THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"Nope," you shrug, curling back into the couch pillows. The pancakes have made you sleepy all over again— you don't do well with bread sorts of items, really, but they were delicious. You steal the last piece of Bel's bacon and nibble it. "Call her, I don't know. Probably taking care of everything as usual while I've been laying about."

 

"Nargh~!" You wrestle him for the last piece of bacon, reclaim only about an inch of it, and acknowlege your defeat by carrying the plates to the dishwashing apparatus. Grabbing Erskin's phone off the counter, you say, "Sorry, Galley, I need to check in with Lainey, I'll come visit when I can," and end the current call so you can dial Lainey's number.

When she answers, you say cheerfully, "Good evening, Lieutenant Commander Volcano Goddess, what are you up to and have you got my sylladex?"

 

"I'm like tryna to keep this, this, uh, this big great white giant pain in the big ass-butt from horning inonna the Captain and making us all, like... really grossed out," Lainey replies, indistinctly. "We're, uh. We've got... drinks? We're got drinks. Talk to uh, like, uhhh, talk to Hardie, 'n information serversers. Servivies. Sylladexies. We're drinking. I think he steals. I mean, the white... Whitey. Don't come over."

"Drink water," you interrupt. "Stay properly hydrated!"

"Nooooooooo...." Lainey says, and hangs up.

 

Snickering, you hand Erskin his phone back. "All right, I guess I have my itinerary. Get my sylladex back from Hardie in Information Services, rescue Carmin from the pitchfork mob, and rescue Lainey from my creepy acquaintance. Then, hopefully, I will be free to bring Galley a pancake. Do you think you'd be up for a date later? I wanted to do things to you now, but I wouldn't be able to give you my full attention, knowing all the nonsense that's waiting for me."

 

You hum at him. "Well, don't strain anything," you say, poking through your text messages. "But— yes, that sounds efficient, I wish you luck. I don't... er, I don't. Feel exactly. Er. Tip-top, myself, tonight, either, perhaps. I might finish reading some poetry here...?"

You look at him sidelong, a trifle embarrassed. But you're— yesterday was your first night off bedrest, and even if your fins are feeling better, the rest of you is... lagging. You're tired.

 

You're surprised at first, because you didn't know he liked poetry, but then you're tremendously pleased. "Don't eat everything in the fridge, you freeloader," you grin, and kiss the top of his head. Then you mosey off to the respiteblock to get your old Planetary Marines uniform out of a storage box, since everything else is apparently in the hands of Hardie in Information services.

It occurs to you, as you blow a parting raspberry to your rival on the way out the door, that not so long ago you would've been mortified to be seen wearing the wrong uniform. You grope around in your mind for that embarrassment, but it's just not there. You guess puking zombie juice on your captain pretty much overshadows all other possible sources of shame. If anyone's confused why you're a Marine at the moment, they can ask, but they probably won't, because honestly no one really cares. Which, you're starting to think, is the case with a lot of the things you worry about.

Getting your sylladex back takes a lot less hassle and paperwork than you expected. Hardie raises an eyebrow at the pancake plate (gently steaming) as you shuffle cards around, but accepts a grin as answer. You remember Erskn suggested you take Twitch along, so you go looking for her, flipping through the Fleet regulations on your phone as you walk.

 

Twitch trots over from a small, cozy breakroom block, holding a coffee.

"Hey, stop," she says authoritatively. "Who are you? Why are the marines here? This isn't a planet. Are you lost? We aren't anywhere near a planet. You need to go."

 

"I can't tell if you're messing with me or if you forgot me." You study her face. "Okay, you forgot me. I'm Commander Kadros, the First Mate. I'm wearing my old uniform because I didn't have my sylladex during quarantine and I just got it back. I had this in storage in my quarters, and I thought it might be considered rude to go down to Information Services in a towel."

 

Her odd pink eyes narrow. "Nnnnno," she says. "You're not Commander Kadros, Commander Kadros has the—" she makes a gesture for 'short ponytail' "—and smells funny. He's in medbay. He was a zombie."

 

"No, that's Sergeant Murfey, and if he's claiming to be me I'm going to ding him round the ear. I'm the big blueblood with the long ponytail who was a zombie. And even though I'm over it, I'm pretty tired, so I hope we're about done with the interrogation." You realize you're sounding a bit tetchy. You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. "Sorry, Princess. I shouldn't take it out on you. Look, I have to go make sure Carmin doesn't get lynched for zapping Captain Aspera when she was zombified and hallucinating, and the Captain suggested I bring you along. Would you like to go?"

 

Twitch looks completely affronted. "No one should be lynching anyone, anywhere!" she says. "What the fuck. Let's go yell at them. I can throw people at the ceiling, did you know that? Let's go do that."

 

"How about we hold that in reserve," you suggest. "I hope I can handle this without anyone getting a concussion."

As you set out for medbay, still paging on your phone, you say, "Once things get back to normal, I'm thinking of building a running path in the rec area. You want to be in on that project?"

 

"What rec area?" she asks. "There's lots. Also I don't think I can build anything, it's not safe to let me near power tools. But if you want to make it I can bring you coffee. I bring people coffee now."

 

"What if you hold things in place while I use the power tools? Also, can you move dirt faster than I can? Because I want there to be some terrain, you know? I was thinking the rec area with the climbing wall, we could sort of incorporate them together, have the running path wind up a hill and the climbing wall is sort of --" You try to explain it with gestures, which your phone interprets as fast-forwarding through a bunch of pages. You go to page back, and pause instead, because you've spotted what you want.

"There we go," you say, enlarging it and making a mental note of the location. "This will save Carmin without anyone having to get ceilinged."

 

"Oh, good," Twitch says, sounding deeply disappointed.

 

The forward medbay is crowded, now, with dense rows of clipped-together cots and ex-infected lolling about together in pillowed drifts like kitten litters, their sleepy purring making a low background buzz. The block looks a more like a recreational narcotics den than a medbay, and the quadrantmates and coworkers who have come in to watch over and periodically remove patients are all awkwardly, blushingly aware of this.

Carmin is distinguished by a pair of biofoam-lined handcuffs, the chain of which she's absent-mindedly chewing at like a dozey pupa. And a trio of three nervy, angry, wild-eyed administrengtheners standing around with their strifekinds out. When they see Bel and Twitch walk in they bristle, clearly torn between saluting and launching a pre-emptive attack.

 

You rake your eyes slowly across the three admins with their strifekinds out, being ostentatiously calm and large and unamused. "Even in the wrong uniform I outrank you, Crewmen. You've got three seconds to unfuck yourselves."

 

There's a moment of frantic consideration, then the trio tucks their weapons away and pull themselves to attention.

"Sir," the biggest one says. She makes a clumsy salute. "Permission, to, uh..." she seems to not have any idea how to finish the sentence.

 

You raise your eyebrow and wait. After a moment you say, "I was present when Captain Aspera answered your call. I heard him explicitly tell you that no, Carmin is not to be executed. I also heard him say not to do anything until he arrived, which I see you've obeyed, good job. I asked him, as a personal favor, to let me handle this situation. He's too forgiving. I've seen the state of his fins. But if we're going to get strict about punishing Assault on a Superior Officer during the infection, well, I vaguely recall stuffing his attending physician in a fridge, throwing the Captain over my shoulder, and making a run for it. I'm curious to hear what punishment you think appropriate for such an offense."

 

"Uh... a highfive?" the small olive in the back pipes up. "No one likes Sal."

"Dennys," the woman up front hisses over her shoulder, while the other member of the trio looks to be just barely stifling a round of hysterical giggles.