Chapter 56
Jim Vassilakos
My question to Stef regarding damage control and the spinal transport tube unveiled a flurry of thoughts, everything from worries to possibilities. It was too much to grasp all at once, but as she paused to consider her reply, I could sense something about a cost estimate.
“The STT is the heart of the ship, sir. If it gets breached, then ve’re…” — probably on fire in half a dozen places — “…in bad shape. “But, yes… ve do drills in here from time to time, speaking of vhich….”
The group of crew members who’d been gathered near the tube’s forward end must have noticed us coming, as they suspended their zero-g frolicking and cleared to the sides to make way for us.
(Is there anything Gus says to them? And is there anything he wishes to say to Nizlich before they presumably part to their respective quarters?)
Later (probably):
Though I tried to sleep, my mind was besieged by a cacophony of memories. Damn Milstem. It wasn’t meant for recreational use unless one accepted it as a fairly milktoast party-enhancer, basically coffee on steroids, but I’d left the party almost as soon as I’d taken it. (What does Gus think about what went down in the Phoenix Nest? Be specific. And/Or what about the rest of what happened? In short, what’s he thinking about as his mind begins to wander?)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
The group of spacers up ahead looked like they were having a good time bouncing a red ball back and forth. They were using handheld air canisters for maneuvering, but noticing our approach, one of them grabbed the ball and jetted to a handhold, and the rest followed suit, clearing a path. I took sincere pleasure in saluting the group of them.
“Keep up the good practice,” I said.
There were, of course, a chorus of aye-aye’s as we passed between them. As per regulations, the first aye signaled they’d heard and understood and the second that they’d obey. But as I passed by them, all I could sense was the desire of one to say something that would put him in good standing with his new captain. He wanted to reference Olav as well. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, something about serving the blood of Olav and how my being the ship’s captain would give the Jackie some luck out there in the Big, Dark, and Empty. But he suddenly realized it sounded so corny, so mentally rehearsed, that it’d be better to remain silent and merely be thought a fool.
As for their feelings when Nizlich passed, I could sense some nervousness and, at least from the males, a bit of that respectful appreciation one feels upon encountering an object of beauty in female form. Soon enough, we were past them, floating down the tube, now taking longer jumps than before.
We’d already passed by a few iris values, one to the fighter pod’s lower deck and then a series for the missile pod, Missile Pod Access 4, 3, 2, and 1 written on one side of each valve, Sigadasur Dikadigar Lamii and the corresponding Vilani numerals on the other. Next came one to the ship’s computer, then one to Portside Airlock #2. Then there was an open valve, and as we crossed the threshold back into gravity, I took a moment to settle my uniform into place.
Where were we?
To the right there was a tight corridor that appeared to run parallel to the STT, one side occupied by what looked like various maintenance panels, and on the left was another iris valve with warning signs indicating that beyond it lay a restricted area — Danger, High Voltage, Authorized Personnel Only — along with the obligatory Vilani translations. Lt. Shepherd stood beside a ladder talking to her wristcom as a few of the crew loitered in a nearby corridor. Then, glancing up, she noticed us.
“Uh-oh,” she said, although softly enough that if not for my telepathy, I wouldn’t have known. “Gotta go.”
“Wait…” a voice from her wristcom said as she ended the call. I couldn’t hear it through my own ears so much as through hers, but I was pretty sure it was that Vargr I’d just passed by, supposedly doing maintenance up in the pipe box but really getting after-party favors… or perhaps Party #2 favors would be a more apt description.
“Is there any problem?” Stef asked her as we approached.
“No… no sir, everything is fine.” Except, of course, for the fact that I apparently no longer have a boyfriend. “We’ll get the taxis back online as soon as we can. Happy birthday, sir.”
(Any response from Gus? And does he try taking a longer peek into her mind? If so, he'll need to engage her in conversation for a bit. Otherwise, the encounter will end too quickly.)
Timothy Collinson
Sent: Monday, November 24, 2025 1:22:36 AM
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 56
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Conrad Rader
The group of spacers up ahead looked like they were having a good time bouncing a red ball back and forth. They were using handheld air canisters for maneuvering, but noticing our approach, one of them grabbed the ball and jetted to a handhold, and the rest followed suit, clearing a path. I took sincere pleasure in saluting the group of them.
“Keep up the good practice,” I said.
There were, of course, a chorus of aye-aye’s as we passed between them. As per regulations, the first aye signaled they’d heard and understood and the second that they’d obey. But as I passed by them, all I could sense was the desire of one to say something that would put him in good standing with his new captain. He wanted to reference Olav as well. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, something about serving the blood of Olav and how my being the ship’s captain would give the Jackie some luck out there in the Big, Dark, and Empty. But he suddenly realized it sounded so corny, so mentally rehearsed, that it’d be better to remain silent and merely be thought a fool.
As for their feelings when Nizlich passed, I could sense some nervousness and, at least from the males, a bit of that respectful appreciation one feels upon encountering an object of beauty in female form. Soon enough, we were past them, floating down the tube, now taking longer jumps than before.
