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SubKt. Mundy steps out of the shuttle, walks through the cargo bay, and takes the corridor leading to the Mess Hall. The place is full of off-duty crew, and the conversations all come back to the same topic:
Assorted Crew embers: What in the Void happened? Where are we? What do you think this all means? The Fleet Captain will sort it all out, right?
Mundy approaches the bar, and asks the Subaltern on duty
A protein snack, and a cup of Hjocoa if you have any, if you please
The Subaltern hands over the snack bar and apologises,
Sorry, Ma’am, we’re out of Hjocoa, we were going to stock up in Promethean, but we got sent out on short notice…
Mundy sighs. She turns to look for a table, and for any familiar faces.
Nhaima stepped onto the Grant, a collection of reports tucked under arm for the now Kommandant Aramond. He seemed to be busy in an officer’s drawing room, so she left it with the subaltern minding the door and was about to return to the docking bay before she noted the familiar sight hunting for a familiar beverage.
She crossed the mess hall’s threshold and picked up a ration bar and the closest thing she could find to ginger ale…. sniffing the bulb it appeared to be water.
“Ma’am,” she said, offering the subkommandant a salute once noticed.
I think the No Ranks In The Bar rule still holds, Nhaima Mundy says, with a smile. If we can call this a Bar… there’s beer, I think, but I need my head cleared, not muddled. I have a lot of logs and records to go through. I expect you’re doing the same with a glance at the reports Do you have five minutes to sit and breathe while I Indulge in this delicious concoction? glances at the snack bar with a grimace.
No, Kaluf, those plasma injectors are right at the limit of spec. now. When we left Promethean they were exactly nominal. The chief was right to condemn them. They already used their spare set on Grant’s own shuttle. But the chief promised me he has prioritized them for the Foundry. They should be remanufactured in about four hours and through the calibration cycles in another three. So tell Polano to stand down as well. We’ve all put in a full shift already so we’ll bunk here rather than tying up shuttle capacity to get back to Viper… er, Invictus. See you later.
A rumpled and scruffy black coverall with heavy crimson accents and a tucked under collar shuffles Kommandant Matsiyan into the messhall and deposits him in the brief line for service. He emerges with a heavy mug of strong tea and a plate of something draped over a slice of toast on a tray. He glances round for a place to sit.
Donovan hesitantly enters the mess hall and nervously glances around until he finds familiar faces. Somewhat paranoid, he makes a circuitous route – checking out the menu of the day, dispensing a large mug of coffee, staring out the porthole – before he finally approaches.
“Nhaima. Is that… is that you? I mean… are you… _you_? I’m just not sure about anything – it’s like everything here is familiar, but just a bit off. Have you noticed that? The stellar cartography charts look the same, but there’s something even there that puts me on edge. Even looking at the stars… there’s… just… You know? Tell me you know what I’m talking about and that this isn’t just a new neurosis.”
Sips his coffee…
“Ugh! Well that hasn’t really changed!”
Noticing the senior officers present, “Sir, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Intendant Vaj joins the other officers in the mess hall, looking quite tired. He orders whiskey and takes a seat.
Hope everyone’s holding up. ONI… I mean, INI is having a heck of a time figuring out where we are and whatnot. I need another drink.
One thing hasn’t changed, Donovan: no ranks in the bar. But yes, I do know what you’re talking about. I had to hack into “my” personal logs, and no, they’re not my personal logs. But I’m finding out about SubKommandant Mundy…
Takes a nibble at the protein bar, and makes a face
We’re not in Kansas any more.Takes a drink and frowns.
No kidding. I haven’t figured out “my” password yet for my logs; it’ll be interesting to see what I’ve been up to lately…
Reading pre-projection logs? I’m glad you people have time to read!
Subaltern Ironclad staggers into the mess hall, the weight of a full day’s of work borne on his muscles and mind alike. Shaking hands bear beverages; a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.
Alright if I join you folks? I’ve got 10 minutes to kill before I have to go continue to remind myself how much catching up I have to do on the build, systems, and thresholds of a so-called Thraex class. Equal parts fun and frustrating. Some interesting intel, too.
Reading logs is intel. How else do we learn about our counterparts? And talking about learning, search your quarters.
Holds up a tiny metal object between thumb and forefinger
I’ve found three so far, all different. I’m guessing at least one must be ONI – I mean, INI – but they don’t have little flags on them, so it’s just a guess.
…nodding at Adele…
“I know ranks aren’t allowed – it’s just been every transmission that we’ve managed to intercept and decrypt so far were sprinkled with ‘Sir’s’ and ‘Ma’am’s’ and, generally, well… not so much groveling as making sure that a superior officer is reflected as just that. Superior. Forgive me if I add a few here and there, so I don’t get out of the habit of it when I have to communicate outside our little fleet here, which isn’t exactly our little fleet.”
Donovan’s tone turns hushed, as if he’s sure everyone and everything in the room is surely listening in on the conversation.
“From what I’ve discovered, biometric scans and simple voice pattern recognition systems recognize us for us… I mean them… ummm… Don’t make me go down this rabbit hole!”
“What I mean to say is that passwords and such seem to be a bit of extra work to crack, and simple scans like DNA, retinal, and voice register as authentic.”
Donovan looks at his fingers, not so much to check for damage, but tapping them for feeling and to reassure himself that they’re still whole.
“Mr. Vaj, I recommend an extra measure of caution if you try to circumvent the password lockouts. The systems here seem a little less ‘tolerant’ of imaginative bypasses.”
“I was going to test a theory and see if there were any EEG patterns on file to compare to, and, maybe, run some scans on my hand, but I was a little weirded out by the equipment in sickbay. Voiddamnit, I’m a Scientist, not a Doctor, but I don’t think everything in there is meant to patch the officers up and make us feel better!”
Oh Voiddammit, the Caltron headache meds… I wonder if MedBay stores have them… Sorry, that really isn’t a high priority. I’ll go and have a look at the equipment you mentioned, though, Donovan. If we have it, chances are other Navy ships have it too, and I want to know what kind of Navy we’re in.
I suppose you’re right again, we should familiarise ourselves with ranks and forms of address, for when we make our first public appearance. And yes, the lock system and computer access in my quarters recognised my fingerprints and voice. Her fingerprints and voice. Whatever.
Any other cheerful news?
Looks around the table at her fellow officersVaj leans over to Mundy and whispers,
It would be wise to leave any suspicious items like that where you found them. If there is evidence of tampering, it could be noted by authorities and you could be arrested, or at least scrutinized even more carefully. And it probably won’t be INI, it’l be the Stellar Security Directorate.
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