Doors
A/N: H.B. wants to get someone in hot water, and he thinks he can use Vandham as his tool. Needless to say, that is NOT how it works out.
Set pre-game, on the Whale, probably about April 1, 2057. Swears & fluff (because, Vandham), violence (because, H.B.'s face).
All the good material belongs to the hardworking geniuses of MONOLITH SOFT (and love to the localizers, 8-4!).
"Let me have your keycard. I think I know what the problem is." The big man held out his hand toward the slender youth, who slowly handed said card over.
"Ah, just like I thought," said the first man, examining the innocent piece of plastic. "Here's the difficulty. It's bent." And so it was, curved almost double after the man had closed and reopened his massive fist. He flicked the mangled card back at his companion.
To his credit, the younger man caught the projectile nimbly. "You just destroyed my…"
"Boy, it's not just cards that get damaged if you shove them in the wrong places. Noses, for example. Or faces."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a list. Jaws. Have I mentioned faces already? I'd hate to forget that."
"You have no right…!"
"Right?" The older man had raised his voice seamlessly into an impassioned bellow. "I'm the chief of this ship and you're lucky I haven't already snapped your sorry neck." At the other's stunned look, he said, once more in a conversational tone, "Add that to the list, by the way."
The younger man's green eyes flickered with unconcealed rage. "I would think that you'd have more interest in the security of this ship and…"
He was cut off, midsentence, by a stinging smack to the head. "You want to suggest I'm a threat to the ship again? Because there is that list."
"I am constantly astonished by the crudeness of this ship," muttered the other, nursing his forehead. But he'd moved out of arms reach before he said it.
"You don't like crude? Too bad, that's what I run on. But I can switch to busting your ass, metaphorically."
"Do you even know what that means?" That comment must have slipped out by accident, because the younger man snapped his jaws shut instantly.
"Try me. You're on Habitation Unit Incinerator duty for the next three weeks, H.B. I hear the auxiliary one's been jammed for a few days, so they'll be expecting you to help clean it out first." The first man smiled broadly, and crossed his arms. This gesture turned him into something that defied description, but 'man-mountain' might just begin to approach it. "Run along, before I throw you down an elevator shaft. Not metaphorically."
As he watched the younger man petulantly storm off, Vandham kept smiling. He'd been keeping that duty empty for emergencies, and he was pleased he'd hit a juicy one before absolutely needing to fill it. Just right for that whining know-it-all.
How the little creep had persuaded him on the importance of checking door security defied explanation. He'd blame it on Eleonora. She'd sent the brat directly to him, passing on his complaint that too many doors were malfunctioning in this section of the ship, and with too regular a pattern for it to be accidental. As they checked door after door, all working perfectly, Vandham had noted the younger man's growing excitement. Not frustration, not disappointment, not relief. H.B. knew exactly when they were due to hit a malfunction, and he could barely control his expression. He wanted it to be discovered, accidentally, by someone of authority, and he didn't want to be the one to officially point it out.
Security aside, Vandham did not like being maneuvered by someone so pathetic. Sure, he played the fool against the captain's cool all the time, that came naturally. He'd tear up a problem, Nagi would suavely put the pieces back together. It was a pleasure to watch sometimes, crewmates tripping over themselves to agree with whatever solution Nagi offered, in the face of the chaos Vandham had created. It worked pretty well, and a good half of the crew never were the wiser. That was not the same thing as being played for a fool. That he was having none of.
Still, the problem had to be investigated. For all his dislike of H.B.'s manners, he respected the boy's focus. There probably was some problem, and if the hint about security was accurate, a problem that needed quick action. Even if he was not going to give H.B. the satisfaction of watching him open that door.
When he was certain he'd heard an elevator moving away, and the corridor was silent, Vandham took out his comm device. A quick swipe assured him that H.B.'s signal was moving upward, hopefully to the main level of the Habitation Unit. More importantly, it showed no other signals in the nearby area, including behind the door in question. Maintenance supply room for the five floors above them, a major depot for mops and degreasers and the highly classified world of cleaning rags. The original contents weren't the problem. He wondered what was. He'd give the lock a try, then bust the door down, a good exercise. He was looking forward to it.
He tapped his card against the lock and the door slid open. Vandham was surprised and just a little disappointed. Huh, either H.B. had been wrong, or he had misread the man. Without thinking, he stepped into the room. The door slid back and locked with a definite click, leaving him in darkness.
Oh shit. The thought that this might just be a trap flickered through his mind. Because he was definitely not alone. Somebody, something was breathing softly in the darkness, located low and still and tucked behind a crate, out of sight even if the lights had turned on. Which they should have, automatically, as soon as he entered the room.
Had H.B. known? Had he set this up? Probably giving him too much credit to think that, but something was very wrong here.