We’d already passed by a few iris values, one to the fighter pod’s lower deck and then a series for the missile pod, Missile Pod Access 4, 3, 2, and 1 written on one side of each valve, Sigadasur Dikadigar Lamii and the corresponding Vilani numerals on the other. Next came one to the ship’s computer, then one to Portside Airlock #2. Then there was an open valve, and as we crossed the threshold back into gravity, I took a moment to settle my uniform into place.
Where were we?
To the right there was a tight corridor that appeared to run parallel to the STT, one side occupied by what looked like various maintenance panels, and on the left was another iris valve with warning signs indicating that beyond it lay a restricted area — Danger, High Voltage, Authorized Personnel Only — along with the obligatory Vilani translations. Lt. Shepherd stood beside a ladder talking to her wristcom as a few of the crew loitered in a nearby corridor. Then, glancing up, she noticed us.
“Uh-oh,” she said, although softly enough that if not for my telepathy, I wouldn’t have known. “Gotta go.”
“Wait…” a voice from her wristcom said as she ended the call. I couldn’t hear it through my own ears so much as through hers, but I was pretty sure it was that Vargr I’d just passed by, supposedly doing maintenance up in the pipe box but really getting after-party favors… or perhaps Party #2 favors would be a more apt description.
“Is there any problem?” Stef asked her as we approached.
“No… no sir, everything is fine.” Except, of course, for the fact that I apparently no longer have a boyfriend. “We’ll get the taxis back online as soon as we can. Happy birthday, sir.”
(Any response from Gus? And does he try taking a longer peek into her mind? If so, he'll need to engage her in conversation for a bit. Otherwise, the encounter will end too quickly.)
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Jim Vassilakos
(Yeah, this time of year is always a bit of a challenge. If you need another break, that's perfectly fine. The Christmas Crunch is nearly upon us.)
“Keep up the good practice,” I said.
There was, of course, a chorus of aye-aye’s as we passed between them. As per regulations, the first aye signaled they’d heard and understood and the second that they’d obey. But as I passed by them, all I could sense was the desire of one to say something that would put him in good standing with his new captain. He wanted to reference Olav as well. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, something about serving the blood of Olav and how my being the ship’s captain would give the Jackie some luck out there in the Big, Dark, and Empty. But he suddenly realized it sounded so corny, so mentally rehearsed, that it’d be better to remain silent and merely be thought a fool.
I took a mental sigh of relief. The sooner that they stopped seeing me as some token of good luck, the better.
As for their feelings when Nizlich passed, I could sense some nervousness and, at least from the males, a bit of that respectful appreciation one feels upon encountering an object of beauty in female form. I was glad there was no sense of fear or nerves, at least none I could discern. It was to Stefani’s credit that she relied on competence rather than fear. Soon enough, we were past them, floating down the tube, now taking longer jumps than before.
We’d already passed by a few iris values, one to the fighter pod’s lower deck and then a series for the missile pod, Missile Pod Access 4, 3, 2, and 1 written on one side of each valve, Sigadasur Dikadigar Lamii and the corresponding Vilani numerals on the other. Next came one to the ship’s computer, then one to Portside Airlock #2. Then there was an open valve, and as we crossed the threshold back into gravity, I took a moment to settle my uniform into place.
Where were we?
To the right there was a tight corridor that appeared to run parallel to the STT, one side occupied by what looked like various maintenance panels, and on the left was another iris valve with warning signs indicating that beyond it lay a restricted area — Danger, High Voltage, Authorized Personnel Only — along with the obligatory Vilani translations. Lt. Shepherd stood beside a ladder talking to her wristcom as a few of the crew loitered in a nearby corridor. Then, glancing up, she noticed us.
“Uh-oh,” she said, although softly enough that if not for my telepathy, I wouldn’t have known. “Gotta go.”
“Wait…” a voice from her wristcom said as she ended the call. I couldn’t hear it through my own ears so much as through hers, but I was pretty sure it was that Vargr I’d just passed by, supposedly doing maintenance up in the pipe box but really getting after-party favors… or perhaps Party #2 favors would be a more apt description.
“Is there any problem?” Stef asked her as we approached.
“No… no sir, everything is fine.” Except, of course, for the fact that I apparently no longer have a boyfriend. “We’ll get the taxis back online as soon as we can. Happy birthday, sir.”
“No worries, Lieutenant,” I said. “I actually appreciate the initiative in taking it offline and giving the crew a little more space to work off the energy.”
I left my psychic curtain open, of course, as whatever social drama was going on was something I wanted to be on top of, and while I was doing okay, or at least thought I was, I was curious about Shepherd’s and Bim’s relationship. I really didn’t want my unilateral action losing me a competent officer.
“Thank you, sir,” Manda said. There was something there behind her eyes, a complex mix of emotions, but it was too blurry, too interwoven to extract the individual threads. Stefani, likewise, was similarly conflicted, but about what precisely? Did she know about Manda and Bim?
Cross-species relationships were not unknown, but social reaction to them varied widely. As for myself, I’d never been sexually attracted to vargr, but I really liked being part of a pack during team games or when they cut loose while partying. They had an entirely different sensibility about body contact that was different from humans — well, different from the people where I’d been raised. Also, I liked sparring with vargr, although it was quite different from sparring with humans.
