Dry, No Lube Ch. 04a: Desperado

"Ma'am?" He goggled back and forth between her face and the repeater, and Pixy rolled her eyes.

"Helm. You need about one percent more thrust from starboard, maybe another quarter percent more from port, to maintain velocity." She could look down and see the helmsman with her hand on the collapser bar, ready to execute the maneuver, but they were only supposed to take orders from the Officer of the Deck. Pixy frowned. "Maybe more like point-one-eight from port. I dunno. Sneak up on it." She watched closely as the lieutenant, frowning, bent over the helm, and was just about to provide a somewhat more sarcastic set of directions when the hatch behind her snicked closed.

"Well! We're moving!" The voice was bluff and hearty over a tread that shook the deck. "Just why are we moving, OOD?"

She watched closely as McZylenko wavered, his gaze straying. "Mind your helm, Lieutenant," she said quietly, "and just carry on. Focus on your course." She turned then, a slow and calculated twist in the chair that left her back whining. "We're moving because I told him to move us." The man behind her was huge, a bear, all red face and blonde beard. Another man stood beside him, docile, with a shaved head and old-fashioned eyeglasses, looking faintly apprehensive. Something hard to quantify, some shift down near her ovaries, told her the collapser bar was set properly now. "That's good, Mr McZylenko!" she called. "Hold her just so." When she looked back, the big guy was nodding.

"You're the new XO." He looked hard at her, pale blue eyes deep above his cheeks. It came to her suddenly that he looked a little like that ancient king or emperor or whatever, the one who'd beheaded all his wives. He licked his lips and smiled. "The Service lady."

"I'm the new XO," she nodded, "your boss." She waited while that sunk in, the ship vibrating subtly all around them, the crew trying hard not to watch as their officers squabbled. She was waiting for him to come to attention and salute, hoping for it. She knew she could humble him, but she also knew that this was the kind of officer who'd be popular aboard. That some of the bridge crew probably liked him.

This was the kind of officer who was here to make friends.

"Well." He sniffed, still with that smile playing among his beard. "You're relieving me, then."

"Ah. You're the First Officer." Pixy made her decision. She could tell she needed to put him in his place. Better sooner than later. By far. She smiled warmly. "I'll be with you shortly. OOD!"

"Ma'am?" He was down in the nav pit, messing with a tabslate.

"Have you developed a plan for course changes yet? Zigzags? Doglegs?" He blinked up dumbly. "Does this ship, or does it not, execute course changes during its passages?"

The First Officer cleared his throat. "There are the Standing Orders," he grinned. "Which might have been a good thing to familiarize yourself with before you launched us."

"Might have been," she nodded, "but this is a Fleet combat vessel. When she's ready to go, she goes. She doesn't wait for me to read order books." She nodded. "Perhaps we should discuss it in the wardroom. Mr McZylenko?"

"Uh, ma'am?"

"Hold your course. I'll be back shortly. If I'm not back in half an hour, or Captain Ledecki doesn't come up, then move back to velocity factor eight; that's at 1705 hours. Got that?"

"Aye aye, ma'am."

"Cool. Enter it in the log." She returned that warm smile to the First Officer. "After you, Lieutenant." He nodded and turned, which was fortunate since she didn't know where the wardroom was. Every ship she'd ever served aboard, it had been at the bottom of a lift or ladder just off the back of the bridge. She was aware that Combat vessels typically had them further astern, surrounded by the officers' quarters.

Traditionally, the wardroom was the XO's domain. She would determine the standards there. The cleanliness. The acceptable behaviors. The menu. The color and the furniture. If she wanted the repeater on the starboard wall rather than the port, it would happen. Move the coding table? The XO could snap her fingers and it would be done. Alcohol: yes or no? It was her call. Coffee hours. Number of attendants. All of it was her fief.

And Pixy wasn't even certain how to get there.

She memorized the corridors as they went, however, the broad shoulders ahead of her moving with purpose. Behind walked the bald guy with the glasses, pattering little footsteps, completely uninvited; Pixy already knew what she'd say to him, and when. "Right this way, ma'am." The first officer was loud, she'd certainly give him that. "We've been doing some cleaning; might be sort of messy."

"Yes." The hatch ahead had the ship's logo electrocoated on, shiny, a silvery crest surrounded by scuffed metal at the end of a dark, close passage. Pipes grazed the First Officer's head as he worked the doorcode. "I understand." The door was sliding sideways, and she turned to the little bald guy. "What are you, waiting around for my autograph? I don't need you here. Who are you?"

