ELEVEN

“I had a message from my father yesterday,” Velasquez said, not looking up from the panel he was testing. “It was congratulations on the MASSEX.”

“I’m glad he approved,” Dana said, neutrally. She was double checking some of the runs he’d tested. She’d certified him as passing his initial trial period and he’d been automatically promoted to Engineer’s Apprentice. Didn’t mean she was letting him run Twenty-Three by himself.

“It has caused some issues,” Velasquez said, just as neutrally. “That was from my mother.”

“I still don’t get that,” Dana said. “Can you explain how?”

“She hopes I’m not planning on making a career as a ‘person with his name tag on his shirt.’ Which is what her friends think I’m becoming.”

“There’s a nametag on your uniform,” Dana said, sighing. “There’s a nametag on the Chief of Naval Operations’ uniform.”

“The Chilean Navy does not use nametags for officers,” Velasquez replied.

“I just so don’t get your culture,” Dana said, sighing.

Things had been relatively quiet since the MASSEX. Given that hers was one of only two divisions which had had four fully capable shuttles, shuttles able to make every target and perform every required action, she should be feeling quietly proud. And she’d been officially praised.

She also knew the calm before the storm. Just because she hadn’t gotten one “reply by endorsement” since the MASSEX didn’t mean the various Families, capital was important, weren’t stopping their full scale war against one Engineering Mate Second Class Dana Parker. At this point Megdanoff just sent the message without comment. She’d created a cut and paste program to reply. It didn’t take long. But what the pause probably meant was they were preparing something really nasty.

She’d long figured out that everything that was the “right” thing to do in “normal” circumstances was about as wrong as you could get in these. She also didn’t know anything else she could do. So she’d stuck to the program. She’d been so far up everyone’s butt she sometimes thought she was looking at the world through their eyes. And then Velasquez would trot out something like that.

Since her one frank discussion with Palencia he’d clammed up. To the extent she was getting any back-channel it was through Velasquez who wasn’t quite as connected as Palencia. And the only Family that wasn’t complaining about her, constantly, was Sans. She wasn’t sure why. Even the Benitos had gotten into the act after one friendly game of jungleball. She was still sporting the shiner.

“Headed out,” Dana said.

“Yes, EM,” Velasquez said.

She used to say “Headed over to Twenty-One.” Until it became apparent that information was being passed along. Now she simply said she was going. Let them guess.

The corridor was crowded. Call it closing the door after the missile was already in the main bay. The MASSEX had been an enormous cluster grope. She wasn’t sure how this unit had managed to even get to Station Two much less take it. Instead of a nice, flat LZ, the boarding MASSEX had been predicated on a ship that had to be taken by cutting in from the outside. The shuttles were specifically designed for that sort of boarding action. Clamp on the grapnels, seal to the bulkhead, arm the cutting charges, fire in the hole.

Forty ships in the squadron. Nineteen were able to successfully undock and get underweigh. Seventeen made it out of the main bay. Twelve made it to the objective. Eight were able to lock on, Dana’s full division, three from Alpha Three which also had a “Norte” Eng NCOIC, and the CO’s boat. The CO’s boat and one of Alphas had been almost totally destroyed by the cutting charges being mislaid by the Marines. They’d also lost the full complement of Marines and the Alpha engineer who hadn’t taken the pains he should have with his suit.

Two crews, and most of their Marines, had been lost to similar incidents while stuck in space. In the end the Navy had had to get Apollo to tow most of the boats home.

Now the One-Four-Three had “gotten religion.” No more sleeping in the barracks or ghosting out of squadron area. Oh, no, they were being serious about maintenance. Everybody was in their boats pulling maintenance and the pilots were all in simulator practice since they also had been nearly unable to find the objective.

Dana had learned the drill by now. Plates were open. Guys were in their birds. Real work? Manana. And from the POV of the Suds they were doing something. Call it form over function. Actually fixing the issues was besides the point. The only point was to look like you were fixing things. Her crews, in fact, were looking sort of bad. They didn’t seem to be really working hard if for no other reason than she’d taught them through repeated poundings how to actually perform maintenance. Which didn’t always look as if you were doing a damned thing.