As we descended the ladder to Deck 1 and entered what appeared to be a control hub for the ship’s meson screen and nuclear damper, I could sense that Stef was feeling slightly lightheaded. Had she been drinking? No, this wasn’t inebriation. It was something resembling… the feeling of dodging a bullet?
We soon came out into the spinal corridor that ran just under the STT. On the left was the Gunnery Command Center, where I’d talked to my Chief Weapons Officer and one of her particle accelerator specialists. Now I knew where I was.
Up ahead, past another set of fuel bladders, would be the ship’s forward section, and hiding in there were no less than four ladders, any of which could take me back up to Deck 2 and back to my quarters. But not knowing the lay of the land quite as well as my XO, I followed her lead, all the while focusing my telepathy on her. How had she dodged a bullet?
She was embarrassed about something. It was those two crew members we’d caught getting frisky in one of the sensor stations. No. Well, maybe, but it had to do with Manda, the fact that rather than simply walking down to the lower deck and crossing the ship like any normal sophont, instead she’d decided to sideline the transport capsules and open up the STT to float traffic, all because she didn’t want to take the extra steps to relieve her bladder. And then there were those crewmembers using the STT like their own personal playground. In Stef’s mind, it all reeked of lax discipline. Such was the intensity of her frustration that I could scarcely imagine what she’d be feeling if she knew about Ghoerrg’s little drug cache.
Regardless, she had a plan. The first zero-zero drill. It would be in a few hours, during the middle of my sleep shift, and she'd given the crew no warning. She didn’t want me to see how unprepared they were. Only after being caught with their pants down, hopefully not literally, only then would they get the message to be ready at all times. Otherwise, sitting in orbit for seven weeks would have them all thinking Navy Life was easy. They’d be so well-rested, they’d forget how to be warriors.
But should she tell me? If she did, I might have her move the drill to my active shift, in which case we’d both see how undisciplined this crew had become. No. She didn’t want me seeing that.
But he’s the Captain.
“Sir,” she said as we entered Officer Country, “the first zero-zero is coming up in,” she glanced down at her wristcom, “four hours and tventy-eight minutes. Your quarters vill be excluded, of course, but if you happen to hear the alarm, you may safely ignore it.”
(How does Gus respond? Note that earlier you’d written the following, which I edited slightly, but feel free to edit it again.)
“Thank you for everything,” I said.
“Everything, sir?”
“I mean, letting the crew organize this, taking what has been a very confusing few days in stride, and, uh, well… I am trying to say that I appreciate your professionalism, and….” I gave up and clamped down hard on the psychic curtain. I really did not want to know what was going on behind that small smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Until tomorrow, Commander.”
“Until tomorrow, sir.”
Continuing… (and feel free to edit/expand as you see fit, and this is all Gus)
Alone in my quarters, I sunk into the couch, still feeling overwhelmed from having talked to so many people with so many thoughts. Even with my curtain closed, I could sense the cacophony. Was there such a thing as psi-fatigue? And whatever happened to Josefeen and Maz? Did I ever say goodbye to him?
Cleon-be-damned, it was him. He was the one responsible for that nightclub fire. My vargr were innocent. Well, not exactly innocent. I mean, they were all certainly guilty of something.
Sigh.
Another birthday on the books. My life had changed so much in the past few days, I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d find myself next year. Well, I was captain now. Assuming we were still on detached duty, I could put the ship on EMCON (Emission Controlled) stealth maneuvers somewhere in deep space and just wait it out… assuming I could find some way to avoid the crew. Goober’s little side trip, taking me into the pilot’s lounge, was not sitting well with me, not with the number of times she called me an ex-pilot.
Was I? Had I given up what I loved for this?
I had to admit, like every other academy graduate, I’d always wanted my own ship. But command was a thankless job. I thought back to all the bull sessions with Goober and others where we’d savagely criticized our commanding officers for their decisions when they did not conform to what we wanted. Was she now doing that to me?
I imagined her talking to a drunk Stallion, and couldn’t help but snort. I’d known so many like him. If I was being honest, at one time I was him. Everything to prove. And now here I was. Everything to prove again, except to a much tougher audience. What the hell made me ask for a drink? Did I really need to show I could still swing my big pair? Let everyone know that the Old Man was still one of them?
I wasn’t anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time. I had watched too many die in the war to ever take pointless risks out of pride. And yet I had ordered a Section 678 interdiction not even a week into my command. And, perhaps even worse, I’d given my command authority to a member of the IISS and now had to unwind the consequences.
The Milstem kept fizzing away in my brain, and I got up from the couch, took off my clothes, and found my way to the bedroom. I lay down, squinting my eyes at the sudden sensation of being able to feel my thoughts. They were like slippery noodles extending down into a vast, cavernous labyrinth.
What’s down there? I couldn’t help but wonder. Don’t get self-indulgent.
If I was to go snooping around in my own brain, I might never get to sleep. Indeed, I might end up perfectly insane.
(Does Gus go snooping anyway?)
Conrad Rader
“Thank you for everything,” I said.