Vandham noticed that the room was not pitch dark, a small glow coming from the same area as the breathing. Trap or no trap, he didn't have the patience to play games anymore. Five quiet steps took him around the crate, to find the answer.
"Goddammit Brown, what the hell is wrong with you?!" he exploded.
Technician Brown, asleep a second before, jackknifed to a sitting position and looked around groggily, eyes wide but unfocused. It was clear the moment she recognized her personal alarm clock. Her manner softened and a slightly goofy smile lit up her face. "Chief! What do you want?"
Why did this remind Vandham of theoretical physics class, of all things? He'd hated it, fussy subject that it was, and already clear to him that it had nothing to do with the ideas of engines and flight that were front and center in his young mind. The whole dumb idea of multiple universes, infinite and proceeding along the length of time, that seemed particularly stupid. Until he felt one possible response to her question slip away from him, one reaction, swimming along its own universe that had him first growling, "You, dumbass, you," and then seeing just how sturdy the straps on her tank top were (or on his, for that matter).
He sighed, gave it a mental wave farewell, and sat down on the deck next to her with the grace of a collapsing cinderblock wall. Still, his voice was quiet again. "Explain. What the hell are you doing, sacked out in a closet?" He looked around him. Clearly, this wasn't some impulsive act. Blanket, small battery lantern, a pillow made from neatly folded work coveralls balanced on top of her safety boots. It wasn't a quick nap, either, judging from the mess of her hair and the still sleepy eyes.
"Catching some sleep." Her eyes grew alarmed. "I'm not late for my shift, am I?! What time is it?" She dove for her comm device, placed precisely between lantern and 'pillow.'
"16:30," he growled.
"Oh good." She set the device down, unopened, and relaxed. "I've got a good hour before I need to be there."
"Great. Maybe you'll have time to answer my question." When she blinked at him, he slowly repeated himself. "Why the hell are you sleeping in a cleaning closet?"
He felt another universe spawn and drift, as the answer, "Because I was tired," was not spoken, but clearly considered. Brown was waking up, returning to her proper self. She twitched the blanket a little primly, and almost managed to sit at attention. Instead of a cheeky reply, she said, slowly, "I'm on night shift."
"Yeah. And?"
"And that means I'm off during the day."
"That's kind of the definition. And?"
"If you'd let me finish, sir," she said with a reproving frown. She took a deep breath and finished her explanation in a chunk. "My agoraphobia kicks in worse during the day, even if it's only the artificial day in the Habitat Unit. My assigned room is great, lovely roommates, everything, but it's on the edge of the residential area, and getting there is murder. By the time I get home, I'm a wreck. Leaving to get to work is even worse."
"So you don't bother."
"Pretty much, sir. If I'm off at night, I can swing it, but during the day, I find a quiet corner and sleep there." She trailed off, leaving it to his imagination.
"How long?"
"To be honest, sir, I've been doing it since the first few months."
Vandham set his face in a formidable frown. "That ends. Today. Either bunk at home or don't come on duty." When she hesitated, he intensified his glare. "Understood?" he snapped.
"Yes, sir. I might…"
"At. Home. I don't want to find your corpse cluttering up your station." Her guilty look confirmed his suspicion. He sighed. "And I'll see about getting you different lodging."
"Oh no, sir! I don't want that!"
"Shut up. You're being an idiot."
"Yes, sir."
"Nice we agree on something." His voice shifted. "Not just for the good of the ship. It isn't safe to have people, sleeping here and there. Anyone could have walked in on you."
"The door was locked, sir."
"No, it wasn't."
"I'm quite sure it was, sir."
"You contradicting me, Brown? Because I remember walking right in."
A slight smile flashed across her face. "Oh, that's because it was your card. I set it to open for you."
"What the hell? You expecting me or something?" Because, if she was, then he was going to kill both her and H.B.
"No, of course not, sir. But I figured if you ever had a reason to come in to a room, who was I to say no?" As he tried to figure that out, she explained further, "Same for the captain. And the cleaning crew, although that's on a 5 minute delay. Gives me time to get dressed." At which point, she blushed and tugged the blanket a centimeter higher, but continued just as calmly. "Most of that section knows to call ahead, and I know their schedule, so that's only happened twice."
"You've got it all figured out."
"I do my best not to be a nuisance, sir."
"You are an utter failure at that, Brown. You've just told me, that aside from us privileged few, you've blocked doors for months."
"Only temporarily, and only to people that have no business entering. Who's wanted to come in, otherwise?"
Vandham kept silent. Her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed her comm device again, swiping it into life. A few flicks and she gave a snort of rage. "Hector! That little jerkface! He's got some nerve…" She calmed herself quickly, and shrugged. "Typical, really. He must be bored."
"What idiocy is going on between you two?"
She twisted her mouth like she'd tasted something sour. "Long story."
"My business. Make it short."
