"Helsdon-tzin assures me," Kosho continued, "all of the new data feeds are online and the shipskin is properly reconfigured for g-wave detection."
Smith nodded, impressed, but he still looked a little puzzled.
"Your idea was a good one," Kosho continued in a low voice. Only a skeleton watch was on deck at the moment, so she felt safe enough to talk openly with this boy. The raven-wing of her left eyebrow curved up gracefully. "Did you feel slighted when Chu-sa Hadeishi tasked me to implement the concept, rather than you?"
"No!" Smith looked horrified — properly horrified — but Kosho could see a twinge of memory in the boy's pale eyes. "I'm only a junior officer," he said, almost stammering.
"You are correct," the sho-sa said quietly. "You are a junior officer. You've much to learn before Hadeishi-tzin is entirely comfortable with placing you in a lead role. But the day will come when he does, never fear." Avoiding the surprised look on his face, she activated the newly configured panel and handed him a v-pad already keyed to a set of security codes.
"Smith-tzin," Kosho said formally, "would you care to bring the new system online?"
The midshipman blinked once and then took the pad. Visibly gathering himself, Smith looked over the codes, then examined the g-scan panel. Kosho sat beside him quietly, keeping a very close eye on what he was doing. Taking a deep breath, Smith tapped open a comm channel.
"Bridge to Engineering."
There was an immediate, tired-sounding answer. "Helsdon here, Bridge."
"Are your crews clear of the outer hull?" Smith was searching frantically on the reconfigured display. Kosho continued to watch, an expression of mild interest on her face. "We are preparing to bring the g-scan array online."
"Wait one, Bridge." Helsdon's voice cut off with the squeak of a muted channel. A moment later, he came back on comm. "Bridge, we are clear. All crews are accounted inside the secondary hull. You are clear to activate the g-array."
Smith found the controls for the external point-defense system and toggled on a set of pattern cameras mounted on hard-points along the Cornuelle's hull. Kosho's eyes narrowed in interest as he woke them up and fed in parameters for a close-hull scan. A moment later the comp chimed to announce the area immediately outside the ship was clear of people in z-suits.
"Hull clear," Smith announced. "Stand by for live power to g-array."
"Standing by," echoed back from both Engineering and the watch duty officer on the bridge.
"Power." Smith tapped a glyph of a running man bearing a twisting flame atop a brick on his stylized head. The third section of the communications station lit and data began to feed into the system. A preliminary plot began to appear seconds later. At the same moment, a string of amber lights flared on the panel. Smith jerked as if struck in the face and immediately punched a shutdown. "We have a partial systems failure," he barked into the comm. "Engineering, systems check!"
"Got it," Helsdon grumbled and Kosho could hear him scratching a stubbly beard. "Power conduits show green…hull skin feedback shows nominal…no pressure drops, no hull rupture."
Kosho watched Smith with interest. The boy was sweating, the back of his uniform shirt sticking to narrow shoulders, but he did not freeze or balk in the face of an unexpected situation.
"Are we radiating?" he snapped at both Engineering and the ensign riding the weapons panel. "Is there hull leakage?"
"No," came the answer a bare second later from Weapons.
Helsdon in Engineering was humming a little tune, but he chimed in a heartbeat later. "I'm seeing some queer readings from the reconfigured sensors in grid two-even. There must be some kind of data-formatting problem in the sensor feed." The engineer sighed audibly. "I'll take a crew and sort this. Engineering, out."
Smith let himself breathe out in relief, then stiffened, glancing sideways at the sho-sa. He seemed both exhilarated and near dead with fright.
"You will get your turn," Kosho said, taking back the v-pad. She was not smiling, being a proper officer, but her eyes glittered a little in amusement at his excitement. "There are always problems like this when we bring a new system online."
"Yes, Kosho-tzin." Smith made a sharp little bow, just as he had been taught in the Fleet officers'calmecac. Her eyes narrowed a little, considering him. The boy stiffened again, expecting a rebuke of some kind.
"A question — you did not believe Helsdon-tzin's assertion that the outer hull was clear?"
"No — well, I believed him, ma'am — but…on my cadet cruise, ma'am, they had a punishment detail outside, repainting the hull numbers on the Tizoc. I was standing a duty watch on the bridge and Weapons decided to run a system test on the main sensor array. They checklisted with everyone they were supposed to — Engineering, the Marine detatchment, Flight Operations — but they didn't ask the quartermaster. Number sixteen array went to full active scan and killed three cadets. Boiled them alive right inside their suits." Smith was looking a little white around the gills.
"Never pays to be hasty," he said in conclusion, avoiding her gaze. "Ma'am."
"Very wise," Kosho said, pushing herself up out of the chair. "Return to quarters. You must be alert and well-rested for the morning duty watch."
"Hai!" Smith bowed formally and then left the bridge, trying not to burst from unfettered pride.
Kosho watched him go, thinking about the past. Dead men teach memorable lessons, she thought with a certain grim humor. Their sacrifice repaid a thousand times.
The heavy carrier Tizoc was notorious in Fleet for the number of training accidents suffered by her ever-changing crews. Kosho had served on the ancient, outdated and frankly dangerous capital ship herself. Every officer did — Tizoc had born the brunt of cadet cruises for three generations — but most did not realize until they'd knocked around the Fleet for a tour or two that the 'curse' struck each and every cadet class with brutal, endlessly repeated efficiency.
Every officer in Fleet had been on watch, or on duty station, or even on the same work detail or in the same compartment, or at least in the same graduating class, as some poor unfortunate who died gruesomely as the result of careless procedure or sloppy handling or one of the millions of tiny errors which could doom a man, a ship, or a fleet. Cadets boarding the Tizoc for the first time were told the ship was named after an Emperor called 'He-who-bleeds-the-people.' Later, when they heard enough of stories from their shipmates and were sober enough to put two and two together to make four, the veteran officers called the venerable old carrier 'He-who-winnows-the-chaff' in tones of wary respect.
Kosho looked once around the bridge, saw everything was in order, and then kicked into the accessway. She felt tired and it was late. There would be a fullness of work in the morning, she was sure. Hadeishi did not allow an idle crew.
Near Slot Canyon Twelve, the Escarpment
Pale rose and gold streaked the eastern rim of the world, heralding an ear-searing dawn.
A faint white illumination filled the sky, lighting scattered rocks, the tie-downs of the ultralights and then Hummingbird, still kneeling in the sand, palms on his knees. The stout figure of the Mйxica moved minutely and the man's eyes opened. His breather mask was caked with frost, the z-suit diagnostics on his wrist gleaming red. Stiffly, the man rose to his feet, ice flaking from the joints of his matte-black suit. Moving very slowly, Hummingbird made his way to the cargo door of his Midge.