“Everything, sir?”
“I mean, letting the crew organize this, taking what has been a very confusing few days in stride, and, uh, well… I am trying to say that I appreciate your professionalism, and….” I gave up and clamped down hard on the psychic curtain. I really did not want to know what was going on behind that small smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Until tomorrow, Commander.”
“Until tomorrow, sir.”
Continuing… (and feel free to edit/expand as you see fit, and this is all Gus)
Alone in my quarters, I sunk into the couch, still feeling overwhelmed from having talked to so many people with so many thoughts. Even with my curtain closed, I could sense the cacophony. Was there such a thing as psi-fatigue? And whatever happened to Josefeen and Maz? Did I ever say goodbye to him?
Cleon-be-damned, it was him. He was the one responsible for that nightclub fire. My vargr were innocent. Well, not exactly innocent. I mean, they were all certainly guilty of something.
Sigh.
Another birthday on the books. My life had changed so much in the past few days, I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d find myself next year. Well, I was captain now. Assuming we were still on detached duty, I could put the ship on EMCON (Emission Controlled) stealth maneuvers somewhere in deep space and just wait it out… assuming I could find some way to avoid the crew. Goober’s little side trip, taking me into the pilot’s lounge, was not sitting well with me, not with the number of times she called me an ex-pilot.
Was I? Had I given up what I loved for this?
I had to admit, like every other academy graduate, I’d always wanted my own ship. But command was a thankless job. I thought back to all the bull sessions with Goober and others where we’d savagely criticized our commanding officers for their decisions when they did not conform to what we wanted. Was she now doing that to me?
I imagined her talking to a drunk Stallion, and couldn’t help but snort. I’d known so many like him. If I was being honest, at one time I was him. Everything to prove. And now here I was. Everything to prove again, except to a much tougher audience. What the hell made me ask for a drink? Did I really need to show I could still swing my big pair? Let everyone know that the Old Man was still one of them?
I wasn’t anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time. I had watched too many die in the war to ever take pointless risks out of pride. And yet I had ordered a Section 678 interdiction not even a week into my command. And, perhaps even worse, I’d given my command authority to a member of the IISS and now had to unwind the consequences.
The Milstem kept fizzing away in my brain, and I got up from the couch, took off my clothes, and found my way to the bedroom. I lay down, squinting my eyes at the sudden sensation of being able to feel my thoughts. They were like slippery noodles extending down into a vast, cavernous labyrinth.
What’s down there? I couldn’t help but wonder. Don’t get self-indulgent.
If I was to go snooping around in my own brain, I might never get to sleep. Indeed, I might end up perfectly insane.
(Does Gus go snooping anyway?)
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Jim Vassilakos
This was the whole question, wasn’t it? Play things safe and live in ignorance, or take risks, break some rules, and maybe, just maybe, be skilled enough to not end up a smear on hull metal.
One, I told myself. Just one to see where it gets you.
I sorted through my thoughts, feeling their emotional weights, and isolated the one where I’d rested my hand on Stallion’s arm. My psychic curtain had been drawn at the time, so there was nothing there to see but his eyes staring back at mine, but as I examined the memory, regarding it now with my full attention, it was almost like he was right there in front of me in real time, like I could open up his mind and peer inside.
There followed a moment’s vertigo analogous to the sort one feels upon entering zero-g, and then, quite bewilderingly, I found myself back in the pilot’s cantina, the Phoenix Nest, with its narrow shelf of empty bottles. Spooky was there with another young woman, black eyebrows framed by blond hair so light it bordered on platinum.
“I don’t know,” Spooky said.
“Why not? If he’s in here drinking with us, it means he wants to fly,” I found myself saying — at least, it felt like I was the one speaking — but the voice wasn’t mine. It sounded more like Stallion’s, and I suddenly realized the same aftertaste I’d had in my mouth after taking his shot was there now. “Anyway, there’s no regs against captains flying training exercises. Hell, I’d do it if I was Captain. Why not?”
(What’s Gus’s mental reaction? And does he try to do anything?)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
Weird, I thought to myself.
“Ain’t nothin’ weird about it,” he/I said, looking around to see who said that, and then it was over. I was back in my body, my heartbeat thumping in my ears.
What the hell?
It was like when I’d been in Agidda’s head, but that had been a memory.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
I was suddenly very leery of messing around in my head when doing so meant I ended up in other heads.
I checked the time — 21:17 — and thought about summoning Abbonette to discuss what had just happened.
“Jacky, what is Lieutenant Abbonette's location? Do not alert her to the inquiry.”
“Lt. Abbonette is in the Intel Pod.”
Jim Vassilakos
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
I was suddenly very leery of messing around in my head when doing so meant I ended up in other heads.
I checked the time — 22:17 — and thought about summoning Abbonette to discuss what had just happened.
“Jacky, what is Lieutenant Abbonette’s location? Do not alert her to the inquiry.”
“Lt. Abbonette is in the Intel Pod.”
Well. The zero-zero would be getting underway at some point, and if I wasn’t in my cabin, it would wreck my plans to let Stefani get her house in order without the embarrassment of me seeing just how bad things were. I made sure my vacc gear was laid out, just in case.
