Startled, the j.g. had to have the query repeated. "Sure, yeah, hey, that stuff's probably the only thing we haven't used in this campaign."
"Deep sleep will not solve a morale problem," Gruen said. "It'll only defer it."
"Used as a hibernant, yes, but used to induce a deep and restful slumber, now, that's another thing. We can't give the men an R and R but we can give 'em S and D. Sleep and dreams." Damia was so positive that some of her enthusiasm began to infect the others with hope. "What your troops need is restful, REM sleep, to help relieve the backup of willie-horrors…"
"And how in hell are you going to tend close to four thousand sleeping troopers? They've got to be fed, evacuated, and…" Gruen stopped and Damia, grinning broadly now, waved her hands, encouraging him to talk himself into the next step. He stared at her with dawning comprehension.
"Yup, that's right. Battle dress drill. I know you made 'em all service their suits on the surface. There's enough nutrient fluid to keep every single one of them going for ten days. And the suits do bodily functions as well as monitoring. Why must such expensive equipment be used only in war?"
The others around the table, even those who had remained silent, began to talk.
"Malf" - Damia turned to the life-support officer - "can you block off the barracks decks from Operations? You guys still have to run the ship even if your passengers are all asleep."
"Ah, yes, I think so, except I thought sleep gas is skin-permeable. Wouldn't the suits…"
"Seal all the air locks from the troop decks, and penetrating as that hibernation gas is, it won't affect the ship's crew," Damia went on, sort of running roughshod over objections. "Now, just a minute, Dame," Gruen began.
"Shit, Jay, you need the rest more than your men. I promise you, at the concentration we'll pour into the troop quarters, everyone will go beddie-byes and dream sweet. Dream themselves right back into rested, resilient minds quite willing to take on this new challenge. Hell, if they're deeply asleep, we can even do some sleep training, and they'll be fit as fiddles when we rendezvous with Grampian"
"You're sure it'll work?"
Amalfi had to look away from Colonel Gruen's face: the beseeching look of hope revived was almost more than she could bear seeing.
Damia put her hand on Gruen's shoulder. "I don't know anything else to try. And sleep's not going to hurt anyone aboard this ol' tub…" She shot an apologetic grin at Brace and Argyll. "If the entire regiment is suited save the medical staff, and with a little help from the Mandalay personnel, we can check you all out."
"Is there enough protective garb, Arvid?" Loftus asked. "You gotta have the right gear or you'll end up asleep at the switch."
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Plenty," Arvid replied. Amalfi thought he hadn't taken in exactly what was being planned.
"Malf, can you handle your end of it? Blocking the vents?"
"I'd only need to block off at three deck. But I'll have to bunk in with someone else," Amalfi said. "I wouldn't mind sleeping through it all but I haven't got a battle suit," she added, responding to the lightening of mood.
"Good girl, Trotter," Gruen said, his eyes alive again in his face. "Now Brace, how d'you think the captain will take this?"
The science officer and nominally the second-in-command to the captain gave the colonel a slow smile. "I don't think he'll quibble. Jay, it's not exactly a naval decision. Mandalay's proud to ferry the Montana Irregulars. We want to help. After all, if this Syndicate is half as bloodthirsty as rumor makes 'em, we've got to have at least one regiment fighting-fit."
"Good. I'll just stop up to his quarters and give him the word. Let's get cracking. The faster we can suit 'em all up, the quicker we avoid problems." The colonel nearly bounced out of the wardroom, followed by a cheerful Loftus and their captains, looking remarkably bright-eyed.
"Arvid," Damia Pharr said, "I'll just get the specs on that sleepy-time gas so I get the dose calibrated correctly. Can't have our beauties oblivious to wake-up time…" She had the supply officer by the arm and was hauling him away.
"How many hands will you need, Ms. Trotter, to effect the seal-off?" Brace asked her. Amalfi was running the figures in her head, but Brace waved her to the wardroom con- sole. "If this works, I might try a little compulsory shut-eye myself on the next leg of this voyage."
At 2302, following Captain August's devious advice, every alarm system on the Mandalay howled, hooted, and shrieked. Troopers on every deck, even those in the brig and infirmary, were ordered into their battle suits until the "break in the skin of the Mandalay" could be mended.
As the seasoned troops, cursing vehemently, struggled into their protective battle armor, complaints were rife but not a breath of suspicion. If some thought it very odd that they hadn't been ordered to close and seal their helmets against loss of oxygen, battle-weary troops don't do more than they're told to. The first insidious flow of the diluted hibernation gas spread across every deck simultaneously. Not one trooper noticed - and every one of them fell asleep, held upright in parade readiness by his stout battle suit.
The crew in their protective gear muttered about it being bloody unnatural to move through the rank and file, lowering each to the horizontal mode. To relieve the tedium of their caretaking duties, there was a spritely competition about who had the most outrageous snore, the longest, the most involved, the funniest. There was considerable controversy in the Mandalay's wardroom about the competition: they didn't want the results to affect the Navy-Marine relationships when the troops were finally awakened. Captain August had been heard to chuckle as some of the snore tapes were replayed.
"You'll notice. Captain," Damia Pharr said shortly before they had reached the rendezvous, "that crew morale has also improved."
"Noted, Major. We can only hope that the improvement also includes our sleeping beauties."
"It will, sir, it will," Pharr replied so devoutly that the captain entertained no further doubts.
By the time the Mandalay eased into position in a docking bay at the gigantic supply ship Grampian, even the air aboard had improved from barely breathable to quite pleasant.
The officers were the first roused, for orders had come for them to attend a briefing on the flagship. If the sparkle in the eyes of Colonel Gruen and Major Loftus was any indication, Pharr's therapy had indeed worked its magic.
"We'll wait till our return, Pharr, to effect a full-scale revival," Gruen told his medical officer, ignoring her smug grin. "We just might have some good news to relay with the bad by then. Won't hurt. It's been so peaceful I almost hate to wake 'em up"
Damia Pharr responded with a huge, jaw-popping yawn. "I get a chance for some S and D first, Jay!"
"S and D?"
"No R and R? Try S and D. Makes a difference. You will see."
Formally piped on board the flagship, the colonel found an anxious wife waiting at the air lock for sight of him. Her amazement at his rejuvenation was heartening.
"I can't believe my eyes, Jay," she said, giving him a quick but ardent kiss under the eyes of the grinning officer and ratings who were in the portal. "Two weeks ago, you looked ghastly…" She broke off without further detail of that clandestine contact and pulled him down the companionway out of sight. "And it's not just you. Hello, Pete, you look rested and raring to go, too. How ever did you do it?"
"You can't keep a good regiment down, you know," Pete Loftus replied, grinning. Then a yawn escaped him and, chagrined, he belatedly covered his mouth.
"There was nothing wrong with any man in the Montana Irregulars, Pamela," Jay Gruen told his astonished wife, "that a good long sleep couldn't set right. A little S and D would do you no harm either. I'll tell you about it on our way to beard the general in his lair."