THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"If I was a troll—" the phone says quietly. Crackles. Then it turns off.

 

"Good day, Helmsman," you say softly to the dark.

How about that. The Captain Killer is a pretty decent guy once you actually talk to him. You suspect he'd appreciate you keeping that secret to yourself.

('If I was a troll' what? asks a part of your mind, but the rest quickly stuffs a bag over its head and kicks it off the back of your train of thought.)

 

You spend the next night stiffly orbiting Kadros. Mechanics can mostly handle itself in situations like these, so long as you keep the Captains off their backs, so you divide your time between touring Glasswind through the nicest recreation areas while patting and cooing and talking up your gardens, and making sure water and air stay in steady production. You'd actually managed to make up most of the three-day gap when you had Kadros along to help. Pity.

Eventually in the morning a situation arises where your paths cross, and you haven't the buffer of Glasswind around. You're just scrubbing a pile of water filtration screens— you nod at him, uncertainly, and hope he leaves you alone.

"Commander," you say.

 

"Captain," you return, and aren't sure whether to keep walking. "Uh. Have you seen Engineer Houang?" You're looking for a crewman who didn't show up to work on time; you've basically been broken down to staff sergeant now. Actually, his squad leader should be doing this, except squads aren't a thing here, and besides, every noncom is too busy working on the battleaxe's ship to oversee their subordinates. This place is a mess.

You hope your resentment and frustration don't show on your face.

 

You blink, frown, and check your phone.

"Houang's being held in medical," you determine. "Got some sort of rash. Sal's not sure whether it's an STI from Glasswind's crew or a bad reaction to some sort of particulate associated with Glasswind's ship."

This... actually uncomfortably segues into what you've been needing to talk about. You'd like to rub your face but you have filtration slime all over your paws, so.

"When crewmembers don't show up for assignment, the best course is first to check medical, then to check with the head of the department they were posted to last. We don't have very many drag-asses, around, here, but injuries and emergencies are common— I leave a lot of schedule-adjustment up to trolls' own individual discretion, especially on a rush-repair. If you can think of a more efficient system you're welcome to come to me about it and we can see how it might be implemented."

You hesitate on the next bit, reluctant. "I've been unfair to you, Commander," you finally get out. "You've been here little more than a week, and it's clear that I've been failing to orient— orientate— you properly to your new situational, er, context— I can't expect you to understand why I want you to do the things I tell you to do if I don't explain it properly, and I do know things are very different here than they must be for marines, I should never have failed to take that into account when evaluating your behavior. I intend to rectify this immediately, and open up, er, a, a more productive mutual dialogue. I've got to explain better, I mean to say. And cut you a bit more slack for being how you are, which you've clearly been well-trained to be, and, and have done rather well so far with it."

Then, like a bitter wiggler, you add: "I'd still be much obliged for you to refrain from assuming the answer to 'why is Captain Aspera doing this that way' is 'because he's a blithering nincompoop'. You can just ask."

Embarrassed with yourself, you scrub the next water filtration screen extra thoroughly.

 

"It's not my place to question you, sir," you say stiffly in response to the bitterness. But he really is trying. You force yourself to unbend a bit: "That is to say. It has never. It's always been. Completely suicidal? to ask questions like that. Like. Do you have a reason why you are scrubbing filter screens instead of doing something only the captain can do. Sir. Anyone can scrub filter screens, sir."

 

You are distinctly encouraged. "Glasswind's asleep and Galley's set on entertainment for a bit, so there isn't anything else only the captain can do right now," you are pleased to explain. "But when we're on rush-repair I only get in the way if I lend a hand in Mechanics. I'm about on the level of a junior ensign in terms of what I know how to do, machines really aren't my strong suit, and no one particularly wants to bark orders at me, however casual we must seem to you. So I pick up the slack in water and air, mostly: I can do these jobs just as well as anyone, and rather enjoy them. If this stack of filters isn't cleaned and slotted back into place before tomorrow night it'll put too much strain on the other filters and we'll go into a spiral of filters scumming up faster than one man can scrub them, forcing me to take an additional crewmember off something only they can do in order to sit on their ass in the sludge with me. And if I don't do that, there'll be cascading failures in the irrigation lines, and we'd have to pull more crewmembers off the job to go around watering crops by hand, which would be absolutely ridiculous. Can you imagine? Space peasants."

You wave a clean screen at him. "Anyway I'm nearly done. We'll stay right on target for reclamation in the next few days, after which most of the personnel-intensive jobs should be over with and more crewmen can filter back to their regular departments."

 

You swallow. Take a deep breath. "Sir. You have explained to me why you're not helping in Mechanics, and why someone needs to scrub those filters today. That doesn't explain why you yourself, an officer of administrative rank, are shirking administrative duties in order to perform every other goddamn duty on the ship instead, including at least one that this carrier is not ranked to require."

