John Ringo - Cally's War

“Ma’am, do you remember in college taking an elective course, taught by computer, in the history of legal administration?”

“Okay, what about it?”

The expression in the blue eyes was still blank. Stewart was starting to feel like he had stepped into the twilight zone.

“Ma’am, General Beed likes paper.”

“Well, okay. It’s not very usual, but people collect some very strange things. What, does he display the collection in his office or something? I’ll make a point to admire it. Thank you for—”

“Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but that’s not what I meant. He doesn’t collect paper, he insists on working with it.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” She tilted her head to the side and waited for him to elaborate.

“Ma’am, the general does not use an AID, he does not use a computer, the only electronic devices in his office I’m sure he uses are the lighting and the life support. Oh, and the coffee machine,” he added.

“Paper?” she whispered, the light of understanding dawning in her eyes at last. “Well, that’s… special.” She paused, obviously lost in thought. Stewart was beginning to suspect she could get very lost indeed.

“How does he ever get any work done?” she asked.

“Ma’am, Fleet Strike promoted you to captain and sent you here because you’re the closest thing to a legal secretary it had. In this case, you were the closest thing to a square peg it had for this square hole. I’m afraid that means this position may be a bit different from what you’re used to, ma’am,” he said. He carefully didn’t state that the promotion had probably been something in the way of a consolation prize from a fellow personnel officer who had winced at the obviously shitty job he was forced to stick her with. Promotions weren’t supposed to be given out like that, but the bean counters tended to stick together.

She brushed her left hand over her hair, smoothing it unnecessarily.

“Lieutenant Pryce, a good Fleet Strike officer goes where she’s sent and does what she is ordered to do.” She shrugged, “I guess I’ll have to brush up on paper.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you for the scuttlebutt, Pryce.” She smiled warmly at him and Stewart was suddenly glad he was seated on the opposite side of a table. “Now, about that work you mentioned. Hadn’t we best get started?”

Okay, she’s stacked and her face and hair aren’t bad. Beautiful wouldn’t be too strong a word. But for God’s sake, man, you’re not seventeen! Definitely a good idea not to work in her quarters. Constant seven-foot separation would be about right. Unfortunately, that suggested the kind of work he was beginning to think he’d like to do in her quarters, including a remarkably vivid mental image of her naked breasts in his hands — He cut the thought off and handed her the copy he’d made of the original cube. A spark of static jumped between their hands and he inhaled sharply. She was a hopeless ditz, but obviously there was some chemistry there in addition to the normal reaction of any healthy, straight young man to a woman built like she was. Not that he was young. But his body obviously thought it was. It was going to be a long week.

Cally had escaped after dinner to her quarters which, being onboard a ship, resembled a broom closet with all the necessary furniture and electronics shoehorned in. Everything except a head. That was down the hall and wasn’t exactly designed for meaningful privacy. The design specs for these hulls had been laid down when female humans had been few and far between in Fleet Strike, and Fleet had evolved a more relaxed attitude towards body modesty anyway. The upshot was that her shower shift in the morning had surreptitiously been more crowded than strictly necessary. Some of the troops who showered on her shift had almost certainly been scheduled for the other one. But as they didn’t touch and were discreet about looking, and as Makepeace was enough of an airhead to get by with it, she affected not to notice. She did notice that the lieutenant was not among her covert admirers. He was on the same shift, but kept himself well along towards the end of the line of shower heads. At least, if he was looking, he was very good at not getting caught at it.

She and Pryce were on the first meal shift with the other officer passengers and a few rather glum enlisteds that probably would have preferred the other shift for their chow.

This left the problem of what to do while the second meal shift was using the mess hall. Since space was at a premium, however, they usually spent the time leaning against the wall in the passage outside. Cally tended to either linger over a second cup of coffee or play two-player Space Invaders against Pryce. They had discovered that they both shared an odd passion for very early arcade space games. He had offered to show her his collection of games once they got to Titan. She didn’t think it was a line, and wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

Today Pryce had muttered something about needing something from his quarters. She hadn’t paid much attention, grateful for the respite that gave her time over the coffee to sort out how she felt about him. He wasn’t the clumsiest man she’d ever met, but he certainly wasn’t graceful. Maybe Granpa’s right. The job’s starting to get to me. Okay, it’s been a couple of weeks and I’ve got a normal, healthy set of hormones, but half the guys in the shower were as okay looking, and none of them were tripping over their own feet. Okay, the way that little strand of hair keeps falling across his forehead is kind of sexy, but… the job must be getting to me after all. The first acceptable excuse I get for getting laid I need to do something about some of these hormones.

Her coffee cup was empty, so she went back into the mess hall for more. She could hear a couple of whispers, and feel the eyes, but the railroad tracks on her collar effectively prevented anything more overt. Pryce was back when she got back out with her fresh coffee.

“I wonder what’s on the cube this morning. Had a look?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.” He leaned against the wall just a bit outside normal conversational space, as if he was afraid of getting too close.

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about our office setup on Titan. Have you been out there yet?” Her back was already aching a bit, and she stood away from the wall so she could arch back and take some pressure off of it, reaching a hand back to rub out the slight cramp.

“What? Oh.” He shook his head slightly. “I’ve been to Titan Base before, ma’am, but not to CID. I reported in to the general before he left Earth. Okay, ma’am, you know the general just took command of the Third MP Brigade on Titan. Most of the brigade, all but about two companies of it, brigade headquarters, and CID, is forward deployed with various combinations of the infantry. Most of the day to day management of the brigade is handled by the XO, Colonel Tartaglia. The general feels that the best use of his attention involves more of a hands-on focus with CID, so, other than the time-honored passing of canapés, that’s where I’m likely to be spending most of my time. That’s also why he wanted you familiar with so much of CID’s background. If he asks you to find him something, he’s… well, patience and explanations don’t appear to be his strong suits, ma’am.”

“I’m looking forward to this assignment already,” she commented dryly.

Stewart had always worked at jobs without fixed hours. When most teens his age had been watching the clock at fast food places, Stewart had been running a successful street gang under his original name, Manuel Guerrera. Then, as now, organizational problems and responsibilities often couldn’t be pigeon-holed into set hours. Which was why he was lying here on his bunk, while Captain Makepeace was either in her cabin or doing God knew what, going through a list of names and detailed security profiles trying to detect which one or more of the people who had put in for assignment to the Fleet Strike CID on Titan were most likely to be plants of the nameless enemy organization revealed by their contact.