sublight engine problems. The second was from Lysha asking if I was available for dinner the following day.  I called her back and confirmed, not thinking much of it.