“Weird,” he said as Gants completed his negotiations. He’d traded a butane lighter for the necklace of some sort of purple shells with the luminousness of pearl.
“True tale,” Gants said, picking up one of the fruit and tossing the vendor a dime. “Back in the days when Africa was just starting to get explored, the traders would park their ship and set out some stuff on the shore. Steel hatchets, knives, stuff like that. The natives would come down, put some of their stuff out and move the piles around. A whole elephant tusk of pure ivory by ten knives or so. The traders would go out the next day and move stuff around again. Three knives by the tusk, say. That would go on until the piles didn’t move, then everybody would collect their stuff and leave.”
“Slow way to get stuff,” Kulpa said. “I’d rather just swipe my ATM card.”
“Sure,” Gants said. “But then the traders would take back the tusk of ivory to London or Antwerp or wherever and get several thousand knives for it. Or the money equivalent, anyway. They made money hand over fist. That was worth waiting around in the tropical heat for.”
“Why didn’t the natives just steal the stuff?” Kulpa asked as they stopped by a troop of Cheerick acrobats. Admittedly, the rotund rodentoids weren’t a patch on the Cirque du Soleil, but they seemed really happy over the few quarters in their bucket.
“Oh, the guys on the ship would point a cannon at the clearing,” Gants said. “Just to keep everything honest. And if they went on shore and tried to steal all the native stuff, well, a spear from the jungle is a permanent souvenir. Trade’s about contracts, in that case maintained by spears and cannons. Hasn’t really changed, much. Just gotten faster and more complicated.”
“So, what do you think it’s going to be like having these guys on the ship?” Kulpa asked as the Cheerick pyramid collapsed in a pile of squeals.
“Probably hardly see them,” Sub Dude replied. “Time’s about up. Time to get back to work.”
Red looked up from the motor he was working on at a series of high-pitched squeals from down the corridor.
One of the Cheerick dragonfly pilots had turned the corner and come face to face with Tiny. The cat was in a play-pounce position and the Cheerick, even though he outweighed the cat by at least a factor of nine, clearly wasn’t sure he wasn’t the intended prey.
“Throw him a ball,” Red said, tossing same down the hall.
At the skittering sound behind him, the cat turned on his tail and launched through the air, overshooting the ball and spinning again. With another pounce he had the ball and ran it back to Red.
“Go ahead,” Red said, holding out the ball to the Cheerick.
The rodentoid came down the corridor and took the ball, sending it bounding down the corridor to bounce off a coaming. Tiny loved that since he had to turn in mid-run, leap off a bulkhead and catch the thing in the air. He ran it back to the giant rodentoid and dropped the ball, wiggling his butt in anticipation.
“Feel free,” Red said, turning back to his pump. “I’m kinda busy right now.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Ship status, XO?” Captail Prael asked.
“All personnel returned from shore leave,” Bill said. “All critical systems functioning. We’re clear for take-off, sir.”
“Straightboard shut?” Prael asked.
“All hatches closed and locked,” the COB replied.
“Pilot, make course for HD… 242896,” the CO said after a moment’s pause. “XO has the conn. XO, please call Miss Moon to my office.”
“Thank you for your assistance on Cheerick,” Prael said as Miriam entered his office. “Sit, please.”
“Just doing my job, sir,” Miriam said, sitting down.
“And now we don’t have one for you until we potentially encounter another alien race,” the CO said. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m aware that on your previous cruise you spent a goodly amount of your time working on maintenance. But the ship is working perfectly well. It’s practically brand new, after all.”
“I was there when it was built,” Miriam said.
“And then there’s the matter of the crew,” the CO said. “While the older crew is perfectly used to dealing with you, the others are from the sub service. For some very good psychological reasons, women have never been allowed in subs.”
“That is arguable,” Miriam said. “But I’ll take it as a given for this discussion, since I can see where it’s going.”
“There is a large and fully functional science wing in the ship,” the CO said. “And we’re not carrying a science team. It is also directly connected to the wardroom and the officer’s areas. I do not mind you interacting with the officers, however after much thought on yours and Captain Weaver’s arguments to the contrary, I’m going to require that you stay out of the crew and Marine areas. If necessary, we will return to Earth to drop you off.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Miriam said, standing up. “But I’m going to make a pronouncement, Captain. The day is going to come, and probably soon, when you are going to regret this conversation.”
“I’ll live with that,” Prael said, gesturing at the door. “Thank you for your time.”
“Hey, Port-man,” Eric said, walking into the Wyvern Room.
In the Blade I the Wyverns had been housed between the remaining missile tubes of the converted sub. In the Blade II, a special room had been constructed. Still three stories high, it was easier to get the massive armor in and out of the room than it had been in Sherwood Forest, for which everyone was grateful. Lifts raised the armor up and down and in the central floor there were multiple airlocks for deployment. There also was a broad corridor to the underbelly ramp on the ship for ground deployments.
“Hang on!” Portana said, tossing a ball through the hatch. “Quick! Shut the hatch!” he added as a white streak went through Eric’s legs.
Eric did as he was ordered, despite being an officer, and then looked at the armorer quizzically.
“What was that?” Berg asked.
“Tiny,” Portana replied, growling. “Damn t’ing.”
“Why is there a giant cat on the ship?” Eric asked. “And when we’re alone it’s okay to forget the ‘sir,’ Port-man, but…”
“Sorry, sir,” Portana said. “Somebody brought it on to catch those chee-hamsters you picked up the first trip. It mostly take up time playing fetch. An’ I don’ see no chee-hamster, ever.”
“They’re nocturnal,” Eric said after a brief pause. “It’s like cockroaches; they only come out when there’s no light. So you’d only see them right after you turn on a light in a compartment. Glad to see we finally got something to keep them down. Now, I’m up for simulator training.”
“Got it licked, sir,” Portana said. “Runner’s World. Been there…”
“Did that from the front, Port-man,” Eric said, accepting the mission-chip. “Now I got to learn how to manage the battlefield.”
“Come!” Bill shouted at the knock on the hatch.
“XO, we have an issue,” the Eng said.
“And that is?” Bill asked, not looking up from the consumption report. They were going to have to stop by a gas giant and pick up some water and pressurized O2 within the next five days…
“Number Two air recycler just dropped offline,” the Eng said, swallowing. “Number One is down to eighty percent. If it drops below sixty percent efficiency, it will drop off, too.”
They were in deep space more than four days from the nearest known habitable planet, the air of which was only barely breathable. And even with one recycler at eighty percent, they’d be breathing soup in no more than a day.