Chapter Five
Establishment
The hours that constitute Alpha Shift (0800-1600) for the Battleship INS Prometheus are uneventful to the point of being boring. Their course is set west through territory completely under Imperial control, there is nothing that can oppose them in this half of the planet (and little for that matter on the other half) but discipline must be enforced. Insurrection, disaffection, these rather than outside force are the enemy.
The enforcement of discipline is even more exacting in friendly waters; there is absolutely no opposition and little need to guard against serf and vassal, so the Exec Officer, the Master Chief and the INCIS Inquisitor Afloat each enjoy and employ special power to maintain that discipline.
It was once said by the tactical idiot Napoleon Bonaparte that an army travels on its stomach. More accurately an army or a navy travels on its fear; fear of the consequences of imperfection.
Neither female Inquisitor believes their male counterparts, not being allowed to open information even to the Inquisitor Afloat in the course of their search, are having a boring day.
x
Nell, in her role as the fictitious Betty Willoughby, has few communications duties on a ship traveling through ten thousand nautical miles of its own waters. True, she can access records of previous conversations but she must be very cautious. A new Petite Officer Second Class would not be likely to access such data on her first day aboard and to be caught doing something she should not do by the crew or by one of the cameras set in each upper corner of the room would bring her to the attention of one or more of the ship's officers - or of the I.A.
If so, she would have to face it as Betty Willoughby, not as an INCIS Level Two Inquisitor; not unless she wanted to face her own partners or the consequence of disobeying the Deputy Grand Inquisitor. Given that choice, Geisha Alexandrovich Callen is a more merciful end.
Though INCIS' role is to enforce discipline and obedience among the Sailors and Storm Troopers, it does a damned good job in enforcing it within itself.
But where she is restricted in her actions INCIS can access the data in either of two grand ways. L3 Eric Beale can tap into the Security Feeds of any Navy facility at any moment and play some illicit and unanswerable move or else Callen or Hanna can order a search. As well as she knows them, she's confident they've spent that past 8 hours cutting a swath through the ship.
Over dinner no one, other than a suicidal idiot, opens up to a newcomer, so that newcomer must, through established skills, feign apathy while keeping her ears open and thus learn much.
Much of little, as it turns out, for though quiet words are exchanged between trusted friends about unknown INCIS Inquisitors who question, seemingly at random, men and women of all three shifts and from every division without dropping any clue as to what is sought, this is something she knew last night.
Tactic Alpha Eleven is a classic. Cut that swath through the ship, ask seemingly random questions so widely ranging that no two who are questioned can compare them well enough to get a sense of what is being sought.
Once planted, the stories build and spread, carrying with them apprehension and details sewn together of mixed and poorly tailored cloth.
By the first 24 hours everyone on the ship will know the fearsome Interrogators are seeking someone for some reason and every crewman and woman will be fearful the axe will fall on a friend or, more probably, themselves.
Kensi and Nell, being newcomers, know they have some time before being called to the Question, but when they are it will be either because the technique has born fruit or for them to give their own reports.
With a crew of four thousand and thousands of miles before Australia, that stage will take some time.
x
Slow eaters as they are the women, who had no contact with each other in the Mess, wind up leaving the room within a minute of each other. Kensi is the first and interjects herself into a knot formed at the intersection of two corridors, contributing little to the conversation.
The moment is a cautious one for all. The effectively random (to those who do not make decisions) assignments of the Imperial Navy Personnel have placed them aboard the same ship. They recognize they must work together, perhaps for years, but they are strangers to one another and so there is caution. But while Kensi is a junior officer in INSIPS the others are still from other sections so there is a social buffer of four thousand men and women between them. Therefore, though the conversation is polite if never casual - a lifetime of caution is never cast aside - they can converse without bloodshed.
When Nell approaches and would continue on her way Kensi, who has already established a somewhat gregarious - but not overly so - persona among strangers, draws her attention with a "Hey, didn't I see you berthed in 9-14-5-79?"
Nell stops and the sizing up she gives the taller PO is more intense than the others had given her moments before. Finally, just before the stare could become unfriendly, "Yeah. What of it?"
"We're bunk-mates."
Again that sizing up, upped another which is still so familiar to any two strangers throughout the Empire. The others look on, mildly curious, not holding their breaths but some probably wondering how the petite Petite will handle the encounter.
With distant strangers first moments can be tense, but where the others have the benefit of distance, these two will be rooming together, perhaps even sharing the same bunk on opposing shifts. How far will this go?
The intensity of Nell's stare, the minuteness of her scan from hair to white shoes taking in every centimeter of flesh within the very brief uniform, comes inches from a declaration of hostility if not war when "You're not my type" comes out with enough irony and easing of eyes to calm the moment.
x
They exchange identities, Kensi using her 'Alyssa Duncack' pseudo and the conversation, while still cautious, never again rises to the point of being interesting to their hearers.
In fact, since strangers remain cautious for very long periods after exchanges of towns, assignments and trivialities, the conversation quickly declines past mundane into boring and in due time they find themselves alone.
"Well," Nell says, "we only have to do that a few more times."
"I'd jump overboard first," Kensi assures her. She'd nearly ruined the encounter by bursting out in laughter at her partner's 'not my type' declaration. Last evening had been the most recent disproving of that lie. While each has a very healthy love of males and their very attractive and functional anatomies, being bisexual always assures them of a very satisfying life.
x
"So, what do you have?" Nell asks, at the same moment letting her gaze fall to the slanted middle of the taller woman's white miniskirt.