It made her want to cry.

She drifted through the crowd, most of whom were gesticulating at each other angrily, and into Twenty-One. Nobody around but the hatch to the crew compartment was open.

“EN Vila,” Dana commed as she drifted through the hatch. The EN was sitting in the engineering chair but she couldn’t frankly tell if he was working or asleep.

“EM Parker,” Vila answered. “This really could put you to sleep. My God it’s boring.”

She entered the feed and saw that he was running a sequence of sensor checks. She could also tell he was doing it to condition and standard.

“Work is its own reward,” Dana said. She knew they were getting really tired of her various maxims. Screw’m. They had lived through the MASSEX. Other crews hadn’t.

“Send me the raw record of your checks when you’re complete,” Dana said, turning herself around. Diaz came into the cargo bay as she was drifting across.

“Where is Vila?” Diaz snapped. “He is supposed to be performing maintenance.”

“He is,” Dana said. “In the engineer’s compartment. He is performing sensor checks to condition and standard.”

“He should be out here working,” Diaz said. “What if someone comes down here and doesn’t see him working?”

“They can look in the crew compartment where they’ll see him with his eyes closed and apparently asleep,” Dana said. “And they can get angry if they’re an idiot because he is doing the task to condition and standard. This is my division, EM. We’ve had this discussion. My division isn’t screwed up. We perform our tasks. We don’t perform like trained monkeys. So leave my division alone.”

“That can be viewed as being disrespectful to a superior, EM Parker,” Diaz.

“Very,” Dana said. “Why don’t you Mast me? Now get the hell out of this boat and leave my people alone. You might want to think about getting some of your other trained monkeys to actually do the job! So the next time, and there’s going to be a next time, we don’t end up looking like a colossal ass! Again!”

“If you really want me to request a Captain’s Mast, continue as you are, EM,” Diaz ground out.

“EM2 Parker, report to the Squadron Offices,” Parker’s plant chimed.

“God, that was quick,” Parker said.

“What?” Diaz asked.

“I’ve got to report to the squadron office, EM,” Dana said. “Don’t know what I did this time. Unless you already sent the Mast request.”

“I did not,” Diaz commed then sighed. “You know we spoke in haste.”

“Didn’t think you did, Diaz,” Dana said. “We’re all sort of on edge. But, seriously, my guys are working. They’re actually doing their jobs. Don’t mess with them, please. And this is not meant to be disrespectful. But I can tell most of what’s going on is people opening up panels for show. Seriously. It might make more sense to get them to actually do the tasks to the SOP. There is, especially in this situation, some value to doing things, well…”

“Right?” Diaz commed. “You really don’t understand.”

“No,” Dana commed. “And, yes, I sort of do. I’m trying to understand at least. But I think that’s only going in one direction. What is not happening is your, sorry, people trying to understand. There’s a lot of talk about cultural issues. I get that. Your culture has your thing. Thing is, that’s becoming irrelevant. You can bitch, whine, moan and try to spread the blame. You can engage in conspiracy theories. I’ve heard them all so please don’t even start.

“It’s all lying to yourselves and at a certain level you know it. The one thing you haven’t tried, can barely think about trying, is actually doing the job. Because that would require you to essentially reject all the cultural baggage you’re carrying and examine your current reality. And that’s damned hard. So far, it’s too hard. I don’t know if anything can get you to do it. All I know is I’m going to keep doing the job the way that actually works and let you do whatever you want. As long as it’s leaving my damned division alone.”

“Do you enjoy being a bitch?” Diaz asked.

“Not until I started dealing with you guys,” Dana said. “But now? Yes. I’m enjoying very carefully in a Norte way not crowing about the fact that we kicked the ass of every other division in the squadron in engineering. And I’ve told my guys that if they so much as make a single positive comment about our division, I was going to kick their ass. In micro so they knew I meant it. Here is our one and only reward for a job very well done. Diaz, get your superior self out of my division area and go harass somebody else. I have to go to the squadron offices.”