Just sleep. This can all be worked out in the morning.
I wondered if I should take something to counter the Milstem in my system. I really needed to lay off the drugs. Who knew how it might mess with my brain? Well, the doc would when I went in for my checkup.
I couldn't help but wonder if that might not be such a good idea. Medical scans could be overly revealing. Given that I was now a psion, and especially given the psi-drug I’d been taking, what might a full neurological scan uncover? That would be a question for Josefeen.
I thought about her in the Intel Pod. Something was bugging me, like a wisp of something I should be concerned about. And where was Maz?
“Jacky, what is the location of the guest, Maz….?” Why could I never remember his last name?
“Director Mazarin Scarletti has left the ship.”
So they weren’t still together, not unless the ship’s computer was lying to me.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to go to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem.
Jim Vassilakos
“Jacky, what is the location of the guest, Maz….?” Why could I never remember his last name?
“Director Mazarin Scarletti has left the ship.”
So they weren’t still together, not unless the ship’s computer was lying to me.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem. Maybe some push-ups would do the trick; I’d found them to be a reasonably potent soporific, enlarged chest and shoulder muscles the only long-term side-effect. But before I could summon the will, an old memory slipped in between the cracks.
Describe a moment in the scuffle Gus had with Guri Maakhiriin.
I thought again about that “misunderstanding” we’d had regarding our bunk assignment. The sublieutenant who’d been charged with making our sleeping arrangements had sorted us according to our first names, so it was Guri and Gus, you have bunk such-and such.
Perhaps it wasn’t clear from the instructions who got top bunk and who got bottom bunk. Also, why was one preferable to the other? This is just an option for you to consider as you continue the thought. Some other questions. Did Gus already have his call sign (Combo) at this point in time? If not, then I assume it’s before call signs are officially bestowed, in which case, when does that happen — on this cruise? And if not, then what was Guri’s call sign?
Also to jog your memory, here’s some prior text regarding Guri from Chapter 27: "We’d served together as naval cadets on the INS Maledictor around twenty-five years ago, and we’d had a little “misunderstanding” over our bunk assignment. The ensuing scuffle landed us both in the brig, but he ended up taking the brunt of the blame. Unbeknownst to us, the whole thing had been caught on surveillance, and he hadn’t been entirely truthful in his recollection of how it started, so he got busted pretty hard, not for the fight but for lying about it, and was ultimately forced to switch from Flight Branch to Technical Services. I later learned he’d been telling people he was punished while I got off scot-free all because I was a Plankwell. He’d been a good talker, and so a lot of people steered clear of me, but if it wasn’t for that camera (or whatever it was), I’m sure the blame for our little scuffle would have fallen on me."
Why does Gus think he would have been blamed? Also, was he in any way inebriated when the incident took place? In short, I’d like some description about how this whole scene went down as well as a description of the scuffle itself. And what specifically did Guri say that turned out to be untrue? Was he fabricating, misremembering, or simply embellishing? Note, if you want to really challenge yourself, you should create some room in there for Guri to justify his feelings, at least to himself, as he seems to still think Gus was at least as much at fault as himself. When asking yourself what gives him this impression, ask yourself what Gus would have thought back then vs. possibly what he thinks about it now. Was there a momentary loss of control on his part that he should have held in check?
We may move on to some of those other memories you suggested earlier, but I’d like to see what you can do with this one first.
Conrad Rader
Continuing...“Jacky, what is the location of the guest, Maz….?” Why could I never remember his last name?
“Director Mazarin Scarletti has left the ship.”
So they weren’t still together, not unless the ship’s computer was lying to me.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem. Maybe some push-ups would do the trick; I’d found them to be a reasonably potent soporific, enlarged chest and shoulder muscles the only long-term side-effect. But before I could summon the will, an old memory slipped in between the cracks.
Describe a moment in the scuffle Gus had with Guri Maakhiriin.
I thought again about that “misunderstanding” we’d had regarding our bunk assignment. The sublieutenant who’d been charged with making our sleeping arrangements had sorted us according to our first names, so it was Guri and Gus, you have bunk such-and such.
Perhaps it wasn’t clear from the instructions who got top bunk and who got bottom bunk. Also, why was one preferable to the other? This is just an option for you to consider as you continue the thought. Some other questions. Did Gus already have his call sign (Combo) at this point in time? If not, then I assume it’s before call signs are officially bestowed, in which case, when does that happen — on this cruise? And if not, then what was Guri’s call sign?
Also to jog your memory, here’s some prior text regarding Guri from Chapter 27: "We’d served together as naval cadets on the INS Maledictor around twenty-five years ago, and we’d had a little “misunderstanding” over our bunk assignment. The ensuing scuffle landed us both in the brig, but he ended up taking the brunt of the blame. Unbeknownst to us, the whole thing had been caught on surveillance, and he hadn’t been entirely truthful in his recollection of how it started, so he got busted pretty hard, not for the fight but for lying about it, and was ultimately forced to switch from Flight Branch to Technical Services. I later learned he’d been telling people he was punished while I got off scot-free all because I was a Plankwell. He’d been a good talker, and so a lot of people steered clear of me, but if it wasn’t for that camera (or whatever it was), I’m sure the blame for our little scuffle would have fallen on me."
