"That…grunt…still makes no sense to me. Plain Nбhuatl, sister."
Maggie laughed again, rolling on her back and lolling her head off the edge of the bunk. Now she seemed upright to Gretchen, though her ears were pointing off at a strange angle. "The Wayfarer has a manual mode, where the operator can pick and choose which channels are live. This is also used for maintenance, where you don't have to shut down the whole system. Specific components can be turned on or off, even removed from the chassis. When I send a 'hello' across the t-link, the refused connection message comes back with an error code. Of course, the code isn't documented yet, not on a test system, but it matches the older military code for 'standby'."
"So…grunt…there was a problem, they turned it off. The problem got worse…grunt…no one came back to push the 'on' button."
"That's what the momma cat said."
Gretchen finished her count of two hundred and eight, then swung down off the bar. The Cornuelle was accelerating out from the station on normal-space drive, chewing up antimatter pellets and spitting plasma, which gave them one g inside the habitat areas of the ship. A bigger ship, a commercial liner or an Imperial battlewagon, would have g-decking everywhere. The Cornuelle was not a big ship. Gretchen stepped carefully over the duffels and equipment boxes strapped to the floor. The Marine gunso they had bumped back to hot-bunking with the rankers already had their cargo allotments aboard, so there was very little room for the Company people. A two meter–high polyfoam crate holding spare transmitter parts occupied the space where a little table and seats were usually pulled down.
She frowned at the clothing spread out on her bunk. Playing in the dirt, as her father would say, did not require dress-up clothes. Unfortunately, this was an Imperial ship of war, which meant chu-sa Hadeishi would have a dress evening mess. Gretchen sighed, turning over her "good" shirt. It had stains. Ruin bugs had eaten a hole in one sleeve.
"A citizen is humble, simply-dressed, respectful, pious…" she mumbled to herself, fingers twitching her trousers straight.
Maggie laughed again, her tail twitching. "You're the kit who always has dirt on her nose and looks so surprised! Will this clan-lord Hadeshee nip your ears for a dirty pelt?"
"Yes. Miss Sho-sa Kosho has been very polite and accommodating, but we need the commander's good will. He is Nisei, too, which means he will be very proper and traditional. He may have guests — I can't embarrass him too much. Time for the ol' enzymatic cleaner."
Gretchen squeezed into the end of her bunk, found a clean cloth, then picked up her boots. They were good boots — her mother had had them fitted and built for her by hand, of realcow leather, with shock-soles and brass fittings — but the dust of Ugarit fouled everything it touched. She sighed, seeing the soles were beginning to separate from the uppers.
"No matter…" She shoved them to the back of the bunk. Aboard ship they went about in light disposable deck shoes designed to adhere to the walking surfaces when they were in zero-g. She spat on the shirt stain, then began to gently rub it between her fingers.
Two Imperial Marines in sharply creased black dress uniforms with crimson piping stiffened to attention as Gretchen approached a hatchway outlined in pale blue. Each Marine had his hands behind his back, but heavy flat pistols were slung on their belts and they had visors as sharp and sleek as Maggie's. The Navy rating escorting her bowed politely and thumbed a comm pad set into the bulkhead next to the hatch.
"Doctor Gretchen Anderssen, Commander," he announced in a stiffly formal voice.
The pad chimed and the hatch recessed with a slight chuff and then slid up into the bulkhead. Her mouth suddenly dry, Gretchen nodded to the young man, then stepped inside. The room was small, like everything on the Cornuelle, but managed to hold a low traditional table for six, dressed with crisp white linen and thin porcelain cups. A very short man, barely reaching Gretchen's shoulder, bowed in greeting from the head of the table. The five other officers — ranging from the petite executive officer, Sho-sa Kosho, down to a midshipman, or sho'i ko-hosei, with pale red hair — also bowed in place, their hands flat on the tatami mat floor. Their incline was slightly deeper than Hadeishi's. Gretchen kept her face composed, hands together in front of her, and managed a bow halfway between those that had greeted her.
"Welcome, Doctor Anderssen," Hadeishi said. Gretchen blinked in surprise — the Nisei's Norman was flawless. "Please, join us."
Gretchen slipped off her deck shoes before entering the room, turning the motion into a second bow.
The midshipman scooted a little to one side. Gretchen knelt, smiling politely at the boy. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. Like the other officers, he wore a perfectly white dress uniform, with the fire-snake emblem of the Imperial Navy worked in copper at his collar. Above his heart rode the sunburst symbol of the Cornuelle and a square glyph holding a running man.
The other officers remained still, heads lowered. The captain smiled down the table at Gretchen, and raised a thin porcelain teacup in polite greeting.
"Doctor Anderssen, welcome to the Cornuelle. I am Mitsuharu Hadeishi, her captain."
"Konichiwa, Mitsuharu-san. Thank you for making me so welcome."
"Your Japanese is excellent," Hadeishi said, smiling, eyes crinkling up. Gretchen felt an odd sense of dislocation. She had worked with many Nisei; at the university, on Old Mars, even on Ugarit. They were unfailingly polite but she had never encountered a Japanese man, particularly one her social superior, that had genuinely smiled at her.
"Thank you. Your Norman is perfect."
"No, please, I have a slight accent." Hadeishi set down his cup. "You have already met Lieutenant Kosho, my executive officer and pilot. This fellow next to her is Lieutenant Second Hayes, our weapons officer." Hayes nodded, somehow appearing deferential to Kosho, though the XO was a tiny woman, even slighter of build than the captain. Lieutenant Hayes was nearly six feet tall and powerfully built. Gretchen smiled politely.
"The young ensign is Smith-tzin, who runs communications, and this last is Lieutenant Second Isoroku, master of our engineers." Smith managed to nod politely and Isoroku, a bull-headed bald Nisei, had no reaction at all. Obscurely, Gretchen found this cold behavior comforting — his reaction was what she had expected, not the genial, almost cheerful tone expressed by the commander. Hadeishi stood and straightened his dress jacket. His uniform was very simple, expressing the best attributes of the Empire — humility, modest dress, quiet unassuming power — though his collar tabs were gold and the eagle glyph of an Imperial war commander sat next to the sunburst. An elderly man in a simple dark gray kimono appeared with a tiny green jade cup and a slim sake flask. Hadeishi bowed to him, took the cup and turned, facing his right.
There, on a bulkhead covered with inset wooden screens painted with mountains in cloud, were two portraits. They were not holo images, but traditional paintings on cream-colored rice paper, in a delicate ink-brush with faint washes of color. On the left, looking very young, was the Lord of the World, Ahuizotl, the sixth of that name, huey tlatoani of the Mйxica and all other peoples under the domain of the Empire. The artist had captured his pensive nature well, looking off to one side, slim hand pressed against his chest.
Hadeishi bowed deeply to the image of the Emperor, then raised the jade cup.