R.S.S. Moonstone

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Two

Secrets between Friends

“Chief Ka” a woman in Republic utilities called across the port side cargo access. “Did that new flow regulator get installed yet? For the starboard null drive replacement I mean.”

A short, mouse-like woman in modified Republic greys, not quite utilities, looked up from a crate she was inspecting. “Three hours to go Lt. Whikersham” she answered, her soft voice somehow cutting through the loading bays general rumble of voices. “Abbedel and Whiteheart are finishing up now. Hasn’t my report shown up on your screen yet?”

Lt. Marie Whikersham, RSS Moonstar’s top mechanical engineer, shook her head no. She was aware from long previous experience that the mouse’s huge eyes would catch her slightest movement. “Damn mainframes down for reload, new software update. Nothings getting through. When your done there hop over. No wait. Walk over here and give me a full report.” She went back to her own work, knowing full well from hard experience that the tiny eH dHar woman would do exactly what she’d been ordered. And that, if she hadn’t corrected her order, the Chief would have hopped her way over. Just like a bunny rabbit. She’d done it before much to the crews amusement, and Marie’s embarrassment. It was just that the crew hadn’t known the little mouse wasn’t joking around. She obeyed her superiors orders to the letter. It was something about her upbringing that the human hadn’t yet learned.

Moonstar was slated for drydock in seven months for a full overhaul. Right now all anyone could get their hands on were desperately needed replacements, like that flow regulator. Regulations required the old unit to be returned to Stronghold and it would have been, if they hadn’t gotten orders to ‘get your butts out there last week.’ According to Whitewood, the ships Cargomaster, they would be carrying nearly nineteen metric tons of worn out parts, packing crates and other sundry ‘trash’ with them. Dead weight, useless until a Stronghold machine shop could refurbish them, refabricate or find something useful for the material. You didn’t just dump trash in space. It cost too much to get any weight from point A to point B. Even shipping papers could and had been recycled as toilet paper in a pinch. Marie waved to a waiting cargo handler, indicating that this crate could find a home. Now that she had double checked its contents.

While the man and his helpers were hauling away the crate Chief Ka arrived, presenting her own work computer for Marie to examine. “I don’t need to check your work Ka, you know that I trust you” Marie informed the alien for the thousandth or more time. “I just wanted to know, did you get that other package I asked about?”

“Strongholds latest entertainment library Mam?” Elleen asked. “Yes Mam. I made copies while I was aboard for medical checkup. I do not suspect anyone was aware that I had entered any restricted space. They are on your bunk. Labeled personal supplies.”

“I’m not going to ask how you managed that, considering I‘ve got the best private security system on this ship I’m not going to ask how you got into my cabin. But thanks. I owe you big time. And Ka? It’s Marie off duty, please?”

“Yes Mam. And for the record Mam, your security system is third best. Black Ops is best, the Security Chief’s is second best.”

“Meaning you need to take about two minutes to get into Black Ops right?”

“If the Lieutenant says so Mam.”

“What about your security system Ka. How do you keep people out of your stuff?”

Elleen looked surprised at the question. “Mam? I don’t have a security system. If someone wants my three books or my blanket then nothing will stop them. So why bother. Will there be anything else Mam?”

Marie indicated no by a short shake of her head. “Get back to work, I’ll see you at supper. You will be available for supper this time understand? And Ka, I really do owe you one.” She watched for a moment as the small woman, barely over a meter tall slipped like a ghost among the confused throng of Moonstar’s loading bay. Yes, she thought. Elleen Na Ka, Chief NCO of Damage Control, DamCon for short, could get into places even Black Ops considered impregnable. By Marie’s own count had done so at least twice. Nor did the human forget that she herself had been aboard nearly eleven months before she’d realized Chef Ka was anything but a name on the duty schedule. There was something odd about that alien, but considering there were only fourteen eH dHar in the entire Republic Navy, for all Marie knew she was absolutely normal.

For her species.