Why does Gus think he would have been blamed? Also, was he in any way inebriated when the incident took place? In short, I’d like some description about how this whole scene went down as well as a description of the scuffle itself. And what specifically did Guri say that turned out to be untrue? Was he fabricating, misremembering, or simply embellishing? Note, if you want to really challenge yourself, you should create some room in there for Guri to justify his feelings, at least to himself, as he seems to still think Gus was at least as much at fault as himself. When asking yourself what gives him this impression, ask yourself what Gus would have thought back then vs. possibly what he thinks about it now. Was there a momentary loss of control on his part that he should have held in check?
We may move on to some of those other memories you suggested earlier, but I’d like to see what you can do with this one first.
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Jim Vassilakos
I wondered if I should take something to counter the Milstem in my system. Not a good move. I needed to lay off the drugs for now. Who knew how introducing something new might mess with my brain? Well, the doc would when I went in for my checkup.
That had me a little worried. Medical scans could be overly revealing. Given that I was now a psion, and especially given the psi-drug I’d been taking, what might a full neurological scan uncover? That would be a good question for Josefeen.
I thought about her in the Intel Pod. Something was bugging me, like a wisp of something I should be concerned about. And where was Maz?
“Jacky, what is the location of the guest, Maz….?” Why could I never remember his last name?
“Director Mazarin Scarletti has left the ship.”
So they weren’t still together, not unless the ship’s computer was lying to me.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem. Maybe some push-ups would do the trick. I’d found them to be a reasonably potent soporific, but before I could summon the will, an image came to mind. It was Guri Maakhiriin.
“What can you tell us about him?” a young man asked from somewhere deep in the back of my head. I recognized him. He was one of those reporters who’d interviewed me while I was on the Major’s g-carrier.
“He’s exceedingly quick to take offense,” Guri replied, “and once offense is taken, he completely lacks any sense of self-control. In short, he’s… he’s always looking for a fight, and because of who he is, he’s always gotten away with it.”
“He’s always gotten away with it,” the reporter repeated. It wasn’t exactly a question, but it was clear he wanted more.
“He’s a Plankwell.” Guri said. “In his mind, he’s the Navy golden child. And they’ve done absolutely nothing to disabuse him of this notion.”
And then, like a wisp of smoke, the vision dissipated.
(Feel free to insert Gus’s initial thoughts.)
Guri, of course, had always hated me ever since that day we’d met. It all stemmed from that “misunderstanding” we’d had regarding our bunk assignment. Since we didn’t yet have call signs, the sublieutenant who’d been charged with making our sleeping arrangements had sorted us according to our first names, so it was Guri and Gus, you have bunk such-and such. Why they hadn’t used our last names wasn’t entirely clear to me. It probably had something to do with putting us all on the same level. We no longer belonged to our respective families. We were all now property of the Imperial Navy. Personally, I welcomed it, and since relatively few of us were from Rhylanor, I wasn’t even sure if the majority of cadets knew I was a Plankwell.
It might have been partly due to this ignorance that Guri put a heavy hand to my shoulder, pushing me back slightly before I could sling my bag onto the upper bunk.
“Hold up. My choice,” he’d said.
I tensed up. It was an obvious power move, but laying hands on other crew members was a breach of protocol. Doing so implied many things, the most obvious being a presumption of superiority. I’d run into this attitude repeatedly on Rhylanor, especially among the more entitled sons and daughters of the ruling elite. They thought themselves insulated from consequence. But in the military, use of force was reserved for the enemy. So as far as I was concerned, this guy had just declared himself my enemy.
I didn’t care anything about why he wanted to choose. But I very much cared about the way he chose to express himself. Honor was now at stake. My duffel had barely hit the deck before I reached up to snag his hand and twist it down into a restraint hold.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I said in a low voice, hoping not to draw too much attention.
Next thing I knew, however, his free hand came straight at my neck, and soon we were both crashing to the deck. The other cadets just turned and stared, obviously not wanting to get involved, and the sublieutenant yelled at us to stop, but we’d already gone from zero to all out war, and once a fight begins, it doesn’t end so easily. Muscle memory had taken over, and all the other cadets were scattering to get out of our way, but then I began to get the upper hand, almost knocking him out with a kick before the bosun and some security ratings pulled us apart and put us both into submission so fast it quite literally made my head spin.
Then they marched us to the brig without even asking questions. There was no “How did this start?” That was my first clue about something that until that moment I’d only heard as gossip.
Guri glared at me, his nose still bleeding, as they put him in his cell. It was obvious he desperately wanted a rematch. As for myself, I’d taken some hits, but I was pretty sure I didn’t look half as bad as him.
Needless to say, I’d never seen the inside of a Navy brig before. Back in the academy, we were always confined to quarters for whatever we did wrong. Well, either that or expelled, but that was a fate I’d managed to avoid. My cell had plain walls, a double bunk, a fresher, and a utility tablet that turned out to only contain the Imperial Code of Military Justice, no doubt so errant detainees could try and figure out how much trouble they were in.
