Dry, No Lube Ch. 06: Skulduggery

So? Protocol demanded the ship's commanding officer greet the Army, and that meant Pixy was down there standing to the right of Golightly, the Boarding Officer. He eyed the docking indicator. "Blue point," he announced. Pixy, veteran of countless shuttle dockings, knew the sequence in her sleep. And yet Golightly insisted on giving color commentary. "They'll be turning off their gravity now."

"Jesus H Buddha, you dumbshit," she sighed in return, leaning against the wall, "did you not do your research? Diplo couriers only have limited gravity anyway. You need to subtract to get a modified blue point." She exchanged a glance with the docking tech, who rolled his eyes. "You. Weppinger. Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, ma'am. You let them dock first, then check the equalizing meter, then -- "

"Fine. You do this." She glared up at Golightly. "Pay attention to Petty Officer Weppinger. He knows what to do." Muffled grinding clangs came through the hull beneath their feet, the impregnated graphene dragging against the diplo's sleek skin, and the tech frowned down at his gauges.

When the hatch swung up, Pixy smelled the heady gunpowder aroma of space, a faint hint of sulphur thrown into the tangy gasp of chilliness that drifted up and away, leaving nothing but the smooth blue hull at the other end of the docking boot. "See, sir, I used the short boot because..." came the hushed tones of the tech as he taught Golightly, but by that time the little ship's hatch was slithering open to reveal a mustached face gazing curiously up into the corridor.

This was not the Subcolonel Smith Pixy had met before. This was a captain, which was a much less impressive rank in the Army than it was in Fleet.

She peered down, their eyes stalemating slightly while the Army guy frowned up like he was expecting something a little bit different. She cleared her throat, then figured it out. "You're going to need to actually climb out, dude," she told him. "We have gravity here."

"Oh." He shrugged, then wormed his way through the hatch; a nod from Pixy sent Golightly in to help him up. "I'm Captain Corcovado. I'm the driver."

"Great. Where's your boss?" Pixy demanded, still looking down into the boot.

"He's right here." The face that came looming out of the diplo ship wore the same grim smile it had last time she'd seen it, when he'd been interviewing her in her office after the mutiny against Admiral Shonzey. "Imagine my surprise, Commander Pfeiffer, when I figured out what ship I was heading toward."

"Colonel... Smith. Yes?" She watched as he sprang from the ship, ignoring Golightly's outstretched hand. He was in full Army uniform, with a subcolonel's cape and, as she'd assumed before, only about a quarter of whatever medals he was entitled to wear. "Welcome back aboard, sir. For an Army officer, you spend a suspicious amount of time aboard Fleet ships."

"Your officers look better than ours." He stretched his arms and legs high as he clambered to the deck. "Ahh. Gravity." He looked curiously around. "I've heard the phrase 'bowels of the ship' before, but last time I was aboard I didn't see any. I take it these are they?"

"This way, sir," she replied primly, gesturing down the corridor. "I've prepared the Great Cabin for your use while aboard." Another glance into the diplo ship showed two more faces gazing up, female ones. Beautiful ones. "It was the least I could do."

"It's no big sacrifice for you," he sighed, amused, "you're not using it. Because your Fleet hasn't given you a new captain yet." He smiled, clearly relishing her shock. "You forget: I'm quite well-informed."

"Well. Either way, follow me." Pixy composed herself and stalked off down the corridor, pulling Corcovado by the elbow. "I assume you're the one that's going to be able to tell my XO what you need us to help you with, repair-wise."

"Coolant leak." The man had a raspy voice. "Plus superficial damage, which significantly impacts our speed. I'll need new fluids, plus a smoothing crew, and a new installation jig for..."

Pixy brushed back her short hair. "You missed the part about telling my XO. I don't want to hear it. He's where we're going." She kept moving, assuming Smith was following with whoever else he'd had in the little vessel. She could hear footsteps behind her, at least one set of them in heels, but refused to turn. "And I'm in charge here. I'm a subcommander. You can call me ma'am; that's customary."

"Whatever, ma'am." The soldier did not seem to care. He had a loose-striding way about him, and unlike almost every Army guy she'd ever seen aboard a Fleet vessel, he didn't do any rubbernecking.

"I'm glad to renew acquaintances, Commander Pfeiffer," called Smith behind her, and Pixy cursed as she held up to wait for him: protocol. She turned, motioning Golightly forward to lead the way to the captain's quarters. "I was hoping to mention something to you."