“EM Parker, report to the squadron commander at earliest convenience,” the com chimed.

“Shit,” Dana said, blanching. “Make that to the CO. Seriously. Get out of my division area, Diaz. Goodbye.”

 

* * *

 

“Palencia,” Dana commed as she cleared the corridor.

“Yes, EM.”

“Drop what you’re doing and go make sure Diaz isn’t harassing the division. You’re the ‘right’ people so he’s more deferential to you. Bottom-line, don’t let him interfere with the tasks the division’s on.”

“I’m not sure that falls into maintenance tasks, EM.”

“You kidding me? If he starts harassing Velasquez and Sans they’re not going to get a damned thing done. And make sure they keep doing them as well. I will be checking when I get back. Be clear. This is not a request, Pal.”

“Aye, aye, EM. I’m on it.”

“Send an EM3 to tell an EM1 what to do,” Dana muttered. “This is a hell of a way to run a railroad.”

 

* * *

 

“EM2 Parker reporting to the squadron commander,” Dana said, saluting. Her hair looked like crap and her suit was covered in some goop from one of the power relays. But it said “at earliest convenience.” Which is mil-speak for “right damned now.”

“Parker,” the CO said, distractedly. “How goes the maintenance.”

Captain Higgins got along with the Latins very well. It took Dana a while to figure out why. Finally she’d pieced most of it together. He was big, physically and in personality, an Annapolis grad, ergo from their perspective from the “right” class, and was very respectful of their culture.

Which meant he’d been playing the game their way from the date of taking command. Make things look good and they are good.

Right up until the Alliance Navy ordered, and monitored, MASSEX where every little niggling item that had been glossed over and covered up came home to roost. Well, not every item. The birds had been so broken it hadn’t been terribly apparent how bad the coxswains were. Dana felt a bit bad about that last part. She’d ended up conning the division to their LZ and screaming at division coxswains that weren’t meeting her standards of flight safety and quality. Which made them look marginally competent.

The Latins loved Captain Higgins. Still. Dana wished she was his rating officer. He’d be…somewhere very unpleasant and unimportant. Somewhere she’d heard about a post called Diego Garcia but she wasn’t even sure where it was. But since it was apparently a Latin post it would be right up his alley.

“The division’s birds are all nominal, sir,” Dana replied. “Twenty-Four was down with a bad transformer. That has been rectified.”

“Good, good,” Higgins said, looking at something on his screen. “Tell me you have ‘dress uniform or formal uniform suitable for a high level official function.’ ”

“Yes, sir,” Dana replied.

“You do?” Higgins said, looking up.

“I have my dress uniform, sir,” Dana said.

“That will have to do,” Higgins said. “Is it pressed?”

“It is pressed, sir,” Dana said, frowning.

“How do the birds…look?” the captain asked, nervously.

“Sir?” Dana said, confused. “They look like shuttles, sir.”

“What is their physical condition?” Higgins said. “Are they clean? How scratched up?”

“Sir…” Dana said. She wanted to say “It’s my division, sir.” “There is some scuffing due to use, sir. But they are squared away. Well, Twenty-Four will be as soon as Sans finishes cleaning up.”

“Okay,” Higgins said. “And your cox rating is still up to date.”

“Yes, sir,” Dana said. “Sir, what is… Does this have to do with the MASSEX?”

“I don’t know what this has to do with,” Higgins said, his face firming up. “EM2 Parker you are on TDY orders as of 1300 this afternoon. You will take two Myrmidon shuttles from your division, with yourself as one of the coxswains for some reason, configured with passenger seats, and proceed to the Pentagon landing field in Crystal City there to take on a ‘high level DP delegation.’ EM3 Palencia is also specified. You choose the other engineer and cox. You and Palencia are required to have suitable wear, dress uniform or formal uniform. I’m going to require that all personnel have suitable dress. And you have to have… Definitely get your suit cleaned before you leave. But you need to leave as soon as you have made arrangements.”

“Aye, aye, sir” Dana said, her eyes wide. “This is an independent tasking, sir?”

“Apparently,” Higgins said. “You rendezvous deep space with two more shuttles from the Troy. I hope they have more senior personnel aboard. But you need to get cracking. Get your suit cleaned, choose your additional engineering personnel and which shuttles from your division are in best possible condition. I’m going to assume that the really high level DPs are going to fly with the senior people which means the 142 shuttles, of course. But the aides and assistants are terrible gossips. After the MASSEX I don’t need them gossiping about the visual appearance of our shuttles as well.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Dana said, still confused. She shook her head. “We’ll find out what it’s about eventually, sir. Sir, permission to…” How are you supposed to say it?

“Permission to withdraw, granted,” Higgins said, looking up. “Parker…”

“I won’t pee in the potted palms, sir,” Dana said, smiling in a rictus. “But I really do have a lot to do to get this done.”

“Go,” Higgins said. “Run.”

“Yes, sir,” Dana said. “Sir, one request.”

“Anything you need,” the CO said.

“Please… Could you make sure that…” Dana was trying to figure out how to put it delicately.

“That people don’t get in your way?” the CO asked. “I understand.” He put a finger on his temple and looked off in the distance. “Raptor, Hang-Man. Comet has been assigned a high level mission by DNav. She has the parameters of the mission. You need to run interference. Right. That would be the sort of interference, yes. Hang-Man out.” The CO looked up. “See Raptor.”

Coxswain’s Mate First Class Paul “Raptor” Kelly was the Flight NCOIC for Bravo Troop. Dana was sort of in his good graces in that even if his boat hadn’t made it out of the main bay, “his” coxswains had all been able to find the LZ and get their loads delivered. Of all the “Norte” personnel in the unit, he was the only one not taking major heat rounds. And he was more than aware that a good bit of that had been one bitchy ass engineer and former coxswain.

“Your orders are downloaded,” the CO said. “Now…run.”

 

* * *

 

“Palencia,” Dana commed, headed out of the CO’s quarters at a trot.

“Go, EM.”

“Drop everything. When Diaz freaks, tell him it’s a direct order from the CO. Raptor should be on the way down there to run interference. Everybody close up what they were doing, as long as the birds are up, and get in Twenty-Four. I need that transformer fluid cleaned up pronto. And then the bird needs to be cleaned from top to bottom. And I mean spotless. Then Velasquez and Sans get started on Twenty-Three. GI party the hell out of it.”

“What’s going on?”

“No time,” Dana said. “I’m going to have to get them to clean my suit as well. And yours. We’ve got a high priority mission.”

 

* * *

 

“Comet, Raptor.”

“Go,” Dana said as she hit the grab bar and entered the corridor. “Make a hole you Sud idiots!” she sent over the local channel. Bodies scattered. Fast. Quipu had lasted about a day as a handle. They called her Muerto Minisculo, the tiny death, in micro. The rest of the time it was Hielo Angelica, the angel of hell.

“What’s the mission and plan?”

“High level DP mission,” Dana said. “At least a week TDY. Two birds. I’m specifically designated, by Department of the Navy no less, as a coxswain not an engineer. Palencia is specifically designated as part of the party. Dress uniform required for myself and Palencia. CO has added all personnel have to have dress uniforms. I need our suits and the birds GId and I need another cox. I’d like Benito. If he has a dress uniform.”

“He’s not one of your coxes,” Raptor pointed out.

“I know that,” Dana said. “But he’s actually a good cox even if he’s an asshole. Sorry, Raptor, but only Contera is even marginal and we both know it.”

She flipped through the hatch of Twenty-Four to see Palencia, his helmet off, in a screaming match with Diaz.

“And I need you down here to handle Diaz,” Dana said. “Because I’m about to boot his ass out of my boats. Physically if I have to.”

Dana flipped her helmet shield up and screamed.

“CAN IT!”

“You cannot just shout at me…” Diaz said.

“Why not?” Dana yelled. “You yell at each other all the time! And I’m on short time, here. I just got tasked, directly, by the squadron commander. If you have issues with that, you need to take it up with him!”

“By Captain Higgins?” Diaz said, blinking.

“Yes,” Dana said. “Raptor is on his way to help. Palencia, Velasquez, Benito and myself are all on TDY as of 1300. Which means we have to have this bird cleaned up, and Twenty-Three, and be packed by 1300. We’ve got a deep space rendezvous to make with the One-Four-Two at 1335. So we have exactly no time for this. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Diaz said. “I did not understand…”

“That is because the CO jumped the chain of command,” Dana said. “Because we’re on short time and it was quicker. Not your fault. Go check with Chief Alegria. He should be in the loop by now. But we need to get started on cleaning this bird up.”

“Why this one?” Palencia asked. But he’d learned. He was already working on where some of the transformer fluid had squirted on the starboard bulkhead.

“It’s the newest and we just got done performing all the checks,” Dana said. “I know it’s good, despite the little issue with the transformer. And once we get this stuff cleaned up, it’s also visually the best. Velasquez, I need you to clean down my suit.”

“Yes, miss,” the EA said.

“Yes, EM,” Dana said with a sigh.

“Uh…” the EA paused with his rag in the air when it finally dawned on him where he was going to have to rub.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dana swore. “Just clean the damned suit, EA!”

“Yes, Engineer’s Mate!”

“Diaz, OUT OF MY BIRD!”

“Yes, EM,” Diaz said, snapping to attention.

“Vel, did you seal Twenty-Three when you left?” Dana asked.

“Yes, EM,” the EA said, rubbing at a spot on her suit. “And I set a telltale.”

So far it didn’t appear that anyone had tried to sabotage their ships. But Dana wasn’t taking any chances.

“As soon as you’re done with the suit, get back in the shuttle,” Dana said. “And start doing the pre-flight checks. When we get done with this one, we’ll start on Twenty-Three. When we get into Twenty-Three, you’re to head to your quarters and start packing. I hope you can pack very quickly. Palencia, you too. Dress uniforms and sufficient uniforms and linen for a week. You’ve got that. I know.”

Dana had not only been cracking down on their maintenance. Aware that it wasn’t the “done” thing in the modern military, she had nonetheless taken it upon herself to make them clean the pigsties they called rooms to her satisfaction. And she wasn’t easily satisfied. That included clean and pressed uniforms. Neatly hung, slight angle, one inch apart, dress right dress. They also weren’t allowed to fall behind on their laundry.

Going back to a “regular” squadron where she couldn’t be such a controlling bitch was going to be rough.

“These shuttles leave at thirteen hundred,” Dana continued. “Not at thirteen thirty or thirteen hundred tomorrow. Thirteen hundred this day. That gives us two hours.”

“What about lunch?”

One thing that Dana had cracked down on, right at the first, was lunch. Lunch had a special meaning to Latins. To the “lower classes” it basically didn’t exist. To the “right” people it was a three hour meet and greet.

They had compromised. They had as long as Dana took.

She ate like a sparrow. Small amounts and fast so the other birds didn’t get it. Three older male cousins. Like a lot of their compromises, the rest of the division didn’t like it. But they were also tired of jungleball.

“You’ve got helmet chow,” Dana said. “No time. And by the time we make earth all your suits have to be pristine. But you can have permission to work on them enroute.”

“There isn’t enough time,” Palencia said. “Is this how your Navy often operates?”

“You hope to have plenty of time to plan and you do what you have to to complete the mission,” Dana said. “So, yeah. Get over it. And there’s enough time. If we all work hard and as a team. Which is why we plan and prepare and learn little things like teamwork. So more scrubbing less bitching.”