"I'm not supposed to be out here," Chee said with great satisfaction. "They thought they could stop me by stealing my pants." He raised a hand to his mouth and blew a raspberry salute back toward the infirmary. "It didn't work, did it? And do you know why? Because I'm an admiral and people are more embarrassed seeing my ass than I am showing it. Watch."
He spun around and hiked up the back of his shirt to give me a better view of his skinny flanks. Reflexively, I flinched and the old man cackled with glee.
"Rank hath its privileges, Ramos! I'm not embarrassed and you are. You're blushing something awful… one side of your face, anyway."
I was too stunned to react, flabbergasted by what he'd said. While I was still trying to decide whether to be hurt or furious, the admiral gestured at a blue jacaranda painted on a nearby door. "What's this tree?"
"A jacaranda," I answered, still feeling numb.
"A jacaranda… that sounds familiar."
"It's the name of the ship."
"I know it's the name of the ship," Chee snapped. "I was making a joke."
"Sorry, sir."
"What's behind this door?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Why don't you know?"
"I'm an Explorer, sir. We don't get to see much of the ship."
He snorted. "Can't be much of an Explorer if you've been here six years and haven't explored the ship."
Once again, I was taken aback: how did he know how long I had been on the Jacaranda! But he was already off on another tangent.
"Have you ever discovered where the galley is, Explorer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let's go then; I want a snack. Mushrooms in hot chocolate… have you ever had that? Slice them, fry them, and float them on top. They look like fungus umbrellas in mud. You'll love it."
"I don't think we should go to the galley, sir."
"Why not?"
For some reason, it felt good to say no to an admiral, especially this admiral. "Your presence here is supposed to be a secret, sir. High Council's orders. If you go to the galley, you'll likely be seen by crew members — the night shift drop by the galley frequently."
"Oh, take out the pickle, Ramos!" he thundered. "Five minutes ago you're ready to mutiny, and now I can't have a snack because it's against orders? Be consistent, Explorer! That's the first rule of command: be consistent! You can be sadistic, you can be lazy, you can be stupid, but if you're consistent, the crew will still let you sit in when they play dominoes."
"Admiral, about the mutiny— "
"Semi-stupid move, Ramos, but only semi-stupid. If you'd thought a little longer, you'd have guessed the Council would plan for contingencies. On the other hand, you still should have shot that prick Harque. He's your subordinate; at this point, he's a freebie."
Chee winked broadly, then laughed when I looked bewildered. "Don't know how to take me, do you?" he grinned. "I'm not as senile as you might think. 'I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.' Who said that?"
"Hamlet?"
"Damned right, and aren't you glad I pressured the other admirals into requiring a Shakespeare course at the Academy?" He gave me a look, and this time I could see a glimmer of shrewdness hiding under the wild-eyed act. "The fact is, Explorer, I am not senile. My mind may wander from time to time, but mostly I am suffering from Don't-give-a-shit-itis. The High Council, bless 'em, think it might be contagious, so here I am. I presume you have some idea of how they use Melaquin?"
"Yes."
"Well, your idea is likely wrong, but who cares? Have you thought about the Landing?"
"We haven't had much time," I told him. "Or information."
"You won't get it either. Melaquin's ten hours away, and we've been ordered to Land within two hours of making orbit. I say we go to the galley, talk things out for the length of time it takes to drink a cup of hot chocolate, then get some sleep."
"It really would be better to stay out of the galley, sir. The orders— "
"Fuck the orders," Chee interrupted. "I'm in the mood for pointless gestures of defiance. We will occupy the galley. We will sing dirty songs to draw attention to ourselves. We will accost crew members in the corridors and tell them our life stories. We will write CHEE WAS HERE in soy sauce on the servery wall, and carve our names in the tabletops, using a knife whose blade does not exceed twenty centimeters in length."
"Admiral…"
"Yes?"
"Could we do all those things wearing pants?"
He heaved a mighty sigh. "Lighten up, Ramos. The best revenge is making them envy your freedom."
But he slunk back into the infirmary for his trousers.
Our Advantage
While the admiral was gone, Yarrun returned from the weapons locker. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders sagged.
"Cheer up," I told him.
"Why?"
"It's an order."
"Oh."
He slumped heavily onto the wall beside me. I think we were both tired enough to be glad we had something solid to lean against.
"So what now?" he asked.
"I talked to the admiral. He suggests a few minutes of planning in the galley, then sleep."
Yarrun stood a little straighter. "That sounds more… lucid… than I expected from the admiral."
"Chee is lucid," I replied. "Unstable and too damned whimsical, but I think he's healthier than the High Council suspects. Healthier on the mental scales, anyway. Physically… well, it's interesting that Harque and Prope are still in talking with Veresian. I suspect the good doctor found some medical condition that should legally keep the admiral out of any Landing party, and the captain is trying to convince Veresian to keep his opinions to himself."
"Who'll win?"
"Not us."
"Mmm."
Silence. The growing dizziness/giddiness of fatigue came sneaking into my brain, and it was only when Yarrun started speaking that I jerked out of near-sleep.
"If we look at this coldly," Yarrun said, "Chee's health is immaterial. He's strong enough to survive another twenty-four hours, and that's more than enough to get down and back… if we manage to get back. But the more clearheaded he is, the better for us."
"He'll be less of a burden, if that's what you mean."
"More importantly, he's an admiral. And the High Council of Admirals may be the only people who know anything about Melaquin. Chee is a potential source of information."
"Teams have landed with admirals before," I reminded him. "It hasn't helped them."
"But if our theory is correct, most of those admirals have been senile," Yarrun replied. "Our advantage is that this one still has brains we can pick."
The infirmary door swished open again and Chee skittered out. He had put on the top half of his gray uniform, but the trousers were slung over one shoulder; instead, he wore the baggy mauve pants used during surgery. He also wore a surgeon's mauve cap and thin rubber gloves. "Look at this great stuff!" he beamed.
I turned back to Yarrun. "Pick his brains fast — the crop's rotting on the vine."
The Admiral Proves His Sentience
[Conversation on the way to the galley.]
Chee: Do I really get to wear an Explorer suit?
Me: Yes, Admiral.
Chee: With the vanes sticking out the back and everything?
Me: Those are for ice planets. Melaquin is temperate, isn't it?
Chee: Of course.
Yarrun: Are you sure?
Chee: If you want to get technical, it's cold on the tips, hot in the middle, and temperate in between. But compared to ice planets and infernos, it's shirt-sleeve weather from pole to pole.