"Yeah?" She fell in to Smith's left, passing a brief glance across the two women he'd brought aboard: both hot, both dressed in Army green with some sort of rank she hadn't seen before, both more than a little wobbly as they got used to gravity. "Well, you've got me here." She turned to face him, putting on what she assumed was a pleasant smile. "Go ahead and mention."

"I gave you a name, last time we met. A name you could use to look me up in the Army Directory. I met a great many people while investigating that mutiny, on a great many ships, and you are the only one who failed to search for me."

She laughed out loud. "There's a leap. What, like your phone vibrates every time anyone looks you up?" She was still giggling when she realized he wasn't. "Wait. It does?"

He smiled, that same thin-lipped smile from last time, the smile that gave nothing away. "You were the only one, Commander. I find that interesting."

"I'm an interesting person," she blurted, but the truth was that she'd simply forgotten. She'd been exceptionally busy that week. Golightly led them around a corner and into the Ring Hallway, down toward Captain Ledecki's old quarters.

"It drew my attention," he pressed.

"And you remember, all these months later." She arched an eyebrow. "You've got a good memory."

"My implant is considerably more advanced than yours," he sighed. "The curse of knowledge, you know? I think I have too much programmed in there." Pixy, who suspected this odd subcolonel was into some truly bizarre shit, kept her mouth shut.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Golightly piped up. "Your, um, your quarters. While you're here." He was staring hard at the two women behind Pixy, and she reminded herself to kick his ass later. She cleared her throat at him, glaring. "And how long are you going to be here?"

"As long as we need to do our repairs," the pilot rasped easily. He stepped through the hatch and stood on the balcony, looking down. "Whoah. I should have joined Fleet."

The Great Cabin was a big armored blister, warting off the port quarter of the ship down near the thrusters, reached by a set of old-fashioned stairs. Some captains liked luxury, others didn't; Lina Ledecki had been a woman who cared about nothing in life but Parcheesi and a clean deck, which was why a low shelf at the top of the stairs still held a neat rank of her boots, now dusty. "Nice digs."

"I keep most of the hull transparent, most of the time," Pixy explained, "but obviously, if you need to go opaque, just ask the steward." She listened closely down the stairs. "He should be down there. His name's Payne."

"Very generous of you." Subcolonel Smith had swept in behind them in disquieting silence. "I'm sure we'll be very comfortable."

"Sure." Pixy avoided looking at him, nodding instead at Corcovado. "You'll find my XO down there, Mr Corcovado. Just tell him what you need, and we can all be on our way."

"In time," Smith nodded, both of them watching as the pilot descended. "If you make this place too comfortable, Commander, we may never leave."

She swallowed hard. "That would be a real shame, sir." She turned, feeling vaguely ill at ease with the two women behind her. "And, I'm sorry, but what are your names?"

Two sets of big, sexy eyes regarded her coldly, then slid to Smith for his nod of approval before the shorter of the two answered in a careful voice. "I'm Warrant Officer Vanzetartt. This is Nia Nerkins, my apprentice."

"Ma'am," the taller woman nodded. She was incredibly hot, Pixy thought sourly, if completely bald. Purple flower tattoos crawled up her neck. Better keep these two away from the crew...

"Nerkins and Vanzetartt are eager to meet your supply officer," Smith went on smoothly. His voice had a mocking edge to it. "Well. Meet might be a euphemism, given how you Fleet people do your equipment swaps."

Pixy, veteran of hundreds of just those kinds of swaps, rolled her eyes at the women. "It takes my supply guy awhile to cum," she told them flatly. "If you're in a hurry, you might want to get started sooner rather than later."

"In time," Smith said once more. He gestured down the stairs, already in charge here. "I think I smell food. Zhwang? Or some sort of fish? And a béchamel?" His eyes narrowed. "And spinach, I think. Something with garlic, anyway."

"Payne loves to entertain. I had him set up a quick dinner." Pixy started down the stairs, feeling very out of place in her boots. Always, without fail, she'd gone barefoot here. It was an unexpectedly sharp reminder that Ledicki, useless though she'd generally been, was gone. That Pixy was fully responsible for the ship and everyone aboard.

And responsible for getting that probe moving again. Soonest.

"We'll be joined soon by Lieutenant Fustar, the captain of the acoustical mapping ship we're in company with."

"It's not a mapping ship," Smith pointed out airily, sinking into one of Ledicki's sofas. "My implant tells me that's just a cover story. You're scanning for the best place to plant a picket line."

"Is there anything your implant doesn't know?" Pixy demanded. Her orders had stressed the secrecy of Fustar's mission, but apparently it wasn't nearly as classified as she'd been led to believe.

