Soundless Conflicts Read online

  There was only one conclusion. "Captain Siers?!"

  Dirty hands clapped over equally greasy ears. "Keep it down, please!"

  Paul leaned in with the thermos. "That is what I was waiting for. Morning, Captain. All done, then?"

  Shaky hands took the offered beverage and spun the cap off with one dirty thumbnail. "For a while, yes. And thank the stars. Put yourself in for promotion, Paul." He downed the boiling drink in one long go, steaming liquid pouring like a waterfall.

  Jamet watched this with the horrified look of an acolyte being told gods don't exist. Pressed uniform creases and displayed awards stood opposite the seedy man's roll-through-a-waste-recycler outfit. "Captain? Siers." She tried out different arrangements of syllables. "Siers, the Captain. Siers, Captain." She paused, took a regretfully deep breath, tried again: "Captain Siers."

  He finished the thermos with a final glug and some coughing. "Yes? And who are- oh. Damn." He peered at her, eyes still screwed mostly shut. "Well, this is not a good meeting. Paul?"

  "Yes, sir?" If the Environment/Medical/Research/whatever man cared how the Captain looked he didn't show it. He just grinned knowingly at the stunned lieutenant.

  "Is this her?"

  "It is."

  "Damn."

  "Cannot disagree."

  "Fine." Siers staggered in a small circle to face the dark room. "Find me after dinner. Not a moment sooner."

  The hatch whooshed shut with the click of locking safeties. Lieutenant Jamet Reals stared at the engraved wood from inches away, mouth open and shock setting in.

  And that's how she met the crew of the Command Executive Ship Kipper.

  Chapter 2

  Knowing Your Allies

  After her introduction to Captain Siers, Lieutenant Reals retraced her route back to quarters in a stunned fog of denial. Eerily empty corridors and the curiously overused breakroom came and went; hatches and bulkheads slid out of the way and quietly closed. She barely remembered getting to her room, although the awkward shoulder pat from Paul roused her just enough to respond.

  "What?" Her mouth tasted like dust, teeth sticky. How long had she been walking with it open?

  "I said," he palmed the hatch release. "Welcome aboard. It is a bit of a shock, I know. Take your time, no hurry; I will let Emilia know to reinstate your system access." His curiously atonal voice managed to sound sympathetic even though it came from somewhere nearly two feet above her head.

  Jamet walked inside, paused and turned. "Thank you. Wait!" Something occurred to her.

  Paul turned halfway back, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Yes?"

  "How are you so tall?" She demanded. "Regulation height is capped at six and a half. You're way over that. Why haven't you been reassigned-" she noted his face, now expressionless but somehow angry, like hardened lava crust over boiling magma. She blinked. "What?"

  "Still making friends, I see." He turned and stiffly stalked away, shoulders drawn upwards and hands fisted. The hatch slid neatly closed behind him.

  Abruptly alone, Jamet spent a second pinging the system for lights before remembering to use the manual toggle. What had that been about? "He could have just said he had a waiver. Or at least been more professional about it. I swear this entire crew is insane from the Captain on down, absolutely everyone should be on charges or disciplinary files." Which was a bit of a problem, actually: Who do you report a Command Executive Officer to, when you need to go through the ship's CEO to even reach anyone higher at Corporate? If they were station- or planet-bound perhaps Human Resources would take an appeal, but during planetary transmission? All avenues led through the Bridge. It was a failure in the reporting system she'd never considered before and there didn't seem to be a way out.

  Frustrated and still without systems access, Jamet fell back on one of her oldest hobbies: Reorganization. When she'd accepted an assignment to the CES Kipper her personal trunk had moved right alongside her, automatically priority-shipped through Station systems alongside any professional gear the new position required (none) and any authorized Corporate-approved mementos (rescinded and confiscated). But by long convention the trunk itself-- and anything she could fit in it-- was sacrosanct and untouchable. Not even the vultures gleefully watching her fall from grace had been able to deny a personal goods transfer.

  And now that she knew for sure this was the right assignment Jamet set to unpacking for real. She'd hesitated during those long days alone, wandering around a seemingly abandoned ship: What if the assignment was an error? What if a Security group showed up to escort her out? Repacking with impatient monitors from Corporate standing over both shoulders would have been intensely embarrassing.

  She'd just been so grateful to get any offer after half a year of desperate appeals that she hadn't hesitated to accept the first one that came through. Which, in hindsight, should have been a big tipoff something was wrong. But at the time, with Station Residency sending eviction notices and debt collection hounding every step, getting a notification to report to the dock and get aboard seemed like a lifeline. Even if no one met her there to escort.

  In the past, now. Well at least until Collections forwarded her debts to the ship ledger and the wage garnishments started. Problems on the horizon.

