"Aren't you supposed to be our commanding officer?" Marine Heicho Felix slid down the ladder and took a careful look around the hanger, one hand on the stock of her assault rifle, before relaxing a little. Satisfied the immediate area was clear of danger – the hangar looked like every other Fleet maintenance facility she'd ever seen – she gestured Helsdon and his technicians down out of the aircraft. "Take a little care, kyo."
"Here?" Smith waved a negligent hand around, indicating the fuel gurney being wheeled out by two Fleet crewmen, the mammoth shape of an assault shuttle filling most of the hangar, and the exposed wooden ribs of the huge building. "We can breathe the air, we're in the middle of a Fleet base with three brigades of combat troops around us, I have my medband on…" He held up a skinny, fish-belly-pale wrist to show her. "…and…Lord of Hosts, what is that divine smell?"
Felix turned slowly, brown eyes narrowed, and tucked thick, black hair behind her ear. There was a smell – pungent, oily, sharp as a knife, tart with something familiar…
"Oh. Oh oh." Smith moved spasmodically forward, a glazed look in his eyes. "I smell roasting meat, Heicho. I smell…barbacoa! With chГles and onions! Real, fresh onions. Are those tripas? Someone's cooking real food!"
Felix took hold of his collar, dragging the midshipman back. Smith was easily a head taller than Felix, but he didn't work out in the Cornuelle's gymnasium every single day, without fail. On a small ship like the Henry R., a great deal of work was done in low or zero-g conditions. Fleet didn't bother to lay in grav-decking in every crew space, only in primary crew quarters, the mess and exercise spaces. The Marine had no trouble keeping her officer from charging across the flight line.
"I see the barbecue pit, kyo." Felix pointed with the flash-suppressing muzzle of her assault rifle. Unlike the lightweight shockrifle the Marines toted shipside, the Heicho was now sporting an ugly, black-finished 'top-deck'-style Macana 8mm assault rifle. Groundside, Felix didn't have to worry about punching a hole in the ship and letting her air out. The Macana was slung under her right arm on a shortened strap, one long clip in the magazine and another taped reversed to the first. A Nambu automatic was tucked under her other arm, held close by the gunrig strapped over her body armor. "Do you see what's between here and there?"
"Nothing!" Smith made a face, trying to brush off the Marine's hand.
At that moment, a thundering, earth-shaking roar split the air. Hot wind rushed past the hangar doors and a huge shape swept past, throwing a split-second shadow on the runway. Heat from the afterburners of another Fleet shuttle washed over them, making Smith turn away.
Felix pushed up her combat goggles and gave the midshipman an arch look. "Nothing. Of course."
"Sir?" Chief Machinist's Mate Helsdon, hands clasped behind his back, caught Smith's eye. "Would you like me to see about the replacement parts we need?"
Smith sighed, gave Felix an apologetic shrug and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."
Turning his back on the open hangar door and the shimmering, miragelike vista of the officer's recreational complex squatting between the two runways, Smith flipped open a handpad from his duty jacket. "All right, Sho-sa Kosho would like us to tick off two priorities while we're groundside." He nodded to Helsdon. "You've got chief engineer Isoroku's list of replacement parts for the ship. I doubt local industry is up to fabricating most of this stuff, but maybe you can cadge some from the base supply officer. Or…there's a note here from the commander saying a near-space development effort is underway at the port. A coalition of local kujenates – whatever those are – and the Imperial Development Board are working on deploying a series of communications satellites in orbit. Sho-sa Kosho says they're behind schedule, so hopefully you can swindle them out of whatever we need."
"Understood, sir." Helsdon had his own copy of the list, but he was being very polite. "All that will take some time – we're low on virtually every kind of material, machine part, and friable tool. When should we meet back here?"
Smith looked at his chrono, frowned, then looked out the hangar doors at the coppery afternoon sky.
"Local time is thirteen-hundred, sir." Felix had already adjusted her chrono to show both shiptime and groundtime.
"We'll be making more than one trip…" Smith sniffed the air, then shook his head mournfully. "But until we know the lay of the land, we'll bunk on the ship. We meet back here at nineteen-hundred, gentlemen. Heicho, send two of your men with Helsdon, the rest will come with us."
"Aye, aye." Felix motioned at two of the Marines in her fireteam. "Tyrell, Cuizmoc; keep the engineers from having their shoes stolen."
"Right." Smith thumbed through his list – direct from the Chu-sa – and grimaced. "Where the devil are we going to get all of these things? Five thousand kilo-liters of purified water, four hundred kilos of wheat flour (or equivalent), twelve hundred square meters of cotton sheeting, sixty kilos of chile powder, three hundred square meters of nonskid decking, a hundred twenty kilos of chocolatl powder, a ton of potatoes…"
Felix was waiting patiently, a slight smile on her elfin face, when the midshipman glared at her in a rather plaintive way.
"Why do you look so smug, Heicho?"
"Why, sir, haven't you ever been shopping before?"
Smith made a face and ignored her while scanning through the rest of the list. By the time he was done, his foul mood had evaporated. "Good, we can divide up the rest of this. You take the dry goods and mess supplies, while I see about arrangements for shore leave for the crew."
Felix's eyes narrowed slightly. Of course you'd be glad to arrange for the hotels – fresh sheets, convenient brothels, home-cooked food, hot water – for the crew. And make sure to see they're of proper quality…men!
"I'm sorry kyo, but you're the officer on mission and you have the Fleet scrip to pay for all the things we need. I'm not authorized to sign for purchases, just here to make sure brigands don't cosh you on the head and drag you off to toil in a salt mine. Sir."
Smith gave her a fulminating look for a long moment, then shrugged in defeat. "Fine. Let's go. You lead, bam-bam."
"Aye, kyo!" Felix gestured for her two remaining Marines to take point and tail, then plucked her own handpad out of the other holster slot in her gunrig. Humming tunelessly to herself, the Marine thumbed up a map of the spaceport and surrounds. She had already marked a number of locations on the holodisplay. "If it pleases you, kyo, we will want to hire a ground truck first…"
Hadeishi handed off his jacket, replete with service ribbons, two small medals and what seemed – now – to be a very paltry amount of gold braid, to old Yejin, his steward, as the door chimed.
"Enter." The Chu-sa was exhausted, but he managed a tiny smile for Sho-sa Susan Kosho when she stepped into the outer room of his office. The slim, perfectly coiffed executive officer's nostrils flared slightly to find her commander in shirtsleeves, but then she caught sight of his face and stiffened like a sword blade drawn ringing from the sheath.
"Ship's status?" Hadeishi unsealed the collar of his shirt and sat down on one of the low cushions lining the wall of his stateroom.
"Nominal." Kosho gave him a sharp look. "Circumpolar orbit, as directed by squadron traffic control. Crew is on stand-down and there are two shuttles groundside, arranging for resupply."
"Yejin-san, bring us something to drink. Sake, I think. If there is any Nadaizumi left."