He blinked, the dim lights glinting off his glasses. "I'm Lister Welson." He didn't move, so neither did Pixy.

She stared up at him and then shook her head slowly. "Should that mean something to me?"

He braced up to attention, at least. "I'm your deputy, ma'am. Deputy XO."

"Oh. Shit. That's embarrassing." Pixy shook her head, the First already gone into the welcoming light of the wardroom. "You've been helping him out, then? During the vacancy?"

"That's right, ma'am." He brightened.

"Well, damn. I had no idea. I'm sure he appreciates it, and of course I'm glad to find I've got such an efficient deputy. But, see, I'm here now. I'm the actual XO. So you can fuck off, Mr Welson." She waved her fingers. "Vanish." He looked at her a little uncertainly, then backed off as she stepped into the wardroom and stopped short, her face twisting in anger. "No," she called back over her shoulder. "Correction. Don't go quite yet. There's a Marine officer, a Tygon. Name starts with T."

"Tatuu, ma'am."

"Yep. Pass the word for him. I want him here now." The guy threw a hasty salute as he scuttled off, leaving Pixy to step over her own duffel case on her way to the broad, clean table. "What's your name, Lieutenant?"

"I'm Delmer." He was over by the bar in the corner. "Do you take coffee?"

"No, tea. With butter."

He glanced back at her. "We don't have any butter-tea in here."

"A situation I'll expect you to remedy immediately after we talk, Mr Delmer." The chairs were comfortable enough, anyway. "They didn't have much information for me back at the Hub, about what happened out here. The vacancy. Who was the last XO? Someone named Jeldwein or something?" Her implant was busy now, a bluish flicker at the edge of her vision, loading her with information.

"Yes, Commander Jedwin. He... uh, he had an accident." Delmer sat familiarly on the sofa in the corner with a steaming mug of coffee. "He tripped and fell."

"Tripped and fell?"

"Out of an airlock. The Big Step." Delmer was smiling again, nodding knowingly, and Pixy sighed. Sure, a suicide; they never talked about that shit, officially. "It's been about three months now. The ship sort of runs herself, to be honest."

She couldn't stop a short, barking laugh. "That's not exactly the way things are supposed to be in Fleet."

"Well," Delmer shrugged easily, "maybe not in Service Command." It hung there like a nebula, twinkling in the distance, and Pixy knew he was challenging her.

"Mr Delmer," she began lightly, one last time before giving him the smackdown, "perhaps you can explain what you mean by that."

He slurped defiantly at his coffee, eyes narrowing over the rim of the mug, then nodded as he spoke. "There aren't a lot of people that transfer from Service to Combat, and I can't help but think there might be a reason for that."

"It's my understanding," she shot back, "that there aren't a lot of senior Lieutenants posted all the way out here in the fucking Void." She let him see her eyes flit around his uniform, the unit patches, the moderate awards. "Very senior, yes? You're promotable, aren't you?"

He nodded, glaring now. "What's your point?"

"What's your point ma'am." His lip curled into a smirk. "It doesn't take a wave-particle dualistician to figure out that Outer Parabolic Station Four is not exactly a place where they put winners." She shrugged. "It's no biggie. I'm damaged goods too, Service and all. What's your deal?" She leaned across the table. "Whose ass did you fail to kiss?"

He regarded her coldly, then shrugged. "There are a million Type C shuttles in service. And yet?" He snickered. "They get pissed off when you crash one. Into the port high-beam antenna."

Pixy arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't know." The last time she'd shredded a shuttle, there'd been a Flasbard tank battalion charging toward her. She held his gaze a moment, knowing there was more to the story. "You break one of my shuttles, Mr Delmer, and that'll be a problem."

"You used to be a supply officer." He wiped at his nose. "I looked you up. Naturally, the loss of a shuttle would sting you."

Speaking of stinging... he was trying to goad her, and Pixy wanted to be goaded. Her mind's eye saw her boot in his ass, but something told her she should keep control. Humiliating underperformers on the bridge was one thing; brawling with popular officers was something else. She took a deep breath. "Ma'am," she corrected softly.

He nodded. "Just so. Will that be all? I've got things to do; it was nice meeting you, and I look forward to working with you." He started to his feet, Pixy's deep breath gushing out.

Screw control.

"Sit your fucking ass down." She waited, glaring, until he obeyed with no great haste. "Mr Delmer, there's a level of sauciness that I won't tolerate, even from senior officers." She was holding back because she needed information, her interview with Ledecki deeply surprising. "I was curious," she went on slowly, "about whether it's customary on this ship for the captain to be absent from the bridge during maneuvers."

This was code, of course, and she knew a man of Delmer's evident experience would understand it. What she was really asking was what the fuck is up with the captain? Is she insane? Delmer regarded Pixy thoughtfully, his coffee mug empty, then shrugged. "Captain Ledecki is Fleet-sponsored and highly ranked in Parcheesi. She's entered in a major tournament next month? Two months from now?" He shrugged once more. "That's her war, Commander. She's a PR source for Fleet. She spends most of her time prepping."

Pixy felt her eyes go wide. "No shit?"

"I think," he replied calmly, "that you'll find it's best to lower your expectations, in general." He stared a moment longer, watching the words sink in. "Ma'am." A noise at the door drew his eye, and he nodded to himself. "Case in point," he muttered.

Pixy twisted in the chair to see Tatuu standing uncertainly at the door. "Ah. Lt Tatuu. Wondering why I called you?"

He snapped to attention; Marines were like that sometimes. When in doubt, salute. "No, ma'am."

"March toward me, Lieutenant. Straight toward me, if you please." Delmer had settled back against the couch cushions, amused, and Tatuu frowned.

"Just march, ma'am?"

"Yes please. Straight line." He glanced down uncertainly at Pixy's duffel case, lying in the doorway. "What, you can't? You can't walk straight into the wardroom? Could it be because some lazy-ass motherfucker left my duffel case right in the middle of the walkway?"

He drew back as if slapped. "Sorry, ma'am. I, uh, wasn't sure whether you'd want me in your quarters to drop it off."

"Why the fuck not? It's not like I've ever been there. You're hardly invading my privacy if none of my shit's unpacked." She nodded at the case. "Regardless, blocking a walkway is a stupid thing to do. Right?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Great. Then show me you understand that." She watched, the silence stretching awkwardly, until Tatuu licked his lips and took the leash.

"I'll just stow this in your quarters, ma'am."

"Why, thank you. That's very kind of you, Lt Tatuu." She beamed carefully. "You have a good day now." Delmer was chuckling when she turned back his way.

"Definitely. Your expectations are definitely too high."

Pixy shrugged, her cards on the table. "I came to Combat because Service is boring, not because Service is undisciplined. It would be a real shame if I discovered that Combat is both boring and undisciplined." He shrugged. "And start calling me ma'am, or I'll fucking beat the shit out of you."

"Nah." He smiled blandly. "Captain Ledecki doesn't tolerate corporal punishment, especially for officers." He winked. "Ma'am." He gestured toward the shelf by the coding-gun rack. "It's all in the Standing Orders. Seriously, ma'am, can I go? I really have got things to do."

"Mmhmm. The paperwork you're leaving me is a mess. So as long as you're off to clean up that shit, you can go." Her implant, with all the ship's business uploaded, had been giving her a headache.

"Jesus H Buddha! You're here now, ma'am. Why can't you do it?" She just stared at him, contained, focused, until he sighed theatrically. "I'll get to it."

"The legal stuff, in particular. There are cases dating back three months, completely indisposed. Why?"

He shrugged. "That, there's a reason for. The ship's legal clerk is off the ship on a course. She's due back..." his eyes shifted sideways, doing the math. "Shit. Anytime now, I think?" He glared at her. "Ma'am. Truly. I need to get to work on all this."

"Go ahead, as soon as you lay in a supply of butter-tea." She was dying for it, warm and soothing, but she had places to go, too. She didn't want McZylenko scrubbing speed, meaning she had to get back up to the bridge so he'd feel he had supervision. "Oh, and when you tell your little friend Mr Welson what we talked about in here, send him to me afterwards. If he's my deputy, he and I have things to discuss."

Delmer's bristly head nearly brushed the ceiling as he stood. "Yes, ma'am." He said it with more than a hint of mockery, Pixy once again keeping her temper.

This was going to be a long tour.

* * *

It was five days before Pixy was able to summon Jeyne to her quarters aboard their new ship. Hell, it was three days before she was able to even see what her own quarters looked like. The rest of the time was a desperate series of implant uploads, the Standing Order book making its way into her brain along with the ship's company, the officers' roster, the Marine SOPs, and her supply officer's increasingly desperate attempts to bring his inventory receipts into balance. "What's the matter here, Mr Vecque?" she'd demanded at last, not unkindly, sitting across from him in her office.

It was a nice office. That was one thing Pixy could say: all the XO spaces were fucking great, star views in every one. He'd shrugged miserably. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm just not very good at this."

Pixy had stared. "Good at this? Good at what? At your job, Mr Vecque?" The upshot had been that she'd decided she might have to go to the captain and request the assistant supply officer take a more active role. The problem there, she reflected, would be getting the captain to meet with her.

It turned out that Vecque was an enlisted guy, promoted for bravery... which was a nice thing for Fleet to do, but sometimes not all that helpful. Pixy had brooded, tapping her pen irritably on her desk. She still could not make heads nor tails of the mysterious Captain Ledecki. The other officers, when she probed gently, seemed very happy with her, and why not? She kept to her cabin and let them do whatever the fuck they wanted. They seemed to regard her as some sort of mascot.

She'd finally decided she had to bring it up to her bedwarmer. "Is this normal in Combat Command?" she whispered, the starlight bathing her sweaty body.

"Is what normal?" Jeyne seemed to be fitting in well enough under Paulus, but he was fitting in even better under Pixy, starting with that first frenzied evening when they'd finally been able to get away after a missile drill. He'd literally stayed inside her for an hour, hard the entire time. It wasn't always easy for XOs to have bedwarmers, and Jeyne (as the New Guy) had confessed he'd already had two other offers. You're not taking them, she'd snapped, tensing her pussy around him, and from the energy with which he'd eaten her out he seemed to agree. "A clueless captain? Pixy, this is Fleet. Higher authority is always clueless."

"Present company excepted, you asshole." She'd smacked his balls. She'd missed him, the loneliness of her job and the newness of the situation making her sour. She'd need to be careful, she told herself, not to fall in love; the man was an excellent bedwarmer, and a good fuck, too. His wife was lucky.

"I've been asking around, and the consensus is that no, she's unusual. A couple of the sailors down in the commo shop don't even know the skipper's name." Her eyes widened. "I know! I've never seen that before."

Pixy frowned. "I thought it might just be some sort of Combat thing. The captain being reticent. Distant, on such a big ship." She'd glanced at him when he was silent. "What?"

"You think this ship is big?"

"Compared to a GP? It's a fucking monster." Jeyne had been on a cruiser last, with six months' temporary duty on a dreadnought.

"It's not uncommon for the crew not to see the captain all that often," he mused. "It's highly unusual for the officers not to see her." Ledecki had made no effort to reach out to Jeyne. "Unthinkable for the captain not to talk to the XO. The word is that Fleet put her way out here so that she could work on her Parcheesi. Which they don't even have on my planet; I had to look it up," he laughed. "The other lieutenants say it was the same with the last XO: he did everything." She went abruptly still in his arms. "What?"

"Don't talk to me about what the lieutenants say about the XO."

He smiled. "You nervous, Pixy?"

This time, when she smacked his balls, her fingers stayed there, tightening until he grunted. "I'm fucking serious," she hissed. "You're warming my bed. You're not here to gossip. It's unhealthy for us to talk about the other officers." She twisted; even now, with an important point to make, she admired the shape and size of his scrotum in her fingers. She knew her hand would smell like his balls when she went on duty. He gasped, beginning to squirm, and she felt something give inside her, the need not to make this man her enemy. "I... I like you, Felix. Don't make me kick you out."

"No, ma'am."

"No more gossip." She twisted some more, and he went pale.

"No, ma'am."

"Good." She swung around, grinding her bare body into his as he gasped her hair in. "Hold me." She'd been on duty for 30 hours, the demands constant, still trying hard to learn all the systems, all the people.

The systems! Service ships had redundant systems, obviously; every spacecraft did, and the crew drilled so that they'd know what to do in an emergency. The problem with that mindset was that this was a Combat ship, where "in an emergency" was the default setting: a Service ship was supposed to be able to take damage and save the crew until you could get to a repair basin. A Combat ship was supposed to take damage and keep functioning at 100%.

Which required shunting. Lots and lots of shunting. You had to know that the paravane system and the solar-flare detectors ran alongside each other down the starboard side, so that when the Cathos Vremein rammed a disruptor into the port paravane, you could still control it by shunting the flare detectors, which meant a damage control party had to be sent to the right junction. The systems guy needed to know where that junction was.