The first thing I did was to inventory my wounds. My ribs ached, one of my forearms was bruised where it had hit the deck, and I had bloody knuckles on both hands. Oh, and what was that ache in my foot? Oh, right. That was from when I’d kicked Guri in the face. Unfortunately, my attempt to knock him out cold had just made him madder. I wiped some blood from a cut above my eye. He’d been wearing a ring. All in all, not too bad. I had certainly taken worse in the past.
I picked up the tablet, looking up what I had possibly done to derail my career. It wasn’t until the next watch that they hauled us in front of the Captain and his XO.
The whole question in my mind was which one of us had a right to the top bunk. If it was Guri simply because R came before S, that would put me in the wrong. But he had put a hand on me and given me a slight push. It wasn’t exactly an attack, but it was against protocol. But would it count as initiation of hostilities? If not and if I was also in the wrong about who had first rights to the top bunk, that would put me in a bad place. But how bad?
I remembered us both standing at attention side by side, the Captain seated at his desk, a tablet in his hands. His cap was on the desk as well, and I noticed the grey in his close cropped hair. The Executive Officer stood to the side, arms folded, wearing a grim expression. Behind us, the Marine in charge of the brig read the charges: breaching the peace of the ship, provoking gestures, assault, disorderly conduct in quarters, and finally, dereliction of duty. The Marine continued with the names of all the witnesses in the berthing bay who had seen the fight. Then the Marine detailed the events as related by the witnesses, many of whom had only noticed when I’d dropped my duffel and put Guri in the initial restraint hold.
I held my face stoically as ever. It really did not look good for me. By all rights, I should not have responded with force. I’d let my honor get the better of me. Why?
Because my last name was Plankwell. Olav was probably the biggest swinging dick in all of Imperial history, and other guys my age were often either intimidated or they wanted to see if they could bully me. To that sort of person, nothing was sweeter than having a Plankwell under their thumb. Needless to say, my temper at such treatment became exceedingly short. That was why I’d been in so many fights. Because whenever someone tried pulling something, if I didn’t respond immediately, it would just get worse. Someone else might be able to coast under the radar, but not a Plankwell.
My father understood this. He’d been through it himself. Though he’d lecture me endlessly about personal responsibility and how I was only responsible for my own actions, not anyone else’s, he still wanted to know if I’d given as good as I’d taken.
“It’s not important whether you win or lose,” he once told me. “All that’s in higher hands. What’s important is that you stand firm for yourself and for what’s right. Remember, you’re a Plankwell. And Plankwells don’t run.”
I’d once heard him and Mom arguing. He’d enrolled me in elementary martial arts. Mom viewed it as a waste of time.
“He needs to study, not injure himself trying to break boards with his fists.”
“How’s he going to defend his honor if we don’t give him the tools?”
“Honor, honor, honor! It’s just another word for pride.”
“As a woman, you have the luxury to think that way, but it’s different for men.”
“He’s just a boy!”
“But he won’t be forever!”
The Captain listened intently to the official report, all the while looking at whatever was on his tablet. Then he looked up at us, his gray eyes impossible to read.
“Anything to say for yourselves?”
I was still contemplating the question when Guri took the initiative and spoke first.
“It’s as he said, sir. Cadet Plankwell made an offensive move when I attempted to select my bunk in the order that the sublieutenant had assigned it. I only responded in kind when the cadet refused to release the hold that was causing me pain.”
I was stunned at the brazenness of his lie, but from long experience in arguing my case in situations such as this, I stilled the impulse to interrupt. Although I hadn’t noticed any security cameras in our berthing area, if there were any, Guri had just effectively stabbed himself, as not only had he been the one to make first physical contact, but he’d never asked for me to release my hold, which meant he was betting everything on there being no surveillance video whatsoever. Well, this was an Imperial Navy starship, so that was quite a thing to assume.
Although people rarely talked about it, there were rumors about the Navy and its hidden cameras. Privacy, it was said, was something civilians might enjoy, but not active duty military and certainly not while aboard Navy ships. The whole situation of being in space just presented too much risk. If someone wasn’t mentally stable, if they were misbehaving in some way or causing trouble, the officers needed to find out ASAP. Everyone’s lives depended on everyone else. There could be no weak links.
But Guri, having already suffered the worst of our injuries, couldn’t stomach the possibility of losing this disciplinary hearing as well. He’d go from being someone who’d been bullied but fought back to someone who was a bully who’d gotten his ass handed to him. Not a particularly good look. But he was taking a hell of a risk.
“So you’re saying you did absolutely nothing wrong?” the Captain asked him.
“Nothing wrong, sir. Nothing whatsoever.”
“You understand the regulations,” the Captain said. “No physical contact.”
I watched Guri out of the corner of my eye, but then noticed the Commander Vilnechats looking hard at me, at which point I refocused my gaze on the Imperial Sunburst on the wall just above the Captain’s head.
“I may have tapped him on the shoulder,” Guri said, “but it was just to get his attention. But then he attacked me, and so I responded in kind.”
Captain Marchemsaar then shifted his attention to me.