  Three long steps took her across the bare room, past the meager bulkhead-mounted bunk and the currently useless ship's console. She knelt next to the hardened case of her personal trunk, briefly resting a hand on the six foot long, knee-high storage while keying in the access code on the inset screen. "Eleven, nineteen, sixty four," Jamet muttered, pretending not to notice as the date prodded the still-fresh scar on her heart. The trunk thought about it for a second, then obligingly retracted wheels and clicked open.

  She threw the lid back and got to work on the tightly packed items within, carefully prying out knickknacks and awards crammed side by side with electronics. Absolutely everything was wrapped up with her spare clothes for padding; while all personal storage units came premade with foam lining to secure items everyone ripped it out to increase available space. You had to pack clothes anyways: Why not use them? She lost herself in a flurry of organization, taking comfort in finding a place for everything and putting everything in its place. Some of her greatest successes came from being meticulous on details, finding things overlooked or people slipping: She wasn't about to let those skills lose their edge.

  Jamet had all of her uniforms in the closet and most of the biggest awards tucked onto the room's display shelves when the hatch beeped to announce a visitor. She threw a surprised glance at the time on the ship console, concerned to note almost an hour had gone by. "Who is it?"

  There was a pause. "Oh, right. No systems access." Banging noises came from deck level, exactly like someone kicking the bottom of the hatch. "It's Emilia! Want your dumb access back or what? Open up!"

  Jamet lunged for the controls, slapping the indicator and levelling a glare at the same time. "About time. Were you planning to keep me offline forever? If I could have you on charges I wouldn't hesitate to- get back here!"

  The shorter woman was already walking away, headset bobbing and visor flashing colors on both corridor walls. "Make me, Corpo."

  For a long, painful instant Jamet seriously considered physically tackling the diminutive figure. It was a tempting outlet for a hellish weeks' worth of pent up fear and anger. Ultimately pragmatism won through-- If the ship's crew really was this small there was no one else she could win over. And she really needed system access back: Lack of situational awareness and control was making her climb the bulkheads.

  Jamet swallowed pride like a rough stone caught in her throat. "Please come back."

  Emilia stopped and put both hands in her green jumpsuit pockets. "Ouch. That sounded like it hurt."

  "You have no idea." She was going to need a dental checkup after all this grinding. "Now, please restore ship system access. I'll trade you a favor."

  Which was a hefty concession: Backroom dealing and personal favors were h
ow one got promotions and advancements in Corporate. Everyone kept a tally of who owed them and how to cut out an advantage from it-- offering a favor for something this low tipped the balance heavily towards the short technician.

  Who was... currently laughing? "Oh wow, you're Corp to the core. Still doing the favor bit and everything! Yeah, okay, whatever. I'll get you set up. Janson's going to laugh his heart out over this one, though."

  Jamet turned sideways to let her stomp through, mystified but willing to play along. "Everyone trades and deals. It can't be that different here."

  Emilia snatched the console off the stand near the bunk, holding one wrist over the sensor to unlock the biometrics. "Nope. Not here." She tapped through several commands, swiped twice and made a face. Well at least from the cheekbones down she was frowning: That blasted visor made reading her eyes impossible. "Dammit. Get over here, register your ID."

  "Just use my public one. It's in the registry."

  "It's not; I looked. Someone scrubbed your public profile half a year ago. Did a bad job, but they got most of the important bits."

  Her vision went red with rage as memories popped up. "Kent, you miserable son of a-" She broke off when Emilia looked up, eyebrows raised and interested. "Fine, give it to me."

  Swirling colors watched as Jamet snatched the console and held the scanner over the biochip in her wrist. With her identity confirmed the profile cheerfully opened, displaying garbage where every single Corporate experience and recommendation should be. She angrily fixed it one entry at a time, wiping the bad data and restoring from backup until everything was back to normal. Everything, that is, except for the giant red note at the top that listed her as barred from any Upper Management position.

  With a growl of hate she flung the thin console on the bunk like it was personally to blame for everything. "Asshole." Belatedly she realized Emilia was still in the room, quietly watching her personal struggle with a wry grin. Even her visor looked engaged, the colors muted to a lazy swirl.

  "Well, well, well. Look at you. That seemed a little heated."

  "Old business, and none of yours. Uh, business." She took a deep breath, reorganized and reattacked. "None of your business. There."

  Emilia held both hands up, palms facing the overhead lights. "If you say so. Just saying, you know."

  Which was a clever play on Jamet's stammer. She narrowed eyes at the smaller woman. "No, I don't know. Honestly I'm more than a little furious over how much in the dark I am considering I'm the co-CEO of the goddamn ship. None of you," she thrust a finger at the door, indicating everyone at once. "Follow a single regulation, everyone is both way out of standard while somehow filling far too many roles. Not to mention the captain is- is a-" she stalled as career instincts leapt to the rescue. One did not speak ill of Upper Management.