 

You blink. "This... this is an administrative duty," you say. You look at the filters. You look at Kadros. You look back at the filters, more uncertainly. "The captain runs the ship. This is what's necessary to keep it running. And Glasswind's asleep, I just said. I'm not shirking."

 

"Sir. I've found paperwork you failed to complete when you first came aboard, buried in the mess in your office. You are three sweeps behind on your administrative duties. You ought to have robots to do this sort of thing. My job should be finding out why you don't have robots, and fixing that, instead of running around looking for a sick engineer because no one bothered to message me about it, they messaged you, and you didn't pass it on to me because you were doing a robot's job instead of yours!" You finally realize you're yelling, and snap back into stoneface so fast it hurts. "I apologize, sir. That was out of line. I don't. I'm sorry."

You are so confused right now. Confused all the way down to your bones.

 

"It's alright," you say, though you're a bit hurt. You try out an encouraging smile. "I suppose this is why I need a first mate, eh? If you can get me the the stack of paperwork items I need to attend to, when you've the time, I'd be much obliged."

 

"Sir, that's not the point," you say helplessly, "and anyway, I already did those for you. Why is Glasswind getting the red carpet treatment? She's not the Empress, she only thinks she is, and this vessel is not rated to encourage her. Which she knows, but she takes advantage of you because you -- ahem. I'm sorry, sir, I'm assuming again. Sir, why are you playing Media Liaison to Captain Glasswind and allowing her to demand the full working capacity of this entire crew, as well as giving her supplies we ourselves need to maintain the functioning of this vessel? Please make me understand."

 

"Glasswind's a bit fussy and entitled, but she runs a clean, fair ship, and has excellent credit with nearly everyone," you say. "A few nights of romping around with her is a fairly minor price to pay for the support of a captain as well-placed and influential—especially with Hardcase dead instead of just humiliated— and she's already offered me nearly her entire surplus of unprimed biowire. We need those very badly."

 

"Ah!" you say, light dawning. "I apologize, sir, I -- a real apology this time, not a protocol one. I had assumed you were just scared of her temper getting the crew killed. She ordered me to space a tech who splashed fuel on her paint job, even though we were going to repaint anyway. I made agreeing noises and had Heinsz send the girl to change into deck crew coveralls; Glasswind saw her a dozen times after that and didn't say a word. These entitled types, they like to see people scurry, but they never check to see if their nonsense orders were carried out." You grimace. "We really can't afford to fully restock her, though, Captain. We're going to be on rationing ourselves until the next supply shipment, and if another ship comes in hungry before that..."

 

"I know, I know—" you forget yourself and rub your face, then sputter. "—mleh. Skip the food resupply entirely, her ship's more than fast enough to get to a planetary orbit or a better-stocked carrier, and we'll put it down to 'maniac saboteurs'. She'll pretend to believe me, she knows how stretched we are."

 

You nod and make a note. "Surely everyone knows how underfunded we are. The Admiralty's not just punishing us, it's punishing every ship that docks here. It's not like we're some tourist trap with an outside source... of... income..."

For several long seconds, you stand stock still. Then you draw yourself up into your best puff-chested parade rest. "Sir! Request permission to initiate shenanigans sir!"

 

"Explain your intended shenaniganry and I very well might," you tell him. "But thank you for asking first."

 

You glance in a vaguely camera-wards direction. "Sir, do you trust Helmsman Galgal? I haven't known him long enough to judge whether we ought to discuss shenanigan-type operations where he can hear."

On most ships, you gather, that wouldn't be a concern. Helmsmen are hemmed in by the most rigid cognitive programming Alternian science can devise, to the point where you yourself find it horrifying and prefer not to think about it. But Galgal has obviously subverted his to the limit, if he can 'accidentally' knock off captains and then joke about it with you in a way that makes it clear he did it on purpose. If he wanted to make things hard for you, letting him overhear what you're going to suggest -- letting him record you proposing it -- would be foolish. But you get the impression he would really enjoy being in on this, and it would certainly make things more interesting for him.

 

Bel's phone buzzes, sparks, and goes to speaker.

"Oh, you naughty boy," blares a snippet of pornography, a deep-voiced woman's purr, "Naughty boys get punished—" and then the distinct sounds of spanking and at least one troll having an orgasm.

(this is galley for 'it's cute you think that there's anywhere i can't hear you')

 

You don't even try to hide how amused you are. "Does he do this to you too, sir? Galgal, if you listen, you're complicit. I'm not proposing anything outright anti-Imperial, but it is a little... bendy." You shake your head and look at your captain. "Not my call, Aspera, it's yours."

It's the first time you've addressed him by name without rank, and you're doing it deliberately. You're asking him to be in cahoots, as if the pair of you are wigglers FLARPing pirates.