Smith shrugged. "My job is... wide-ranging. It requires me to know a lot of stuff." He hesitated, glancing out at the stars while his two whores looked around. Almost as if they were searching the place, Pixy mused. Corcovado and Delmer talked in low tones by the wall, and Payne could be heard clattering around in the kitchen. "Captain Corcovado believes our repairs are going to take awhile."

Fuck. "How long awhile? Not to be rude, but I've got things to do." She nodded toward the sofa. "Have a seat."

He smiled. "And you'll do them, Commander, no doubt." He looked at her with an oddly placid sense of calm, icy and very distant. "So do I, you see. And it might just be a lucky thing that I found you out here in the trackless void. Such an odd coincidence."

She leaned in toward him abruptly, her voice a savage hiss. "Look, I didn't like you last time and I like you even less now. What the fuck is going on here? Your hints are pissing me off."

He showed no reaction at all, other than to burrow deeply into the couch. "I missed gravity," he sighed. "How is your steward, Commander? Wrae Juno, I think her name was." He smiled slightly. "I recall she was very resourceful as well as decisive. I don't think it was ever proven, but she also seemed to be good with a knife?"

"That's another hint that's going to piss me off," Pixy spat, but by that time Payne had elbowed the dinner gong and she had to put on a fake smile. "Well. Food's about ready, it seems."

Smith watched her rise through dark, squinting eyes.

* * *

This was Pixy's first time meeting Lieutenant Fustar in person, and she was unimpressed. She was prepared to accept that officers who chose Acoustics as a branch were probably a little weird to begin with, but he definitely had the manner of a fellow who'd spent far too much time with far too few humans. "Pass the booze, Mr Fustar," she prodded him for the third time, trading a quick glance with Delmer.

From the look on the acting XO's face, dislike for their guests was one of the few things on which Pixy Pfeiffer and Chonny Delmer could agree.

But he did pass: some of the last of Lina Ledicki's gin, under the watchful eye of Payne. "Aye aye, Captain," Fustar smiled; as always, Pixy felt herself stiffen at that. She still wasn't really the captain, and felt obscurely as though it was bad luck to call herself that.

Pixy waited until Payne disappeared. "So. How'd it go?" she asked, elbowing Delmer. He stared back blankly, his mouth full.

"Huh?"

"You and Payne." She waggled her eyebrows. "I could make him your steward, like right now. If you want. Did you guys work well together?"

Delmer glanced toward the kitchen. "He doesn't come with the quarters?"

"Fuck no."

"Well then, no. In fact, you take him," he leered. "I think I'd prefer Juno."

Smith and Fustar glanced over when she guffawed. Corcovado and his Army whores were already down in Supply with Charlatul and Wollz. "Of course you would. But no fucking way. I'd just revert back to her once Fleet appoints a new skipper. Besides," she added, "she doesn't like you."

"A lot of sailors don't like me," Delmer shrugged.

"Sure. But Wrae Juno has a habit of making officers she doesn't like... disappear," she winked.

"This is true," Smith murmured from across the table. "An interesting person, your Juno." He dabbed at his mouth with the old-fashioned napkin. "I'm wondering, Commander Pfeiffer, whether this meeting of ours might not work out beneficially for both of us. And for Petty Officer Juno, too."

She felt her nostrils flare, instantly on alert. "I'm not sure," she replied evenly, "that this 'meeting of ours' needs to be anything other than a coolant resupply and some bodywork."

"It doesn't need to be," the subcolonel agreed politely, "but it could be." Pixy felt Delmer draw himself up in his chair, responding to the new tone of the conversation. The man was a chauvinist and a boor, but there was nothing wrong with his sense of caution when it came to loaded conversations. "Without getting into to much... uh, tedious detail, I can tell you that I'm on a critically important mission."

"Yeah?"

"Diplomatic priority." He nodded meaningfully. "Real diplomatic priority. No bullshit."

Fustar made a sour face in the corner. "Wait..." he began.

"The kind of priority that, unfortunately, makes your present mission less needful to the immediate requirements of the war effort," Smith went on airily; he nodded at Fustar. "I'm sure you understand, Lieutenant."

"But... my scan..."

"... is of critical importance," Smith beamed, nodding sympathetically. "As it turns out, however, my mission is even more critical." Pixy, from across the table, watched avidly. This was beginning to sound mysterious, which meant it was beginning to sound interesting. And nursemaiding Fustar's acoustical probe was not terribly exciting. "I'm sure you understand."

Fustar looked across the table, askance. "Ma'am?" he bleated.

Pixy cocked her head, thinking. "Colonel," she began, "I assume you've got something in writing that substantiates the importance of your... your business."

