Chapter 12
Kas’ first visitor was Roi Tremling. As the staff insignia on his shoulder boards showed, Tremling was an Engineer. In fact, he was almost a caricature of the breed. His shipsuit was already rumpled, and even the three gold Commanders’ stripes on his left shoulder board were stained. His military bearing was noticeable only for its total absence; he slumped, even when tossing Kas a rudimentary salute. Despite the grease-stained rag he wrung ceaselessly between his fingers, his hands were none too clean. Kas suppressed a grimace as he invited the man to sit.
“Thought I’d go first, Commodore,” Tremling muttered, “So’s I can get back t’work. Then th’ rest o’ you can get on with your military silliness.”
Kas’ face darkened. “It’s your military silliness, too, Commander!”
Tremling shrugged slightly, but did not reply. Kas’ flush deepened and anger flared.
“On your feet, Commander!” The man looked annoyed, but obeyed. “Now,” Kas continued, “You must be an outstanding engineer, mister, because you’re a disaster as an officer. But I will not have my crew snickering behind their hands at one of my officers, line or staff! Nor will I permit you to infect junior officers with disdain for the Fleet and its purpose.
“Now, I have no choice but to assign you as Rekesh ’s Chief Engineer. But by all the weird gods of the galaxy, by the time we get back, you will be as acceptable an officer as you are an engineer, or you’ll die trying!
“Now,” he continued in a more moderate tone, “I know you’ve a lot to do to get this ship combat-ready…” Tremling muttered and Kas paused. “What?”
Tremling glowered. “I said, ‘If it can be done at all’.”
Kas matched the man’s scowl. “You mean, ‘If it can be done at all, sir!’ he demanded.
After a moment, Tremling’s eyes dropped, and he grated a reluctant, “Sir”.
Kas stared at the man for a moment, seething. Finally, he controlled himself enough to snap. “That will be all, Commander. For now. But rest assured,” he grated as the pudgy man rose; “You and I will be having much more contact in the weeks to come. For now, get out of my sight, and get my ship on-line!”
Kas found that he had to allow himself a few moments to subdue his anger and control trembling hands. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind before his next interview.
But the man who next entered was nearly the antithesis of the engineer. Tre Wansung marched into the room like a cadet on parade, snapped to attention, and rendered Kas a textbook salute. Where the engineer was large and hulking, Wansung stood only about 160 centimeters tall, and probably massed about 70 kilos. Slim and graceful, he conveyed an air of tightly constrained energy. His blond hair and youthful face belied his Commander’s shoulder boards.
Kas wondered how the man managed to get knife-edged creases in his shipsuit. Certainly the ship’s laundry facilities were not yet online. He straightened and returned the salute, inviting Wansung to sit. The man did, but still somehow managed to convey a feeling he’d be more comfortable standing at attention.
Wansung flashed him a blinding grin. “It’s a genuine honor to meet you, Commodore,” he began. “It’s about time one of us got a flag!”
Kas frowned. “One of us?”
Wansung’s head bobbed. “Sure. An outie. I was beginning to think the only way an outie would get flag rank would be by moving to the Alliance!” He favored Kas with another blinding grin.
Kas suppressed a groan. “Please,” he prayed silently to any god that happened by, “Not another damned bigot!”
He sighed. With an effort, he made his tone light and pleasant. “Tell me about yourself, Commander. You were one of the last to arrive at the base on Prime, and I didn’t have much time to review your record.”
Wansung responded with another crisp nod. “Yes, sir. I just got my third full ring three years ago.” He flushed slightly as he admitted, “I’m afraid this is my first assignment to a combatant vessel, unless you consider a planetary assault ship a combatant.” He shrugged. “I don’t. I mean, all they really are is a space bound truck hauling the real fighting troops to the battle.
“Aside from my last tour, as Exec on one of those, I had two tours on supply vessels. I’d almost given up hope of getting a combatant assignment, where I could really show what I could do. It’s getting so the innies keep all the good fighting assignments to themselves!” He continued in this vein for several moments, not noticing Kas’ increasingly stony expression. Finally, he ran down.
Kas sighed. “Very well, Commander. You will be assigned as Rekesh ’s Operations Officer. Now, your lack of combatant ship experience will be a problem, and I expect you to be using the strategic and tactical library and simulations frequently to hone your skills.”
They talked a bit more, and Kas began to relax. Wansung made no further comments that might be considered bigoted, and Kas began to wonder if the man had just imagined that stressing their common origins would be a good way to try to bond with his CO. If so, his judgment might be faulty, but at Least Kas wouldn’t have to worry about his treatment of innerworld crewpeople.
Kas began to relax a bit, but he was still uncomfortably aware that there were only two more Commanders. Despite his words at the meeting, Kas really didn’t want to appoint Rom to command Starhopper, and Wansung was simply too inexperienced. The freighter would be his scout, and operating largely independently. Kas wanted her to have the most qualified skipper available.
Kas looked at the woman on the other side of his desk, trying to recall all the details of the service record he’d seen on Prime. “Please be seated, Commander.”
Commander San To-Ling was the senior of the cold-sleep officers, which meant she was senior to everyone on the mission except Kas. Her last assignment had been as Executive Officer aboard Haroun Al-Rashid, a battle cruiser and sister ship to the Rekesh. Judging by her seniority, she was undoubtedly due for promotion to Captain. In fact, Kas suspected she was overdue. For the fiftieth time, he cursed the fact that he’d been unable to bring the crew’s service records.
Physically, To-Ling was a tiny, middle-aged woman. She certainly massed less than fifty kilos, and stood only about a meter and a half tall. But she stood ramrod straight, and her angular features betrayed a coldness and arrogance Kas felt as a physical force.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, her tone making the last word a sneer. “I prefer to stand.”
Kas nodded. “Very well.” He frowned. “Tell me, Commander. Just what is it that makes you so hostile? Is it me personally, or is it just that I’m an outerworlder?”
To-Ling regarded him coldly. “May I speak freely, Commodore?”
Kas nodded again. “Please. And consider that permission to apply at any time when we’re alone.”
She suppressed a snort. “Very well, sir. To be honest, it’s both. I’ve never served under an outie before, and I’m not looking forward to the experience.” She shrugged. “Oh, I’ve known some outies that were very competent at their jobs. But I’ve never known one to be completely civilized.”
She hesitated before continuing, “And frankly, sir, an officer who would assault another officer, especially one senior to him, betrays a lack of self control I find appalling. I find it difficult to deal with the fact that this mission is commanded by an officer so… unmilitary.”
Kas paused before replying. Finally, he said, “Very well, I asked for honesty, and I’ve received it. I replaced Starhopper ’s exec because he was an outerworld bigot. Now it seems I must deal with an innerworld snob. I’ll merely content myself with asking who is more civilized — a person who deals with others based on who they are rather than where they’re from, or one who substitutes arrogance and stereotypes for judgment? I’ve always felt that being ‘civilized’ mostly consisted of making others feel comfortable in one’s presence — not assuming an unjustified air of superiority and using it to look down on those one considers ‘inferior’.