The spaceman, who wore the white sleeve stripe of a second-class spaceman, crawled out and jumped to his feet, then blearily perceived that he was in deep water. “Oh. Uh, good morning, sir.”
Captain David Wanker was smiling pleasantly at him. “Good morning!”
The spaceman swallowed hard. “Welcome aboard, sir.” He saluted.
Wanker returned the salute. “You don’t even know who I am. I could be a part of a Kruton commando team.”
The spaceman, a short man with pudgy features, cast a nervous glance about the airlock. “Uh, sir, are you?”
Wanker blinked. “Am I what?”
“Part of a… you know.”
“Kruton commando team? Well, I could be. Krutons can change shape at will. Spaceman, what’s your—? What in blazes are you doing?”
The spaceman had reached into a drawer of the desk and pulled out a quantum flamer, which he now leveled at Wanker.
“Put that thing down!” Wanker ordered.
The spaceman’s resolve vanished instantly. Lowering the gun, he seemed confused. “Is this a drill, sir?”
“No, this is not a drill. I’m the — quit pointing that silly thing at me, you incredible idiot!”
The spaceman lowered his side arm again. “Sir, make up your mind, please!”
“I’m the new captain, you boob! Captain David Wanker, United Systems Space Forces, reporting to take command of this vessel. Now do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. But we didn’t expect you till later on today, sir.”
“Excuse me for being early! Didn’t mean to trouble you”—Wanker eyed the man’s name tab—”Able Spaceman Smithers.”
“Oh, no trouble, sir,” Smithers said.
“Sorry to interrupt your nap. What the devil to you mean by sleeping on duty? How would you like to be court-martialed?”
“I’m already being court-martialed, sir.”
“You are? What for?”
“Sleeping on duty, sir. But the legal officer says he’ll get me off. I have a sleep disorder, sir.”
“You have a sleep disorder?”
“Yes, sir. Sleep apathy.”
“Apathy? You mean sleep apnea, don’t you?”
“That’s it, sir. Apnea.”
“Very well. Where’s the officer of the deck?”
“The first officer, Lieutenant Commander Rhodes, is officer of the deck today. There’s hardly anyone aboard, sir.”
“Where is everybody?”
“Breakfast, sir. It’s early.”
“No guards on the hatch, no officer of the deck. What the hell’s the idea, leaving a military vessel unguarded like this?”
“No idea, sir. It’s just that everyone’s dirtside and there’s no one to stand watch during mealtime. It’s only for a half hour at a time, sir.”
“During which a Kruton commando brigade could … oh, for Pete’s sake.”
“Don’t make a move, Krutie!” Smithers ordered, again brandishing the quantum flamer. “Move one tentacle and I’ll blow you to the other side of the galaxy.”
“I don’t have any tentacles, you numbskull! Listen, didn’t you receive a dispatch that I would be reporting?”
“Well, sir, yes, sir. But you could still be a Krutie.”
Wanker considered it. “You know, spaceman, you’re absolutely right. One thing, though — Krutie commandos rarely work alone. You’re forgetting about my buddies — behind you.”
“Huh?” The spaceman whirled, and Wanker leapt. The sawed-off swab proved tougher than he looked, and more wiry. Wanker couldn’t take him down, and ended up riding Smithers’s back trying desperately to wrench the gun away. Smithers kept wildly turning about.
“Spaceman, put down that flamer!”
A tall, gangling, towheaded officer with commander’s stripes on his sleeve came rushing into the airlock. Seeing him, Smithers quit squirming; whereupon Wanker snatched the quantum pistol and slid off.
Smithers was contrite. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t know you were gay.”
“What?”
“I’m not prejudiced, sir, really I’m not.”
“You are a strange man, Smithers.”
The officer jogged up to Wanker, came to attention, and saluted. “Welcome aboard, sir!”
Wanker returned the salute and shook the officer’s proffered hand. “Mr. Rhodes, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. Happy to have you aboard.”
“I’m not happy to be aboard.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Well, we’re still happy, sir.”
“I’ll bet you’re ecstatic. What’s the meaning of leaving this ship unguarded? A new captain reporting to his ship must be piped over the side and received with a color guard. What do I get? A swab catching forty winks while anyone could come storming through that hatch.”
“Sir, it won’t happen again. Sir, it’s nice to see you, but you just picked a bad time to come aboard, sir. We’re undermanned at the moment, and—”
“Never mind. Ye gods, this is getting off to a great start.”
Wanker now noticed how extremely tall and thin Rhodes was, and how gawkish and curiously put together. With that country-fried drawl of his (Suh, it’s nahss t’see yuh, but y’picked a bad tahm tuh come aboahd), he came across as tall hay gone quite to seed.
“Spaceman, see that the captain’s bag is stowed in the captain’s quarters!”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Rhodes.”
Wanker jabbed a finger at Smithers. “No, don’t leave that hatch unguarded! Belay that order, spaceman.”
Rhodes said, “I’ll stay here, Captain. Smithers, take the bag. Sir, if you’ll just—”
“Stay where you are, Smithers. Mr. Rhodes, I want a tour of the ship, now, with you at my side. Have Smithers watch my bag until someone can either relieve him or take it to my cabin.”
Smithers was annoyed. “Well, jeez, make up your mind, sirs.”
“What was that?” Wanker snapped.
“Nothing, sirs. Sir. Captain, sir.”
Wanker took off his officer’s cap and smoothed his unruly red hair, brushing a pesky cowlick from his forehead. “This is ridiculous. I’ll take the damned bag along.”
“Please, Captain, leave it here,” Rhodes said. “It’ll be safe.”
“I’m not taking any chances. Been a rash of pilfering in the fleet lately.”
“I’ll sit on it for you, sir!” Smithers piped.
“You mean you’ll sleep on it. You do and I’ll have you spaced, chucked out the airlock buck naked.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t sleep on it, Captain.”
Wanker threw his spacebag at Smithers, who caught it neatly. “Sweet dreams. All right, Mr. Rhodes, if we’re all squared away now, give me the Cook’s tour of this tub.” Wanker sighed. “Don’t you just love that kind of manly space talk?”
“Always gives me a thrill. This way, Captain.”
CHAPTER 3
“Rusty” was in the cargo hold sweeping up the debris left by some last minute crating. He didn’t like sweeping up, but he wasn’t about to complain. Jobs as research assistants were at a premium these days. Budget cuts. It wasn’t a high-paying job, as jobs went, but it paid the bills and gave Rusty three meals a day. And there were other benefits that were much better than any salary.
The job had given him a chance to travel. Here he was, aboard a military starship far out in space. They were to rendezvous with another ship, the test ship. Once aboard, “Rusty,” “Chicolini,” and the Boss would begin a series of test runs that would be the culmination of years of experiment and research.
Six long years of work.
Well, not hard work, but work just the same.
Six years of spending government money. The equipment and supplies they’d bought! Millions spent on antiproton generators and microfusion reactors and endless varieties of technological extravagance.
The parties they’d had! Hundreds of thousands squandered on wine and women and drugs and kicky off-the-shelf brainware…