¡Me cago en todo lo que se menea!
I admire Teniente Reed.
Truly, I do. I know that he is an officer incomparablemente as regards the discharge of his duties and the care of his staff. I know that he is upright and honourable. I know that he would die before allowing harm to come to the least important member of the crew. I know that he is my dear friend as well as my senior officer, and that he is as clever as he is kind at heart.
But at this moment I could beat him around the head with a reinforced duranium bar, for I begin to think that nothing less than that will beat some sense into it.
He cares for Comandante Hayes. Of course he does. If he did not, there would not be a quarter of all this trouble. And unless I have grown old and fanciful before my time, the Comandante cares for him too.
And neither one of them will admit it – much less act upon it.
Mierda!
All of us knew, when we accepted this mission, that we may not return from it; such things are in the hands of God. To my mind at least, this makes it all the more important that we should snatch at every chance of happiness that comes our way. Ciertamente, there are the regulations, but it seems to me that the good God will not feel them a good reason to pass up an opportunity to show love to another human being, especially here in the Expanse where none of us know if we will see another day.
I should be sleeping. Out here in space the fiction of an Earth day is maintained, because that is what our bodies are comfortable with. I will shortly hear the shrill of my alarm clock, waking me to take command of the Tactical Station for the duration of Gamma Shift, and as a rule I am soundly asleep still – not lying wide awake contemplating beating my patrón over the head with a duranium bar, which is a thing of which I do not at all think the capitán would approve.
It is insupportable. It cannot go on. As much as it pains me to think of it, I will have to call a council of war. I will talk to Bernhard and we will talk to Comandante Tucker, and the three of us will put our heads together. And somehow we will come up with something, some way to ensure that two equally foolish and equally stubborn men are brought to their senses.
Or by the good God, I will know the reason why not!
My alarm clock goes off just as I am revolving in my head various ways of drugging Teniente Reed and depositing him conveniently naked in the comandante's bunk. I must have been sleepier than I thought at the time this idea entered my mind, because as I head for the shower I realise despondently that although it seemed an excellent one at the time, the chances of the comandante taking the proper advantage of this happy circumstance are depressingly small.
Maybe my friend is not the only one who needs to have his head attended to with a duranium bar to knock some sense into it.
I know you will say that the two of them are behaving this way simply because they detest each other. But I who have known the teniente for over three years know that this is not how he would behave to someone he detests. He cares what Hayes thinks of him. In the course of our daily duties we hardly see one another, but there are times when we can simply meet as friend and friend; for a coffee in the Observation Lounge on a Sunday morning – a little habit we have fallen into over the years – where we talk or are silent as the mood takes us, as friends should. And though it is not his way to speak much, little things of late have given away the direction of his thoughts. He is full of doubts of himself, of how he may measure up in the eyes of some other. He pretends it is the capitán, but truly I believe it is not of Jonathan Archer that he thinks in the long taut silences – though I know very well, knowing him as I do, that Archer's bringing another military man on board, of a higher rank, has caused him much anxiety for his own position aboard Enterprise.
As for Hayes? Plainly I do not know him. And not for all the wealth in the world would I so betray my patrón as to speak of such delicate matters as these to one of those who do. But given the difference in their ranks, the comandante has been surprisingly forbearing of imposing his will and his experience on a man who would be placed in a most difficult position were he to disagree. This matter of the extra training sessions is the first evidence I have seen of Hayes deliberadamente setting out to antagonise him – and although I can understand why the teniente should object to the imposition (he having always at least half a protective eye on poor Comandante Tucker, who already sleepwalks around the ship), I myself think they are not at all a bad thing. I am not too proud to learn from a MACO, if such a thing is possible, and normalmente Malcolm would be the first to wish that his team – and even he himself – should be placed in the way of improving their skills, regardless of the source. Another pointer to some deep issue between him and Hayes, to my mind. Resentment? Maybe. He has reason to be resentful, all of us know and understand this, and even share it a little; we, who have kept the ship safe until now. But though they circle one another like scorpions in the sun, such dances can have completely different meanings, and only those who dance fully know the whole.
Hé! It is foolishness in me to sit here thinking. I shall have to hurry breakfast, or I will be late for shift takeover and Bernhard will be sitting at Tactical looking worried. Poor Bernhard, I sometimes think he worries even more than the teniente himself, if that were possible.
Me? I do not worry. I act.
Adelante!
My route to the Mess Hall takes me past the gymnasium. Peeking through the doors, I am not at all surprised to see my patrón in there. He has been there for some time, by the looks of it; the sweat is spreading down his grey shirt, but still he throws kicks and punches at some unseen enemy, bouncing on the balls of his feet to evade counter-strikes in return.
I shake my head. I have seen him practise alone many times before, of course, but there is something in this frenzied hostility that makes me fear for him.
Something must be done.
I change my course and head for the turbo-lift instead. Bernhard will wait a few more minutes.
Fortune smiles on me. I encounter Comandante Hayes, on his way to somewhere that is not in the least important. At least, it is not important to me, and therefore I have no compunction in venturing to address him, in my most innocent voice, and inform him that if he is looking for Teniente Reed he is in the gymnasium.
It has to be said that whatever their other failings may be, the MACOs are unfailingly courteous to women. As old-fashioned as it may be, I find it charming. And in many ways Comandante Hayes himself is a charming man.
It remains only to make one other person see that – or at least admit it.
I do not think, con toda honestidad, that he was looking for the teniente. But he is not slow on the uptake, the comandante, and he thanks me politely for the information and heads towards the gymnasium.
It is not at all my province to supervise two grown men as though they were children – despite the fact that they are both behaving as if they are. So I nod approvingly and resume my journey towards the Mess Hall, where I eat a hearty if hurried breakfast, and thence towards the Bridge, where Bernhard is indeed looking worried because it is so unlike me to be late.
But at my smile his face clears. Estimado Bernhard, he worries far too much.
I have always found action to be far more use than worrying.