"Nothing," she says firmly, intent upon remaining on business, taking advantage of the unknown but very brief time they'll be allowed to talk unheard. She turns left and the pair start down the corridor. While it is true that this is a huge ship and they are amply well equipped should they desire to turn the assignment into interrogations that Grisha Callen and Samuel Hanna are decidedly ill provided for, their introduction has bought them only a very few minutes to exchange information, and this is best done in motion rather than standing up corridor from a Mess already gearing up for Beta Shift's breakfasts.
"The Personnel Records I accessed are consistent for a ship full of loyal Imperial Sailors. Average age of the crew is 18.7, officers run the expected range all the way up to the Captain's 57.3 and Second Officer's 53.8."
"What about First?"
"44.3."
"Interesting. An up-and-comer?"
"Could be. That's the kind of thing an INSIPS PO on her first day will attract attention accessing. Eric could run interference–"
"But he'd get away with that once or twice," Nell reminds her, recalling her days in Ops. While the man can do this work with impunity – to notice INCIS going into your systems is not a good idea for a crew and to block the effort is suicidal – their intent is to be unnoticed.
Callen and Hanna can take the broad strokes. If they are going to do anything it must be with the fine strokes of a three hair brush, not a roller.
"Coming through!"
x
Four men come up fast from behind them and the corridor is so narrow that the women must press their backs against opposite bulkheads for the men to fit past. When they are gone Nell is red faced, virtually steaming but sees Kensi has her hands crossed low before her upward slanted white skirt.
"What's wrong?" the tall woman asks with too innocent a tone. Nell can only move her lips, for no words can come out that can be picked up by unseen microphones. "Don't let it bother you."
"Don't let it–!"
With a wiggle of her fingers she draws attention to her hands crossed before her miniskirt hem. "One tried, it didn't work. They were Chiefs; you were right to keep quiet but you soon learn the little tricks."
"I'll show them a little trick."
"Don't say it."
"With ten lashes on the main deck for breaking discipline and making a scene? No way."
"Besides, it's not all bad. No rule that you can't enjoy it."
x
She manages to force some of the color from her face, finally to admit "If I cared about a Career here I might, but with a Lieutenant or above."
"You did that from a Five to a Two through Eric and Grisha, but it's not only about careers, you know."
"It is for me."
"Yeah, you and so many other women. I get my fun where I can."
"Not interested." She glares after where the men had gone.
She has no problem with the lie, not even with her best friend. She and Kensi started nearly together, Kensi preceding her by only a few weeks, but in life only a fool tells even a best friend the whole truth. It makes relationships complicated but only that caution keeps one safe. Those inclined to slip and tell the truth too often are rarely around long enough to tell anyone too much of anything.
"You should be." The words carry much of warning. "You can't afford to stand out." Her hand, in illustrating her point, brushes across Nell's nipple through her halter top. Nell looks left and right; for the moment they're alone.
"I do do it for more than advancement." She admits, and to prove it she grabs and tugs the woman's arm.
"I can't promote you to a One," Kensi says quietly. "Callen determines ranks."
"Fu wi that!" Nell mumbles against her lips. The moment is brief, the love is not.
xxx
To fit in with the usual routine of shipboard life it's time to make their way to the Laundry-Dispensary where they'll pick up tomorrow's assigned uniforms from the huge room, one of the biggest single spaces on the vessel where uniforms are hung by size. All new crew pick up their first day uniforms with the proper insignia, which set they already have, as well as more personal items. One gives the assigned codes and suitable upper and lower suits (far less space in the room and of material allotted to women) together with underwear are dispensed over a half-door. For new crew there is always a long line, particularly when the inevitable errors must be manually corrected.
Kensi and Nell time their wait at 24 minutes but the choices of outer garments are not unduly unpleasant, not when the entire uniform is generally disliked. The redesign dictated by Emperor Todd Akin two years ago had been unpopular and most wearers look forward either openly to a new design or quietly to a new Emperor.
They step some dozen yards to an intersection and take the moment to open and check their bags. Kensi reaches in and draws out - "Oh Hell No," she says, reading the garment marked with 'Alyssa Duncack'. She holds up the offending garment to her chest. "What is this, pasties on strings? This'll be like putting my tits in bondage."
"Don't knock it until you've tried it."
"Oh sure." She tosses the material back in, grateful she'd brought enough for a few days.
"I got cowchutes."
"Come again?"
She pulls out her own. "Parachutes for udders."
"Well, we're the new girls. Had to come somehow."
x
They trade pieces and Nell checks her alternative to her chest. "Well," she admits a heavy concession, "it's still small but at least my boobs won't be purple by breakfast like yours would be."
"I thought 'don't knock it till you try it'."
"I have, with plenty of men. Only one I'll never let at them again is Callen; he squeezes too fukien hard."
Kensi remembers her first and last (willing) brutal time with the sexual sadist. After that first encounter she'd learned the lesson very thoroughly and when possible she kept her distance. She'd ultimately learned, after too many ambushes, to keep her hand upon the pommel of her adamantium dagger even whenever walking through their own base.
Nell had kept at it, wanting that rise from Three, through 'interview' after 'interview' until she'd finally gotten her Two, and she suspects the woman had won it only after having been so used out she was physically unable to endure another 'conversation'.
She wonders if her friend would survive her promotion to One. She only knows the woman has not asked for it.
She's glad to be a One but never wants another promotion, if there could be one, as long as both she and Callen live.
"Well, maybe I can find a decent trade," she says, coming back into the conversation.
"Maybe you can both move on," says a blonde woman who pushes between them and continues down the corridor. "Honestly, you'd think this is your first time on a Navy ship. Smart women bring their own."