slept.
“Funny you should mention the runs,” he said, gesturing to a thin strip of tape
clinging to the bulkhead. “I had a bit of a problem a few minutes ago. TP was running
low. Good thing I spotted that old picture by your bunk.”
This provoked a general sneer which immediately hushed as Rafa lunged across the
room.
“Give it back,” Rafa hissed, cracking Whemper’s head against the unforgiving metal.
“Now.” The dog-eared photo was of Julie and the twins—one he’d carried in his wallet
before the trial. It was the only piece of home he had left.
Whemper’s eyes ranged over Rafa’s shoulder to Heward, who had unholstered his pistol
in warning. Rafa saw the flicker and guessed at its meaning, but did not let up the
crushing pressure on Whemper’s shoulders.
“You’re just as lousy as the rest of us,” Whemper snarled. “No viking’s lily white.
Neither is your lady.”
“Where’s the picture, you scumbag?” Without warning Rafa kneed the other man in the
groin, lifting him clean off the ground. Whemper crumbled in a heap, retching. Rafa
grabbed a fistful of hair and raised his right hand to strike.
A click rang loudly in the silence. The muzzle of Heward’s pistol was resting behind
Rafa’s right ear, and his thumb had just released the safety.
“That’s enough, Orosco.”
For a split second, the trio stood frozen. Then there was a blur of movement as Rafa
flicked his upraised hand back, seized the barrel of the gun, rolled forward on his
right leg and swept his left around in a vicious circle. A bolt of plasma raked wildly
across the ceiling and Heward went down on his back. He was on his feet again in a
flash, but now Rafa held the gun.
“Don’t ever threaten me like that again,” Rafa said softly.
Heward’s voice was bitter. “You’re dead, Orosco. Dead.”
Actually not
, broke in a crisp female voice over their implants.
This
is Dr. Edvardsen. Commander Heward, capital punishment is not an acceptable
disciplinary strategy on this crew. Do you understand?
Heward glowered and remained silent.
I said, do you understand?
A flash of pain convulsed Heward’s face, and he staggered. “Yes,” he gasped.
That’s good. Now, Mr. Orosco, drop the weapon so we can get on with our staff
meeting.
Rafa turned on the safety and tossed the pistol to the floor. Heward glowered at him
sullenly.
Mr. Whemper, where’s the picture? Don’t make me replay your viking feed to track
it down.
Whemper said nothing, but Compton kicked at a magazine in the corner. “He cut out
her face and pasted it on the centerfold. Threw the rest in the incinerator.”
I see. Well, maybe Mr. Heward can employ his creativity to dream up some
appropriate punishment. In the meantime, I’ve used up enough of my time being a
babysitter. Don’t make me use neural prods.
The vikings made no response.
* * *
The staff meeting, once begun, was over in surprisingly short time. They were in the
discovery phase of the mission; the immediate goal was to gather information that would
help earthside MEEGO strategists determine how best to spend their energy and resources
in the days and weeks ahead.
Dr. Edvardsen played back a clip from Rafa and Abbott’s encounter for the group with
a stern caution to be on the lookout. The visuals evoked scattered oaths from the crew,
but Edvardsen continued talking steadily, reviewing viking/control pairings and
encouraging everyone to be dutiful data collectors. Then she dismissed them.
Rafa, still nauseous about the loss of his family picture, roused himself enough to
answer one obvious but unaddressed question.
“Dr. Edvardsen?”
Yes?
She sounded impatient.
“What are we going to do about burying the vikings who were killed in the
landing?”
That hasn’t been taken care of already?
Heward spoke up. “We bagged the bodies and put them in cold storage. But no, we
haven’t buried them.”
Well, unfortunately we don’t have any
“Funny you should mention the runs,” he said, gesturing to a thin strip of tape
clinging to the bulkhead. “I had a bit of a problem a few minutes ago. TP was running
low. Good thing I spotted that old picture by your bunk.”
This provoked a general sneer which immediately hushed as Rafa lunged across the
room.
“Give it back,” Rafa hissed, cracking Whemper’s head against the unforgiving metal.
“Now.” The dog-eared photo was of Julie and the twins—one he’d carried in his wallet
before the trial. It was the only piece of home he had left.
Whemper’s eyes ranged over Rafa’s shoulder to Heward, who had unholstered his pistol
in warning. Rafa saw the flicker and guessed at its meaning, but did not let up the
crushing pressure on Whemper’s shoulders.
“You’re just as lousy as the rest of us,” Whemper snarled. “No viking’s lily white.
Neither is your lady.”
“Where’s the picture, you scumbag?” Without warning Rafa kneed the other man in the
groin, lifting him clean off the ground. Whemper crumbled in a heap, retching. Rafa
grabbed a fistful of hair and raised his right hand to strike.
A click rang loudly in the silence. The muzzle of Heward’s pistol was resting behind
Rafa’s right ear, and his thumb had just released the safety.
“That’s enough, Orosco.”
For a split second, the trio stood frozen. Then there was a blur of movement as Rafa
flicked his upraised hand back, seized the barrel of the gun, rolled forward on his
right leg and swept his left around in a vicious circle. A bolt of plasma raked wildly
across the ceiling and Heward went down on his back. He was on his feet again in a
flash, but now Rafa held the gun.
“Don’t ever threaten me like that again,” Rafa said softly.
Heward’s voice was bitter. “You’re dead, Orosco. Dead.”
Actually not
, broke in a crisp female voice over their implants.
This
is Dr. Edvardsen. Commander Heward, capital punishment is not an acceptable
disciplinary strategy on this crew. Do you understand?
Heward glowered and remained silent.
I said, do you understand?
A flash of pain convulsed Heward’s face, and he staggered. “Yes,” he gasped.
That’s good. Now, Mr. Orosco, drop the weapon so we can get on with our staff
meeting.
Rafa turned on the safety and tossed the pistol to the floor. Heward glowered at him
sullenly.
Mr. Whemper, where’s the picture? Don’t make me replay your viking feed to track
it down.
Whemper said nothing, but Compton kicked at a magazine in the corner. “He cut out
her face and pasted it on the centerfold. Threw the rest in the incinerator.”
I see. Well, maybe Mr. Heward can employ his creativity to dream up some
appropriate punishment. In the meantime, I’ve used up enough of my time being a
babysitter. Don’t make me use neural prods.
The vikings made no response.
* * *
The staff meeting, once begun, was over in surprisingly short time. They were in the
discovery phase of the mission; the immediate goal was to gather information that would
help earthside MEEGO strategists determine how best to spend their energy and resources
in the days and weeks ahead.
Dr. Edvardsen played back a clip from Rafa and Abbott’s encounter for the group with
a stern caution to be on the lookout. The visuals evoked scattered oaths from the crew,
but Edvardsen continued talking steadily, reviewing viking/control pairings and
encouraging everyone to be dutiful data collectors. Then she dismissed them.
Rafa, still nauseous about the loss of his family picture, roused himself enough to
answer one obvious but unaddressed question.
“Dr. Edvardsen?”
Yes?
She sounded impatient.
“What are we going to do about burying the vikings who were killed in the
landing?”
That hasn’t been taken care of already?
Heward spoke up. “We bagged the bodies and put them in cold storage. But no, we
haven’t buried them.”
Well, unfortunately we don’t have any
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