She sighed again and laid the device down gently. "I got him busted, back on the Project, when we were still in Nevada. They wanted to know how I'd found out about it, when I first applied."
"How did you know?" He'd been surprisingly incurious back then. Too busy, too grateful for familiar help.
"H.B. told a professor I knew. She told me."
"I keep forgetting that you both went to the same secretarial college."
She wrinkled her nose. "Don't criticize or I'll say some things about that trade school you went to, sir. He told her everything, as far as I can tell. She followed one of two normal responses and got stinking drunk before telling the first person she met. Luckily, that was me."
"What would be the other response?"
"Call security and get H.B. some medical care. 'Hello, the Earth is about to be destroyed by aliens.' Not exactly believable, but unfortunately, she believed him. He was stupid enough to just leave her after that, scared silly. I don't blame her for hitting the bar."
"And you played confessor."
"I repeat: the Project was lucky it was only me. It could have been a blogger, or a politician, or I don't know what. Judging from our current crew selection…" she frowned. Less said, the better. "It could have set off panic or opposition, made it impossible. As it was, you were only forced to take on a single liability. Me." She frowned. "I owe him my life, really. Shame I had to turn him in."
"Your gratitude is amazing. No wonder he wants your hide."
"He wasn't bounced, now was he? He's here, and safe."
"And the professor? The one he wanted?"
"She didn't make the Nevada project. She made Florida, a year later."
The two fell silent. Their sister ship, the Orlando, was a confirmed casualty, destroyed before leaving the lower atmosphere.
"So you ratted him out."
"They were coming to worse conclusions. Other people would have been hurt, sir. Innocent people." She looked very directly at him.
He remembered the hard glances Nagi had given him, back when Brown had suddenly joined the project. He didn't follow up on the question. He shook his head in disgust, nonetheless. "Great. I have a feud of long standing, raging in my department. Knock it off."
"I don't do anything, sir. He annoys me but I try to treat him right."
"Treat him better. If you see him coming, leave him alone. Run, if necessary."
"Will do, sir. Can I …"
"No. Whatever evil thought is lurking there, permission denied."
"Yes, sir."
"Right. Last question, then this is over and closed or you will be in a world of hurt. The doors. How did you do it? And keep it short."
"I'll send you the details, sir. Basically, the underside of the sensor is poorly protected."
"We're going to have to retrofit every stinking door in the ship now. Great." He rose to his feet. "Three minutes, outside." He walked away and out of the room.
Straight into H.B.'s eager face. "Goddammit, boy, I sent you away."
"I wanted to check on something, sir," H.B. responded, eyes glittering with anticipation. He was staring at the cleaning closet door as if he had x-ray vision.
Vandham readied himself for an explosive few minutes, as well as the lengthy and painful explanation to the captain and a lifetime of smirks. Poor Brown, she really had messed things up, and he couldn't even find it in himself to blame her. He heard footsteps along the corridor, from the direction of the elevator. A witness, just peachy, here to save H.B.'s life, because, up until then, murder had been his #1 choice of response.
"Chief! There you are. I've been looking for you, sir. I have a question about the relays."
H.B. gaped as Brown hove into view, around a bend of the corridor. Vandham was made of stronger stuff, and kept a normal glower on his face, although there was a very slight pulse visible in his neck. "Brown."
"Sir. Hector." She nodded to the two men in turn, then stood there, polite and blank.
"You… no, that's inconceivable."
One more possible universe spawned and vanished, but all she said was, "By the way, the cleaning staff figured out the door problem." As H.B. tried not to stutter, and Vandham allowed himself the smallest grin, she continued in great detail about erroneous automatic locking subroutines due to false reported looping of the expected sterilization cycles in unused rooms. It was long, painful gibberish, complete with percentages and random code about pointer *XCX8-4, beautifully delivered in a quick monotone and with a deadpan face. H.B.'s eyes were glazed before she was half way through, when Brown slipped in an aside, meant only for Vandham, "Mind you, maintenance crews, going in and out using the ventilation ducts, that can trigger locks too."
A/N: Eldest Child asks, "Why was it called New Los Angeles, if the ship was built in Nevada?" Answer: "It was on the California side of the California-Nevada border, just outside of Primm. Think how bad the crew would have been if they had called it the New Las Vegas." (Love to all of Las Vegas, go Rebels! And the massive solar array plant on the California side of the border really is just that, and only that. Really. So don't worry.)
Slightly AU, with the ECP project being much more secret for much longer than official canon. Can't go back and fix my whole head (ha, that would take a lot of work). Also, I tried taking out the fluff, but it didn't work. If Vandham's going to access the morphogenic field three times, he'd need a pretty big shock to set it off.
And, yes, they're still watching Princess Bride in 2057, at least these two are. H.B., not so much. Next up: Lila catches the flu or death or something.