Alien Earth. Megan Lindholm
handle their business for them as smoothly as we do. They’ll find that out quickly enough. In any case, I want to keep our port time and expenses as small as possible until we know where our next contract’s coming from. If we do get something, I don’t want to be held up waiting for you to report. So check back in, uh, every six hours,” he amended, and watched her.
She looked up from her own screen that was giving her an exciting view of Delta Station’s smelting and refining quadrant. Her brown eyes were huge. The stubble of hair on her scalp was dark and would possibly be curly if she were ever out of Waitsleep long enough to let it grow. John stared at it and wondered idly what she looked like with hair. She was still almost a stranger to him, for all that this was their second trip together. He wondered if she had deliberately set up her waking intervals so they wouldn’t coincide with his. Of course, that would have taken Tug’s collaboration, but he was sure she could get that with no difficulty. Tug routinely suborned crewmen almost as fast as John could hire them. Hell, Tug would probably have suggested it to her. Anything that needled John delighted the Arthroplana. And John reciprocated. He considered replacing Connie just to make Tug wonder why, then shrugged the thought away. It wouldn’t be fair. He’d hired her because Andrew had said she was quiet, competent, and would respect his privacy. Andrew knew that loud, overly friendly people drove him crazy. But Connie didn’t seem to want or need any social interaction at all. Even that he could live with, if he could ever get her to see what needed doing and just do it without waiting for a specific command from him for every separate task. Right now, she was still staring at him. “Every six hours, sir?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yes, six hours,” he replied testily. “Do you have a problem with that?” He waited for her to object that Delta Station was on a standard Terra period of twenty-four hours and that she was technically only required to report to him once each period, but she didn’t She glanced away from him.
“No problem, sir,” she said meekly, and that was that.
John resisted the urge to needle her again. He stared at her deliberately, and watched her hunch herself deeper into her station screen. The standard shipboard smock she wore strained across her wide shoulders. She’d probably been hunching like that ever since she was a child, in an effort to look smaller. It didn’t work. Even the loose uniform trousers were snug on her and too short. She was big, for a woman of her generation, but John would still be bigger than she was when they were both full-grown. After all, he was the ninety-third generation, and she was hundred and third. People had gotten a lot smaller in those ten generations.
His eyes roved the command chamber’s Spartan walls, bare monitors, functional control panels, seeking something, anything, to hang his attention on. But in Conservancy-approved fashion, there was absolutely nothing within the chamber that wasn’t necessary. Every item had an indispensable purpose. He looked at Connie and wondered briefly if that was what irritated him about her: perhaps she had a Conservancy-approved mind, all functionality, all imagination pared away in the interests of efficiency and conservation of resources.
“Connie!” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. She flinched again.
“Yes, sir?”
“Keep an eye on things. I’m going down to my quarters.”
“Yes, sir.”
She didn’t even dare to ask him what she should keep an eye on. Or maybe it never occurred to her to ask. For a moment he thought about asking her exactly what she would watch, but then decided he was too hungry to enjoy prodding at her anymore. If he got any extra time in port, and if the Beastship Trotter was in, too, and if Andrew had any extra time, maybe John could pry a little more out of him. For now, let it go. He had a few personal chores of his own to take care of before they docked. He unhooked from the harness on his lounge and swung clear on a transverse cleat. It felt good to stretch his muscles, and he flung himself out of the command chamber with more force than was necessary. Maybe he was growing, he thought as he made his way through the corridor that led to the gallery. Maybe he was even getting ready to go through the change.
“Prick,” Tug observed.
Connie flinched again. She hated herself for that. She should have been over it by now, should have been used to both John and Tug, and have stopped jumping every time one of them spoke. But John was always so caustic and critical, and Tug was always saying such unexpected things. Like now.
“Repeat, please, Tug,” she requested.
“Prick.” When Connie frowned, he continued helpfully, “Dick. Prod. Sticker.”
The last term she recognized, and giggled nervously.
“All terms for the Human male’s sexual organ,” Tug continued gravely. “And all used to express contempt for a person who receives unusual satisfaction out of being unpleasant when in a position of authority. What do you suppose we can infer about Humans from that?”
Connie shrugged and stared into her screen. She didn’t know what to make of Tug. She had only had direct contact with one other Arthroplana, and that one had never conversed casually with the Human crew, let alone been uncouth enough to criticize the captain. She tried to believe that as long as she didn’t verbally respond to it, she couldn’t be considered a party to it. If John ever overheard it, there would be big trouble for her. It could be construed as mutinous behavior. She frowned, then consoled herself that it was very unlikely John would overhear any of Tug’s comments. Tug was aware of their every movement within the gondola, of the status of every bit of their equipment, and the placement of every piece of freight within the cargo bays. He even monitored them during the time the Humans were actually inside Evangeline herself, in her Waitsleep wombs. He’d have to be supremely negligent to make such remarks in John’s hearing. Or, and she felt her spine tighten, supremely careless of what John felt. Now that was something she could imagine, and it made her mouth go dry.
“Tug,” she said abruptly, trying to sound professional and nothing more, “could you give me a status report, please? How long until we dock, and does the station have the unloading crew ready?”
“Thirty-seven minutes until docking. The unloading crew will stand by in twenty-five minutes. Really, Connie, this is a very routine docking. Although we don’t usually carry the tago-root shipments from Castor, the station receives them for processing about every ten days. It was more or less as a favor to the Beastship Hector that we stopped and picked up this shipment. For the docksiders, it’s just another routine, regular shipment to unload. It’s a very mundane task for them. Simplest sort of cargo run, and thus precisely the kind John hates. He much prefers the type of run that Norwich Shipping comes up with: quick profits from obscure or bizarre cargo, preferably after a very long trip. That’s why he’ll swallow his pride and go into Norwich’s offices and practically beg them to reconsider.”
“And if they don’t?”
She could almost hear the shrug in Tug’s voice. “We’ve already had another offer. Not that John likes it much. It’s an unspecified contract with Earth Affirmed. We made a few runs for them, quite a long time ago, back when John and I first started working together. But I gather that their reputation made John uneasy; politically, they’re quite unpopular with the Conservancy. They’ve tried to rehire us the last few times we’ve been in port, but Norwich always had an option on us. That was enough excuse for John to refuse some excellent offers from them.”
“So you think he’ll refuse them again?”
A synthesized snort. “Hard to say. You see, the only other contract he’s likely to get right now is for something rather mundane and boring, such as ore hauls. But both he and Evangeline have a very low tolerance for repetitious tasks and routine schedules. It’s one reason why I keep John, in spite of all his flaws. He harmonizes very well with Evangeline. He usually manages to get us unusual contracts that involve long-distance hauls and new places. She likes those, and so does he. John can spend the years dreaming in Waitsleep while Evangeline gets to see new places. So, I expect he’ll negotiate with Earth Affirmed rather than take anything stable and normal.” There was a trace of derision in the Arthroplana’s voice.
“I