The other men had abandoned their showers and had gathered around them in a circle, none of them making any motion to interfere, their eyes watching the development carefully. Stillwell looked at them for a moment, from face to face, searching for an ally, waiting for someone to yell at them to put a stop to this. But no one did.
"Look at this, guys," Lisa said, shaking her head in amusement. "He's afraid of a woman. And a naked one at that. He wants to go fight the Earthlings but he won't even take a swing at little old me."
"You better shut your ass, bitch or I'll give you some of what you're asking for!" he yelled.
"Give it to me, baby," she said. "I'd love for you to try it. I'm begging you to try it."
"I'm warning you, bitch!" he growled.
"Stop warning and start fighting," she said. "Let's see what you got, Little-Dick. Come on!"
That pushed him over the limit. He stepped towards her and jabbed out at her face with his fist, a well-timed punch that, had it struck, would have been devastating to her nose. But it didn't strike. Lisa, anticipating just such a move, dodged to the left, letting it whiz through thin air. She could have easily hiked her foot up into his exposed testicles at that point in the fight but she chose not to, wanting to end this particular confrontation in a much more decisive way, in a way that left no doubt who had the biggest set of huevos. Instead she let out a yell and shot the heel of her hand straight out, catching him directly on his nose. She felt it mash beneath her hand, felt hot blood go spraying out of it, felt a jarring pain radiating up her arm like an electric jolt. Stillwell's head snapped back with the force of the blow, a high-pitched cry of surprise and pain squeaking from his lips. He staggered back two steps, stunned, unbelieving.
Lisa didn't give him a chance to recover. She spun around and threw a back-kick that caught him directly in the stomach. The air whooshed out of his lungs, sending a huge glut of blood and snot from his damaged nose at high speed. He flew backwards, out of the shower area where he slammed into the corner of one of the banks of lockers. He bounced off and crumpled to the floor, gasping and trying to breathe.
Lisa was on him in a second, before he could even begin to recover his senses. She grabbed one of his arms and pulled sharply, snap-rolling him onto his stomach. She then twisted the arm up behind his back, wrenching it painfully up into his shoulder blades and twisting the hand inward. Her knee came down onto the back of his neck, pinning his bleeding face to the tile. This was a classic police move, designed to quickly subdue a combative suspect so he could be handcuffed. Instead of handcuffing him however, she pushed the arm up even higher, threatening to dislocate the shoulder. He held out for almost ten seconds before finally screaming out in pain.
"Get the fuck off me, you bitch!" he nearly cried.
She released the pressure just the slightest bit. He tried to struggle and she put it back on, eliciting another scream.
"You move and I'll tear your fucking arm off," she told him. "Do you understand me?"
"Fuck you!" he said defiantly, earning him another wrench upward and another scream.
"I asked you if you understood me," she said. "Do you, bitch? Am I speaking clearly enough for you?"
"Yeah," he finally grunted.
"Good," she said, satisfied. "I just kicked your fucking ass. Kicked it royally and well. And if you ever treat me with anything less than respect again, I'll kick it again and next time I'll put you in the fucking hospital. Do you get me?"
He said nothing, just coughed, expelling another spray of blood from his nose.
"I said, do you get me?"
"Yeah," he agreed.
She released his arm and stood up, stepping back a bit in case he decided to rush at her again. "Good," she said calmly. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding with each other."
She turned and looked at the crowd of men, most of them naked and dripping. They were looking at her in a different way now, no longer seeing a frail woman who had finagled her way into their midst.
"That goes for each and every fucking one of you," she said to them. "I'll take any of you on if you think you got what it takes. Any fucking one of you! I'm here to stay, gentlemen. I'll be working out with you, showering with you, shooting with you, and killing fucking Earthlings with you. Get used to me and don't fuck with me."
With that said she looked down at herself, at her still naked body that now had droplets of blood and snot scattered across her breasts and stomach. She walked back through the crowd of men to the showers and turned one on, stepping back beneath the spray. No one fucked with her as she did this. No one would ever fuck with her again after that day.
Triad Naval Base
June 18, 2146
The wardroom of the Mermaid was just below the officer's berthing, two decks below the bridge of the ship. It took up the majority of the deck and featured a large steel table that was bolted to the floor. Foldout chairs were permanently attached to the table, ten of them, which was how many officers an Owl class stealth attack ship typically crewed. Bolted to the center of the table was the inevitable Internet screen which could be turned in any direction, depending upon who was using or watching it. A sealed coffee maker system, designed for use in reduced or absent gravitation, was installed on one wall. A larger Internet screen, fully two meters across, was mounted on the far wall, near the ladder that led to the higher and lower decks. Along the outside walls of the room ran several sets of pipes, for steam, for hydrogen, for electrical connections, all of them painted different colors depending upon what they carried. The smell was of steel and lubricating oils and stale ventilation.
Brett Ingram, appointed captain of the Mermaid, looked at the group of five officers that he had selected to help him carry out his portion of Operation Interdiction. There was Lieutenant Sugiyoto, who had served with him on this very ship when they had been part of the WestHem Navy. Then he had been assigned to the kitchen. Now he was in charge of navigation and detection. In charge of the engineering section of the ship, and the man who had perhaps the greatest challenge of all, was Lieutenant Mike Bellingraph, a fusion specialist who had served aboard an Owl eighteen years before as an engine assistant. He had been given a crew of twelve, only one of whom had ever been aboard a naval vessel of any kind before. They would be responsible for keeping Mermaid's two fusion engines operating and maintained throughout their trip. In charge of weapons systems was Lieutenant Chad Hamilton, who had never been in the navy before at all but who had worked on the various weapons that they carried as a civilian contractor. He had a crew of seven who would be responsible for maintaining and hopefully firing the twelve nuclear torpedoes that Mermaid carried - torpedoes that had been revamped and fitted with fresh navigation/detonation computer packages in the last week. The other three officers aboard were Tony Jenkins, Allen Nguyen, and Bob Valenzuela. They were in charge of all other aspects of running the ship on a war mission. These latter three all had Owl experience, which was why they had been made officers, but that experience was in places such as the galley, the laundry room, and on the cleaning staff. Still, experience was experience, which was more than could be said of the vast majority of the forty-eight enlisted rank men and women who had volunteered for this most dangerous assignment.
"Mike," said Brett, who had already adapted a policy of informality onboard his ship, "how is your engine room crew doing at their new jobs?"
Until three days before Mike had been a senior fusion technician at the main Eden power plant. At fifty-two years old he was the oldest person aboard. A robust, jolly man with a large beer belly, the younger crewmembers had already taken to calling him "Dad". He gave a semi-sour look at the question. "We need a lot more training time," he responded. "But I think that over the past week I've been able to teach them enough to get this thing moving. Both engines are lit and at idle right now. We can move out whenever you give the word."