John Ringo - To Sail a Darkling Sea

“How the hell is he going to free up the entire United States?” one of the men asked.

“Again, that depends,” Nadia said. “Right now, in the south harbor, there are what are called ‘mechanical clearance devices.’ Zombie traps is what most people call them. They are containers that have been turned into essentially, pardon, sausage grinders.”

“Oh, my God,” the woman said, putting her hand over her mouth.

“Light and sound to draw the zombies in?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” Nadia said. “And one way gates, yes? Then, well, blades driven by a motor. All very efficient. The Commodore has said that there are other plans for interior areas. But we are still few. And he prefers not to detail them as they will change, yes? It all depends upon what we find. Who we find who are willing to help.”

“Three days off,” Thomas said. “With nothing to do?”

“There are books,” Nadia said. “There are TVs in the rooms and there are channels that play movies. Eat, rest. Get back your strength. On the third day there will be an orientation and you can choose to help or not. After that, you see a human resources counselor. I will warn you that in most cases, you must first be part of the forensics cleaning teams. These are teams that clean out the boats and compartments. It is… At first it is quite unpleasant. I still do it. But it is important. We have to have somewhere to live that is not filled with the filth that the zombies leave. And after a while you get used to it. We wear a sort of plastic coverall and masks. It is not the worst thing in the world.”

“So to get any of the better jobs, we have to muck out compartments?” one of the men said, angrily.

“Unless you have specific skills, yes,” Nadia said. “There is a shortage of persons with trained skills in engineering, electrical systems, plumbing, welding and boat handling. For those you must either have proof, such as a master’s ticket, or pass a test that shows you have the skills. Are you an electrical or mechanical engineer, sir?”

“No,” the man said. “I’m a solicitor.”

“There is, unfortunately, an overabundance of those, sir,” Nadia said, drily.

“And if we tell them to fuck off?” the solicitor asked. “What then?”

“There are interior staterooms on the Boadicea ,” Nadia said, smiling. “Six to a stateroom, sometimes eight. Minimal rations and water to drink. Bit like being back in the compartment, yes? Some people choose that. At least for a time. If you choose to help, the most you spend on cleaning is a week. It, again, helps out and it has to be done. Someone has to do it.”

“Do we have to take the three days or can we just see the counselor?” Thomas asked.

“You can see the counselor at any time, sir,” Nadia said, her brow wrinkling. “But generally people take a few days off before getting to work.”

“Where’s the HR office?” Thomas said. “I mean, you said any time.”

“Well,” Nadia said, frowning. “The next thing we were going to do was get you registered. You have to do that before going to the counselor’s office, I think.”

“Where do I register?” Thomas asked.

“Over here,” Nadia said. She led him to a computer terminal and gestured to the seat.

“Were you ever in the United States military?” she asked.

“A long time ago,” Thomas said. “But my personnel files got burned up in a fire in St. Louis. You probably don’t have them.” They’d better not have them.

“Well, type in your social security number,” Nadia said. “That has many records associated with it.”

Thomas typed in a totally bogus social security number. He knew it was bogus because he’d had it “issued” to him at one point. If they had that one, they were really connected. And to more than the Hole.

A screen asking for personal information came up.

“Okay, I guess they don’t have it,” Nadia said. “What did you do? They’re looking for security and clearance people.”

“I was a truck driver in the Army,” Thomas said. Which was only a little white lie. He’d driven trucks plenty of times.

“Fill in the information then go forward in the saloon and follow the signs,” Nadia said, pointing. “If you change your mind, we’ll be here in the saloon for about an hour. We were going to have lunch. It is tuna.”

“I’m sure I can find chow,” Thomas said. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Nadia.”

“You as well, sir,” Nadia said, shaking his hand. This was clearly a first. “If you have any questions, I’ll be right here.”

“Got it,” Thomas said, typing. It wasn’t a strong skill, but he could do it.

There were questions after the screen was filled.

“Have you ever been a member of the military of any nation or a member of law enforcement?”

He thought about that for a second and clicked “No.” That was looking for zombie fighters. One of the things they were looking for was boat captains. He’d decided that was what he wanted to do. And he had enough experience, he could probably fake his way to it. He’d kill zombies if it came up. Plenty of zombies to kill and plenty of time.

New Screen: “Mark any skills for which you have formal training and experience.”

There were a bunch of those. He clicked “civilian offshore boating,” “knot tying,” knowing he couldn’t conceal the skill for long he clicked “civilian shooting,” “mountaineering” for the heck of it-what the hell it was true and he’d trained people in it-“Commercial Driver’s License” and “linguistics. ” He left off “electronics,” “computer programming,” “explosives or demolitions,” “professional diving,” “operations management,” “helicopter pilot,” “strategic analysis,” “intelligence gathering,” “intelligence analysis,” “strategic intelligence analysis,” “executive level operations” and “business management.” But he found it interesting they were on there.

Thomas followed the signs to the HR office. There was a desk in the corridor manned by a young woman behind a computer and a short line. The people were dressed pretty much the same as he was but he could tell they weren’t fresh off a boat.

He waited until he got to the woman.

“Like to see an HR counselor,” he said.

“Are you with compartment R-765?” the woman asked. Another Russian chick.

“No, I just got off the boat,” Thomas said. “L-1438. I just signed in.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Name?”

“Thomas Walker,” he said.

“You are just off the boat,” the girl said. “Are you sure you don’t want to take some time?”

“Positive,” Thomas said. “And I don’t even mind cleaning compartments to get a job. I’ve been sitting on my ass for six months.”

“Go to the open cabin and have a seat,” the girl said. “There are computer terminals. On the areas that you listed as being qualified there are short quizzes. Answer the quiz then a counselor will see you.”

“Okay,” Thomas said.

He went to the cabin and all the computers were busy so he took a seat.

“I don’t know you,” the guy next to him said. “Not my compartment.”

“No,” Thomas said. “I’m fresh off the boat. Didn’t take the three days.”

“You should have,” the guy said. “It was nice. Almost like the cruise I bloody paid for. Yank?”

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“Well, you’re in for a bit of all right, then,” the man said. “The Yanks are in charge. I’m sure you’ll have a cushy office job in no time.”

“I’d rather clean compartments,” Thomas said. A person got up from a computer and he waved for the man to take it. “Your turn.”