Proving True

After breakfast I follow the map I downloaded from the casCom to Section Z, then to an office labeled Chief Engineer’s Office Section Z and knock. A deep, raspy voice yells, “Enter!” so I push the door open. There’s a big bear of a man seated behind what appears to be a wooden desk. The smoke from the cigar clenched in his teeth coils in the air of the office, idling towards the air return for the air conditioning system. He stands as we make eye contact. “Oh, good morning, Missy. This here’s Engineering, maybe I can help you get reoriented, which department are you looking for?” Why do men never think I could possibly be an engineer? Sometimes I wish I looked more like a baboon.

“Good morning,” I extend my hand towards his, “my name is Sonia MacTaggert. I’ve signed on as the new Engineering assistant. Are you Roy?” I remember his face from the briefing presentation on the holoCom, but it’s always nice to verify what one thinks one knows. “And pardon me for asking, but I saw ‘KOA’ behind your name. What does that mean?” It could be “Knights of Atlas” but he doesn’t strike me as the sort.

“Yes’m, I’m Roy. KOA means ‘King of the Acronyms.’ You sure are a pretty li’l thing. But do you know the difference between a crescent wrench and a plasma coil? This is a workin’ department, Missy. We ain’t got the time to train nobody.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” I tell him, “but I don’t need training, I was cleaning plasma induction grids when you were still peaking in the female showers and giggling. Before I left my last ship, I was the head of the Engineering department. I think I’ve got the requisite skills.”

A tall woman with a long braid cascading to her waistline walks in. She is very beautiful but is not the warmest of people. And if her manicure is any indication, she lives by the unwritten regulation that prohibits her from manual labor. She wastes no breath on pleasantries. “You must be MacTaggert, thank you for being on time. I am Loreena DuQuois, Chief Engineer of Section Z. Your dossier did not get forwarded to me. Have you a resume or some such in your perCom you can send to me?”

I pull my perCom from my pocket and tap the appropriate buttons to attach my resume to an email addressed to Chief Engineer, Section Z, Star Chaser. “On its way, ma’am.” She has her perCom in hand, her right toes are tapping, her left hand on her hip, waiting. Prima Donna? With an attitude like that, you’d have had the dirtiest job I could find on Night Searcher, sister! I hope Balder will help me guard my tongue. I have a very bad feeling about working for her. And I may be getting on her bad side right now. “Ma’am, I have some projects I’d like to discuss with you. I’m prepared to work on them in my personal time, of course. But I would like access to a workshop every now and again. I believe they will benefit our mission.”

Her eyes flow up from her perCom to me, slowly. She’s checking me out. I suppose it’s only fair, I evaluated her too. “I suppose you will do. As to your off time, I don’t care what you do. Just remember, your primary responsibility is the Transit drives. If they fail while you are selling yourself in the lounge, I will have you spaced. I trust we understand one another?” I don’t need this job. But I do want to stay on the ship. So I’m not going to slap that smug look from her face like I desperately want to. She continues without waiting for an answer or comment. “Roy will give you the tour. Watch him, he’s been known to be grabby. Your first command performance will be at the Captain’s Feast tonight at 2000. And before you ask, yes, you have to go. If you don’t have a formal gown, wear something that comes close. At least something clean and without holes. I am needed elsewhere.” And she leaves.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say to her retreating back. “My first billet was tending Transit drives.”

I don’t know whom I can trust, but apparently my disgust is all over my face. Roy speaks up, “Before she came in, I was gonna say you’ve got the kinda spice I like in a woman, you’n me’ll git along fine. An’ while we’re on that subject, I never ‘got grabby’ around her, but she did go out of her way to put a titty or an ass cheek in my hand more’n a few times. As engineers go, she’s competent, but not the GOAT. Now, let me show you around the engines. SLAP?”

“‘Goat’? And if you mean to slap me...”

He holds his right hand up, palm facing me. “King of the Acronyms, remember? GOAT: Greatest Of All Time, SLAP: Sound Like A Plan?”

“Oh. Ok, fine,” I tell him. “But understand something, I’m the new kid. I don’t know which—if either—of you is lying to me. So let’s come to a quick understanding. I know that drive rooms are cramped and when giving a tour, contact is unavoidable. However, if you touch me in a way that I don’t like you will be the nine-finger havingest bastard on this vessel. Are we on the same page?”

“SLAP!” He bellows, holding up his left hand, his pinky is gone from the second knuckle. “Eight. But I get your message. Have no fear, when I’ve touched a lady in the manner you’re describin’ she not only expected it, she was appreciative. Well, most of’em were, anyway. But times a’wastin’.” He leads me through the door to an open elevator. The lift is essentially a platform that moves vertically but what’s unusual is that it has no walls and functions without a tube like most elevators do. The Transit drives are distributed across twelve levels on this ship. On the tour, Roy introduces me to quite a few people. As it turns out, I have a staff of ten apprentice engineers and twenty mechanics. I do have an office of sorts. It’s a cubicle that has had its walls soundproofed and a door added. It has a desk, two chairs, a holoCom, and nothing else. It’s clearly a place for private discussion but not much else, and certainly not when the Transit drives are engaged, I doubt there’s enough soundproofing on the ship for that.

My tour lasts for two hours and ends back where it started. Roy says, “Well, that’s about the bulk of it, Missy. Sony, or something like that?”

“Close, ‘Sonia.’ Thank you very much for your time. I’ll have to get in touch with the Adjutant to get personnel files for my staff.”

“They’re a good bunch of wrench spinners,” he says. “I got a flock of my own to keep track of in the power plants. I gotta go make sure they’re not tearin’ somethin’ apart right now. I’ll see you at the BUFFET tonight.”

“Did you say ‘buffet’? I’d think with as many people as will be there…”

He interrupts me. “Bunch of Uptight Feckless Folk Eating Together. BUFFET.”

How can a person not laugh at that? When I can form a sentence I say, “Before you go, do we have assigned seats at the BUFFET? I have a few shipmates from Night Searcher I’d like to sit with, but if we have to sit by department I’d rather sit with you than the Ice Queen.”

“Typically, seats are assigned by department, but within the department we can mix up any way we want. The group leads, you for Transit, me for Power Generation, and the others will share tables. The apprentice engineers will sit together, and the mechanics will be huddled up.” He turns to leave, “Oh and while you’re at the Adjutant’s office, make sure he clears you for access to the maintenance archives, too. We spent a lot of time in dry dock a few years ago, I know four of the Power Plants got replaced, it stands to reason some of the Transit units did, too.”

“SLAP,” I say on my way out.