  Emilia looked amused both above and below her ridiculous visor. "Go ahead. It's okay. Raging alcoholic? Chem addict? Unstable lunatic?"

  Jamet sputtered. "Some of those, perhaps, but I didn't say so!"

  "'Course not."

  "And as for you," she accused. This was safer ground: Throwing insults downrank was practically encouraged. "You're insubordinate, outright rude, too short for duty and breaking every possible accessory rule that ever existed, ever." That might have been too many 'evers'. "How you're even allowed in the Corporate Navy is mind boggling!"

  There was a beat pause. "You done, princess?"

  "Princess?!"

  "Yeah, I'm definitely putting 'Princess' in the running for your nickname. Although Paul's got another bet on naming you 'Impossible', he swears it's a verbal tic for you or something."

  If her jaw kept dropping this often she might need to look into a stretching routine. "And I suppose the Engineer-"

  "Janson, honey."

  "Janson has a nickname for me also?"

  "Nah." She waved one small hand in a 'what can you do?' gesture. "He likes you."

  This hit harder than it should have, some small part under her heart unclenching a bit. "Oh. That's... that's good."

  "He's got a big heart, willing to wade through a lot of bullshit to find a gem." Emilia boosted herself onto the bunk, casually picking up the console and redocking it nearby. "In your case it's more like a mountain of crap but hey, he's an optimist." She grinned evilly, lip curling up under hidden, rainbow colored amusement.

  That tore it. Jamet squared up, facing the seated woman. "Remove that visor. Right now."

  Emilia went still, head cocked to one side. "What if I said no?"

  "Then I'll remove it for you, and don't think for a second I won't enjoy it." In the heat of the moment she almost meant it, but enough intent got through to make the threat sound legitimate.

  Eyebrows shot upwards, then returned to a kind of grudging neutral position. "Huh, didn't think you had the salt." She considered, feet kicking thoughtfully. "Alright, you'd have gone through my ship record soon anyways. Give me a second, though."

  Jamet watched, puzzled and suspicious, as Emilia hopped down and crossed to the room lights. She dimmed them low; dark enough to make the meager bunk, her trunk and the room console start to blend together. "What are you doing?"

  "Avoiding a two week stay in Medical. Janson was pissed last time and he carries worry around like he's paid extra for it. Now take a good look, Princess: You asked for it." She came to stand in front of Jamet, both hands lifted towards her ears as they fiddled with something.

  Jamet started to get a bad feeling, but before she could open her mouth it was done: With a click and pop, the earpieces of the colored visor came away, revealing short prongs and the silver gleam of surgical interface. Emilia carefully rocked the curved lens forward over her nose, cupping the swirling display protectively in both hands while tilting her head upwards. "Well?"

  She noticed the discoloration first-- everything covered by the visor was a pale white, soft and puffed. She never takes it off, even to air it out. Skin coloration formed a perfect outline around the edges, sloping across both small cheekbones and across her forehead beneath an unruly curl of black hair. In that expanse of startling white her eyes stood out in stark relief, almost too big to be real. And there, in the middle, Emilia's wide-open pupils watched her pitilessly.

  They were abnormally large, relaxed and widened to ridiculous size. But even worse they were slotted: A large square of black that thrust outward from each rounded pupil clear into the whites. It was sickening to look at. Jamet took a shaky breath. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  Emilia scowled. "Nothing is wrong with me, asshole. It's called a coloboma and I was born with it. Freaking messes with my vision, I have a hard time with lights and colors get smeared. Not that you'd care."

  She matched her, scowl for scowl. "How did you even join the CN with a birth defect?"

  "Fuck me, you're all heart. Typical Corpo." Emilia carefully reversed the process, edging the visor back over her eyes and snapping the interface prongs back into her skull. Jamet winced as each clicked into place. "And to answer-- not that you deserve it but it's in my fucking file so why not-- I was a Corpo campaign promotion. 'Differently Abled Service' they called it; grabbed a bunch of us and let us in if we could pass the basic tests."

  "And you stayed?" Jamet couldn't believe it. "Lower Management is ruthless about, uh... non-performers," she finished lamely.

  "Didn't have anything to go back to. My parents," she hissed the word. "Were indentured workers on Agro farms, debt to the ceiling. They had me as an investment; they were hoping with three people working they could finally squeeze out from under their contract. When I came out like this," she pointed both thumbs bitterly at her visor. "Well. Let's just say they made the disappointment known. But I was smart, the tests were easy, and if I could hang on long enough to get a Corpo sponsor..."

  Which they both knew was next to impossible. "What happened?"