“Cadet Plankwell, what do you have to say?”
I swallowed. I had been weighing the costs. If Guri had told the truth, I’d have been gentleman enough to accept the consequence for my part in this. No doubt, we’d both get some punishment, but then we’d put it behind us and get on with being crew mates. But there was no way I would accept fault other than for what I had done. And the Captain’s question about physical contact gave me hope they had video. Why would he have asked it otherwise? All of which meant Guri was screwed. He was just too dumb to realize it, which meant he was also too dumb to be in the Imperial Navy.
“Sir, Cadet Maakhiriin. spoke incorrectly,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It was he who first laid hands on my person. The accounts of the witnesses were correct, but it appears that no one saw or reported the first shove to my shoulder that Cadet Maakhiriin inflicted.”
“Oh, please,” Guri said.
“Silence!” Vilnechats ordered.
Guri shut his mouth, but it was obvious he thought he could get away with this scot-free by branding me as the instigator. That would have led to associations with the more murderous activities of my famous ancestor. All I had was the truth. If I was judged at fault, at least my version would be in the record.
The Captain stared at me for a long moment.
“You understand instigating violence, except under orders, is in contravention to Navy regulations?”
Did I? Did I instigate?
“I understand, sir. I was surprised and did not react appropriately. I fully admit to participating in the violence and claim no excuse.”
I knew from past experience that what authority figures always hoped for in situations such as this was contrition. They wanted to see us accept responsibility for whatever we’d done rather than seeking to avoid it by claiming innocence or making excuses. I could have brought up how my honor was at stake, but it would have only hurt me. Personal honor was subsumed in the military to honor of the service, and my pursuit of the personal over duty was what had gotten me into this mess.
The Captain sat back in his seat and glanced to his XO, who did something to the tablet she was holding. The wall behind the Captain, where the Imperial Sunburst had been displayed, lit up with a camera image from our berthing bay timestamped to the incident. It looked like it had been taken from a high angle and behind some sort of grate, but the two of us were plainly visible, and then it went into slow motion, clearly showing Guri reaching out to shove my shoulder as I was lifting my duffel to the upper bunk. There was no sound, but it was clear that Guri was saying something. I winced as I clearly dropped my duffel and seized the offending hand, levering it down. Anyone who’d been trained in fighting would see it was a restraint hold, only painful if you fought against it.
We watched in silence as Guri immediately went on the offensive, breaking the hold, and then there was the fight itself, which culminated in us moving off camera just as I was kicking him in the face. Fortunately, it didn’t quite catch my foot connecting with his noggin. His head was just out of frame, but we both knew how that went. Unfortunately, it was also clear there had been multiple opportunities to disengage that neither of us had taken advantage of despite the fact the sublieutenant had been shouting orders for us to do just that. The cam footage blinked out and the captain continued to regard us with his blank expression.
“Cadet Maakhiriin, possibly the only thing worse than fighting in the ranks is being the instigator of such fighting. And you have compounded your guilt by lying about the circumstances. You are hereby judged guilty on all charges. Sentencing to be determined, but I am also dismissing you from cadet status on this ship. You will be returned to base to complete the sentence of the charges and will have to reapply for assignment to aviation cadet. You are dismissed.”
There was a long moment of silence during which Guri just stood there like he was in shock.
“But…”
“You’ve been dismissed,” the marine said, grabbing Guri by the back of his collar and forcibly turning him toward the door. “Move!”
Unfortunately, we were already in jump space, so it would be a little while before he was off the ship. During that time, he’d restated his version of events to anyone who’d listen, telling them he’d gotten shafted all because he’d defended himself against the Navy’s golden boy. Yes, he’d touched me first, he admitted, but it wasn’t an attack. But according to his story, I used it as a pretext to initiate violence. Some crew mates asked me for my version, but I wasn’t a talker like Guri. I just told them it was a mistake all around, something that shouldn’t have happened.
“Then why are they punishing him so hard while you get a slap on the wrist?”
“Because he lied.”
“About what?”
“Ask the Captain or the XO. I’m done talking about it.”
Of course, it wasn’t like a cadet could go knocking on the Captain’s door asking for an explanation, so Guri just lied about lying. The video was never released (to do would have revealed the camera’s location within an air vent), and both Guri and I were under orders not to mention its existence.
As for who’d been assigned to which bunk, I later realized the ambiguity was intentional. The Navy wanted to see how their latest batch of spacers would handle internal conflict. Who was agreeable and who wasn’t? Personality tests were one thing, but the proof was in personal interactions.
The problem was that the aviation corps valued aggression. They even selected for it, so a certain degree of jockeying for dominance was expected. But they didn’t want cadets so aggressive they’d prove difficult to control, and they especially didn’t want liars. Expulsion served as an example to others. And while such rejects might not serve the Imperium directly, their training rarely went to waste. The subsector and planetary navies would often scoop them up. Indeed, that’s exactly what happened to Guri.
(Any additional thoughts or actions?)
Note, there are some slight discrepancies between this version and the one of page 34 of the Plankwell campaign write-up. I'll have to edit page 34 to bring it into line with what we have here. