Chapter 72

""Sundowner" arriving. Party! 'Shun!" accompanied by the crash of work boots impacting the deck. Clare braced to the receiving party then directed her gaze at the woman standing at the salute,

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Carry on please, and don't think I won't get you for this."

The Lieutenant broke her salute, grinned evilly, and ordered

"Party! Dismiss to collect your box. Dismiss! Get moving you lot, you aren't flowers taking root. Smack it about."

Clare guided Shirley aside from the horde descending upon the shuttle truck; the bunch of teenagers moved seamlessly into a working party to remove the small crates from the hold without any further orders. Everybody wore grey dungarees and the only difference Shirley could see was the lieutenant's shoulder rank bars.

"Shirley, you remember Dorothy Ember? And this is "Dusty" Miller, our CFI."

Hands were shaken and greetings murmured.

'Deity, where'd the Boss find that' passed through Dusty's cortex.

{That is not kind, Mr Miller! The Lady is suffering} came the firm rebuke.

'Is she broke?'

{Negative! [quite firmly] We have great expectations for The Lady.}

Dusty caught the capitals and shut down.

"What on Sol are you doing driving the truck?" Clare demanded.

"Aw, Boss, I gotta keep my hours up somehow and Elle keeps my nose in the admin while she goes off on her jollies."

"And well she should! Dorothy, have Shirley shown to her cabin, please. I want to check on the progress of the hardsuits while she settles in. Shirley, I'll catch up at lunch."

"Fogg, Mary Fogg, isn't it?" Shirley ventured as Mary led her across the boat bay wending their way between the clamped HACs to the starboard lift. Mary acknowledged.

Shirley indicated the boat bay,

"This wasn't on the plans I studied."

"No, we've just come off a major rebuild..." and as they made their way to C, Mary chattered on about the rebuild. As they exited the lift, they were literally bumped into by a slender male with two and a half bars on his shoulders who was a complete stranger to Shirley.

"Sorry, Mary. Oh. Hi! I'm Cedric. You must be Shirley Wood. Welcome aboard (shaking her hand). Deity, you look awful ... Ow, Mary, that hurt, dammit!"

"Lord of All preserve me! You'll get another if you make another comment like that — now get outa here!"

Shirley's eyes were wide as Cedric scurried off with a further muttered apology.

Mary contemplated Shirley's shock for a moment, stood tall and baldly stated

"That was Cedric Cahlewis. Jane Foster and I are fucking him and it's our job to keep the thoughtless sod from doing things like that. (sigh) We have improved him but every so often he relapses."

Mary ushered Shirley through a cabin hatch over which was the painted assertion

PARADISE

where the Saints live

"I guess nobody's filled you in about our social set up here, have they?" Mary asked rhetorically, "I'm the dummy around here so I can always plead stupidity..."

Mary waved Shirley into a lift chair and sat in another opposite. Shirley had a recollection of "Foggy" from a distant past being "wet and thick" but this woman wasn't.

Mary began with that first meeting in "Tulip" just after Shirley had been posted out and detailed how the current living(?) arrangements had come about. She stuck to those details without discussing command structure in any detail. Shirley was in a turmoil; shock, wonder, horror, curiosity, and she admitted to herself, excitement — she hadn't had her itch scratched for years and with her scars ... still hope lives in all despite adversity. Mary finished her discourse and saw Shirley's daze.

"We've got a few minutes before lunch; I'll show you around the accommodation. Oh! the bridge first. Where it is; I'll leave the details to my betters (and spoilt the effect by a cheeky grin)."

Shirley was led about like a pet lamb — but she took everything on board. Mary showed her the cabin she shared with Cedric and Jane. The others' cabins were just indicated accompanied by a list of occupants. Shirley's mind went into over drive when she heard the list of TJ's partners and didn't know whether to be shocked, horrified, or dissolve into helpless hilarity particularly when Clare was listed among Hobson's Harem. Shirley had met the 'Pest partners and the children and had been amazed then, but this??

'Seems to work. Leave dormant barkers rest.'

{Best} the random thought slipped across her mind.

Shirley was guided to the cavernous hold ringed by a double tier of cabins with tables and chairs in the port after corner around a galley, cold room facility and self serve area. Through a virtual wall running athwart ship under the forward mezzanine cabins, Shirley could see an extensive gymnasium. The meal was already in progress with crew seated haphazardly about with a steady rumble of conversation interrupted by the occasional laugh. A happy crew was Shirley's assessment. The utensils were cleared and Shirley's eyes popped at seeing Clare filling the cleaner.

"Everyone takes turn at the galley and Clare insists on doing her bit." Mary informed her. "We don't let her do more than the occasional lunch just so she can say she helps."

"You're taking a chance, aren't you? She can't boil water without burning it."

"Nah, she's much better than that now. Morg has been working on her for the past decade and it shows; but, I admit, it's only the basics, nothing fancy."

The crew shifted across to the starboard side where relaxing seating was arranged to make divisions of mess facilities not mustering or rank; reading room, games room, vids and etcetera which could be divided off by virtual walls. At present, the area was open.

Cedric stood clutching his PDA, gained their attention and began those procedures beloved of all Orderly Rooms, Daily Routine Orders. After finishing the list of chores / duties / notices, Cedric waved towards Shirley,

"Lt Cdr Shirley Wood rejoins us as Training Officer. She was XO to our beloved leader in the distant days of HMS "Tulip" (waving at the two metre representation of that ship etched[?] on the after bulkhead) before going onto better things..."

And went on to give a two sentence summary of that career.

The crew was dismissed to duties and the Tulips gathered around to welcome their prodigal sister. Shirley remembered them but the details were sketchy. Clare rescued her and ushered her to the accommodation area which according to the plans she had seen held the gym. Instead there was a modern medical facility and Shirley had had too much recent contact with them for her liking. They were followed in by two women with the medic patches over the name tags. Before she had a chance to inspect them, Clare introduced her to the "resident Wizard" and his "Coven" — the medics. Shirley was taken aback to be addressed in a cultured Enklan accent coming out of the robo and the deference almost overwhelmed her.

"Welcome, My Lady. It is an honour to meet you. I am overjoyed to know that you will be joining us and I look forward to many hours conversing with you..."

Shirley was beginning to wonder just who was bonkers around here.

" ... Now, I need to examine you..."

Clare excused herself citing admin to do.

"Strip, please, My Lady ... Yeesss, Hmmm" etcetera as he walked around her closely inspecting her torso. "Come, if you please, lie upon the diagnostic table ... Yes, Haslar do good work, very good work. And they seem to have done that with you, My Lady. There's nothing there I can improve upon..."

Shirley's hopes were just at the fluttering stage of an atmospheric deep stalling spin — usually fatal if not enough height (spacers had forgotten the maxim about atmosphere in fuel, runway behind, and altitude above) as Threep continued,

" ... as far as they went but they have forgotten. Shame really, they do such good work..."

Hopes had begun rising only to start down again. The medic with the name tag Tilly remonstrated with the robo-surgeon,

"Stop it, Threep. The woman's on a rollercoaster. We can help you. It's just his bedside manner — he doesn't have any."

"Oh? Apologies, My Lady. Of course I ca ... er, we can help. It's just a pity Haslar has forgotten your origins, that's all."

Shirley was just a tad more than suspicious by this time and become frustrated at the lack of precise detail and so demanded (unwittingly in command voice)

"Explain that about origins, please!"

Threep correctly interpreted the "please" as meaning "or I'll tear your head off and shove it up your fundament".

"My Lady, your species evolved in a geological fault on an Old Earth continent in an atmosphere markedly different from its present form. There was about eight times the carbon dioxide levels and this had an effect upon the star's rays; the star itself has a different spectrum, in detail, to that of the Mountserrat system and it differs again from that of the 'Pest system. Those of you of your genetic makeup require a certain spectrum for the cutaneous repair nannites to function properly. I, ah, we can recreate the environment and, left alone, your nannites would be able to repair most of the damage in about three weeks in that environment. Of course you would be ... unconscious? ... asleep? ... for some three or four weeks. The contractures would not be removed — that scarring is beyond their repair."

"Suits, just what can you do for me, then?" asked somewhat despairingly.

"There are times..." Lyn, according to the name tag, answered for him, "Shirley, what this, this, idiot is trying to say is that he can surgically remove the contractures leaving good skin ... well, your skin behind and the nannites will do the job with you in an Old Earth environment. Art already has the capsule prepared and it will only take overnight. But we've got to get that food out of your stomach into your small gut and that can happen while Tilly and I work on your biometrics. Threep, go and do some etching or reading or something. Go and talk with Derrin."

"Humph. No respect, these people," Threep sniffed "By your leave, My Lady."

He bowed courteously to Shirley, flicked his head disdainfully at his grinning associates and departed.

Shirley watched him go, turned to the smiling nurses, and observed

"Discipline's a bit casual on this bucket."

"You've noticed?" Lyn's laugh lightened the atmosphere.

"It works" Tilly explained "whatever you're best at, you lead. Rank tabs don't come into it. We all know our place in the scheme of thing; the older ones of us that is. The Gennies, that's that bunch of schoolkids you saw, are finding their way so they're at the bottom of the pool — for the time being. As TJ keeps saying, those genetic engineers do good work — it's just the motive behind them ... Let's get you to the gym where we can work on you."

"Can you explain that slogan over my hatch?...

Where are TJ and Morg, I didn't see them?...

House of Tulip?...

Your own mills?...

E deck the boat bay?...

Scouts?...

Missiles on B and D decks?...

You took out what?...

Triple shields?...

Adama pods?...

Major rebuild?...

I am going to remember all this when I wake up, aren't I?"

...

"Clare Elizabeth Gillard, you have a lot of explaining to do."

Shirley Wood was sitting in Clare's office wearing the work dress of the ship, dungarees, covered in quickheal, sucking on a mug of Jamaican Blue as if it was the last in the galaxy, glaring at her old shipmate.

"You conn me into joining a converted merchie; you convince me its not charity; you want a Training Officer. Training Officer? Hah. You don't go looking for trouble but somehow it finds you. You evade the whole Peep home fleet which had you pinned against the planet and escape. You take out a gun BC and a couple of DDs and fight your way out of a harbour. A BC division supported by a CA squadron and a DD squadron attacks you from ambush and you take 'em out — no survivors.

You mount a ground attack party which locates and rescues two of your people before the locals even know they have been kidnapped.

Your holding companies have more patents than the central library has chips.

First you are outlaws with every hand turned against you and then you turn up with full recognition from the USW and diplomatic cover.

You swan around the galaxy as either a training ship or a bloody fashion house or both and now I hear you have become a jewellery house.

You are carrying a USN flag officer returning to Old Earth and Joe Higgins thinks you walk on water only because you'd be a menace to navigation if you spaced. You have direct input into the Heralds, the Deputy Chief Commissioner is a family friend and half the population of 'Pest works for you or your associates.