“Down the corridor,” Evan said. “You’ll love it. The material is brought up on lifts in premeasured quantities and then you just pour it in the mixer. That’s powered as well, if we have take-off time. If not there’s a four-man capstan for mixing and running the feeding chutes.”
“I hope you remembered the ketchup,” Herzer said jokingly. The mechanical feeding contrivance looked like a recipe for feeding body parts to the wyvern to him, but as an officer he hoped he’d be spared the job of using it.
“We’ve got two tons of ketchup powder,” Evan said earnestly. “That should cover a hundred days even at the standard use of one kilo of ketchup per day per wyvern, which was what we were given as the measure. How do they like fish?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” Jerry said. “We’re from inland. Why?”
“I was wondering if it becomes necessary if they would be willing to substitute dried fish or fish sauce for meat or ketchup?”
“We’ll find out,” Jerry said with a laugh. “I’m sure we will find out.”
“Evan, we met a ‘Chief Brooks’ earlier,” Herzer said, rubbing his chin. “Who is he?”
“Brooks is the command master chief, the senior chief on board,” Evan said. “Why?”
“Know where I’d find him?” Herzer asked.
“Just go up on deck and ask, somebody will know where he is.”
“Jerry, I’ve got the funny feeling that I’m going to be ordered to get a, pardon the pun, crash course in dragon flying,” Herzer said. “But I assume one of you will be bringing in Chauncey?”
“Absolutely,” Jerry said with a frown. “I’m not even sure about…”
“Trust me on this,” Herzer said. “I’ve learned to read part of the way into that opaque mind of my boss. We’ll have to figure out how to get me trained on a ship.”
“We’ll try,” Jerry sighed.
“Okay, I’m going to go find Chief Brooks,” Herzer said. “Later.”
“Later,” Jerry replied as he walked away.
“I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes,” Evan said. “Chief Brooks doesn’t like his time wasted. If he’s not happy with a lieutenant it doesn’t keep him from, with great respect, of course, eating the lieutenant a new asshole.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to be the chief that tried to eat Herzer a new asshole,” Jerry said musingly. “Now, human being quarters?”
“I think I can live here for a while,” Daneh said, looking around the cabin after the others had left.
“It’s more comfortable than I expected,” Edmund admitted. “I was figuring we’d be in bunks.”
“You’re a duke now.” Daneh smiled. “And a general. People want to pamper you.”
“Like I need pampering,” Talbot said. He reached down and opened up the box again, then dug into the bottom, pulling out a small gemlike device.
“A datacube?” Daneh said. “I can’t believe she’s expending so much power on this! I’ve had people die because I didn’t have power.”
“Daneh, if we get this wrong far more people are going to die than will ever go under your knife in a very bad lifetime,” Edmund said. “And it’s not just a datacube.”
“What’s it for, then?” she asked.
“Communications among other things,” Edmund temporized. “And… in the event of a direct energy strike by Paul or any of his faction, they’ll draw power from Sheida’s protections. That’s how important this is to her. But we’re not to use it unless we really have to.”
“This is more than just an invasion,” Daneh said. “I mean, about more.”
“There are so many balls being juggled I’m not even sure which are in the air,” Edmund admitted. “But just concentrate on your mission and we’ll be fine.”
“I hate it when you get all inscrutable,” Daneh said, sighing. “Speaking of which, I have an interest in Herzer’s well-being. Why did you really bring him along?”
“When Jerry and his friends were racing wyvern, Herzer was fighting orcs in enhanced reality,” Edmund said, frowning. “With the pain protocols turned up. He’s a hard, cold, thinking bastard of a fighter. Harry tried to get those flyboys to pay attention to the mission, which is to force the enemy to admit defeat. He didn’t manage it. I’m hoping that Herzer has better luck.”
“And?”
“And…” Edmund smiled. “After the job he did in Harzburg he needed a nice vacation to the Southern Isles. A pleasant cruise, a beautiful roommate, who knows what might happen?”
“Edmund, are you matchmaking?” Daneh said, aghast.
“For Herzer? Always.”
“Your own daughter?!”
“Why not? They’re young, they’re compatible…”
“And Rachel treats him like a brother,” Daneh said, throwing up her hands. “Herzer is a stallion stud, Rachel, as far as I know, is still a virgin. And apparently uninterested in changing that fact. It’s not going to work.”
“It’s worth a shot.” Talbot shrugged. “Frankly, Rachel needs him more than vice versa. She just doesn’t realize it.”
“She’s making a fine life for herself,” Daneh answered. But even she knew it sounded defensive.
“Certainly,” Edmund replied with a nod. “If she wants to live it alone.”
“That’s up to her,” Daneh said. “I tried it.”
“How was it?” Edmund asked. “It was hell from my end.”
“Not that good,” she admitted with a smile. “Speaking of which, how long until we need to make an appearance?”
“Long enough.”
Joel’s duties were simple enough, if rather time consuming. He had the middle watch, from midnight until eight in the morning. He was to support the cooks that fed the watch and run coffee to the deck officers or any officers who were in the wardroom. He was only the steward for the XO on down; the captain had a separate steward who stayed on his schedule. It meant though, in effect, that he had the run of the officers’ quarters and wardroom and if there was a leak among the officers, he had a good chance of picking it up. In addition he had battle stations with the sickbay as a stretcher-bearer, was part of the capstan crew for raising anchor and had a position lowering the whaleboats in air-operations. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be getting much rest.
After getting him familiarized in his duties PO Singhisen released him to go try to get some sleep; he had to be back on duty at midnight.
In the cramped quarters he tried to drown out the noise of a card game at the end of the compartment, not to mention the quiet conversations of other off-duty seamen around him. Finally, he rummaged in his seabag and pulled out the penny dreadful he’d picked up, opening it to the dog-eared page and finding a grammatical error in the first sentence. Jeeze, this guy was bad. But at least it passed the time.
“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Shedol said.
“No, we haven’t,” Shanol answered, flicking him with his tail.
Shanol Etool had spent plenty of time wondering if he’d made a huge mistake taking a Change to orca form. Admittedly, after the Fall it was easier to survive as a Changed orca; knowing how to climb out of the water carefully and get back in just as carefully had yielded more than he could eat of seals.
On the other hand, an almost continuous diet of raw fish and marine mammals palled quickly. He might have starved in the Dying Time if he hadn’t changed, but while hunting dolphins for sport was one thing, eating them raw was another. And they could be brutal if you got separated from the pod.