"Of course I do." He shrugged. "If you like, I can get a further endorsement via hyperbeam from the Core, if I can make use of your coding table..."

"No need." Pixy was not someone who lingered over her decisions. "Mr Fustar," she said formally, "I'm going to have to put our mission on a temporary hold. I'll let Commodore Krynne know about all this, and I'll wait for her word on how to proceed. But... well. You know the rules on Diplomatic Service priority."

"I have a temporary appointment as a consul, too..." Smith murmured, "if it's necessary."

"If you were listening, Colonel," Pixy went on, "you'd have heard that it's not necessary." Delmer stirred beside her; he transparently did not like her talking to an Army colonel like this. "I'm agreeing to your commandeering my frigate and crew in accordance with formal diplo priority. I'd love it if I could get another escort for the Risuna, and I'm hopeful the squadron will be able to spare a ship while we're fixing up Colonel Smith's vessel." She nodded at Fustar. "If not?"

"I'm not asking you to stop scanning, Lieutenant," Smith purred. "I'm just suggesting you might want to start scanning in a different direction." Pixy giggled despite herself.

"Sir, it doesn't really work that way..." Fustar began protesting, but Pixy reached over and laid a hand on his arm.

"Relax, Mr Fustar. The colonel is just trying to be polite." She nodded. "Your mission will be delayed, that's all. It's my responsibility, pursuant to Fleet Guidance." She didn't add that whatever the Colonel was involved in would probably be a hell of a whole lot cooler than escorting Fustar through the cosmos; the poor kid was upset. No need to rub nodium in the wound. "You're scanning ship will fit in our Main Bay; we'll load you aboard presently. You can, you know, take a break. Relax."

Fustar did not look like the kind of man who relaxed. Ever.

She turned to Smith. "How long can we expect your mission to take, sir? Just so I can inform my commodore."

He pursed his lips. "That depends. I'm working with Nerkins and Vanzetartt, but I'd planned on using three operatives. My third one, Suryasta, went missing on a subsidiary operation." He sucked at his lips. "That was just before we were attacked, before we had to hide out in that comet tail. So all of that has set me way behind, you understand."

"How long?" she demanded, her voice just shy of impertinent. Smith arched an eyebrow.

"Well. Suryasta and Vanzetartt, with Nerkins in support, would have been able to get this done in a few days. With just my two? More like a week and a half." Fustar groaned. "Yes. Plus transit time. Thing is," he purred, leaning forward over his half-eaten zhwang, "I think that if my two girls had someone they could train, intensively, for support? Someone quick and resourceful? Someone intelligent and a little bit ruthless?" He nodded. "I think we could have your acoustic probes back on-station in a week. Perhaps less."

Pixy felt her heart thud. "Last time I got involved in an Army operation, sir, I needed cloned eardrums and destroyed an entire city..."

"You, my dear Commander Pfeiffer, were not the quick, resourceful woman I was thinking of." Smith sipped at his gin, smiling blandly until Pixy rolled her eyes and sat back.

"Why the fuck," she whined, "does every male officer in this part of the fucking galaxy seem to think they're entitled to the services of my steward?"

Smith's smile went sly. "It had occurred to me," he admitted, "to explore Wrae Juno's suitability as an emergency replacement for my missing soldier."

"Fuck that."

Smith's eyes went cold, if indeed they'd ever been warm. "Diplomatic priority, Commander," he said quietly.

"Oh, that's cute," she snapped. "I'm not sure I know the reg that allows Army people to grab Fleet personnel and make them go off and do risky things without their commanders saying so. Sir."

Delmer glanced at the Risuna's skipper. "Mr Fustar. Might be time for you and I to retire for the evening. I need your advice on how many loading chocks I'll need to put into the Bay so you can set your ship down. I think it'll be a tight fit, which is all the more reason to take care with our planning."

"Um. I'm not done with my dinner..."

"Now, Mr Fustar." Delmer shot to his feet, glancing at Pixy with that carefully neutral look he had when he disapproved of her in public, but didn't want to get a kicking. "With your permission, ma'am."

"Carry on, XO. Do me a favor and construct a partial dispatch for the Commodore? I'll finish it and then send it once the Colonel and I finish." Delmer nodded over his shoulder. Pixy and Smith held each other's gazes as the two men made their way toward the stairs. Payne had disappeared back into whatever little hole he'd been keeping himself in, and as soon as the hatch clicked shut at the top of the stairs Pixy already had the gin in hand, pouring them both another glass. "I want to know two things, 'Colonel Smith,'" she said quietly, mocking him. "One: how likely are you to get my steward killed? And two?"