“The Belle Notation is coming into firing position, Captain.” The ensign’s voice squeaked at the end, with a flush to match. He cleared his throat. “Shields remain at sixty-one percent and rising.”
Captain Chiv studied the comm device in her hand, poking at it with a long finger. “Engineering is doing a wonderful job. A pity we can’t increase the shielding further during wormhole travel.”
“Yes, Mum,” and this time the tension kept his voice high. “In the meantime, shall we maneuver? Or perhaps you have other orders you wish to provide?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “First time in space, Ensign Aubring?”
He stiffened. “Graduated the academy last month, Captain.”
The XO drifted past, slapping the ensign lightly on the shoulder. “Everything gon’ be okay. Cop’tin will take care ov us.”
“Gimeson knows what he’s about. Grew up on Mars, you know. He’s a good role model.”
“If I live, Mum.”
Chiv tapped her comm again. “There’s always a doomsayer aboard the watch. Next tour, it’ll be someone else. You’ll get there. Enjoy the view. Io’s beautiful this time of year.”
“Captain,” he begged. “I’d like to point out that the Belle is now warming up her torpedo tubes.”
“Shields at seventy,” called the XO.
“Thanks, Gimeson.” Chiv extracted her draped legs from the Captain’s chair and stood with her feet shoulder width apart, easy with long practice in limited grav. She leaned forward slightly to study the display. “There they are, right on time.”
“Neutral signal, Mum.”
A crackle emerged from the console radio. “Neutral party with deliveries for parties on the Belle Notation and the Grammatically Incorrect. Please spin down for Galactic Delivery Services.”
Aubring groaned. “Deliveries always come at inconvenient times, don’t they? That poor tug will be toast in thirty seconds.”
“Law ov the galaxy,” Gimeson said laconically.
“Neutral party,” Chiv said with a slight smile, and held up her comm for Aubring to inspect. “As long as the tug avoids pirates – which he will, in this area, with two of us squaring off, not even they’re that daring – he’ll make it here. And we’re obliged to let him take as long as he likes to deliver.”
Gimeson slid toward the viewport. “Stalls the conflict until we’re ready. Maybe stops it a’tall.”
“Don’t suppose it’s pizza this time, Captain?” came a hopeful voice over the internal intercom. “Engineering could use a morale boost.”
“Kebabs,” Chiv answered absently. “They were faster. And bubbles, for the other crew, because I want them distracted, not unhappy if the food’s cold again.”
She headed for the hatch. “Diplomacy, Ensign. It’s got its quirks.”
***
This week, AC Young prompted me with: Mankind had colonised the solar system, but delivery companies still delivered stuff at the most inconvenient of times.
My prompt went to nother Mike: Still pools marred the dusty path, gleaming crystal-blue with reflected sky.
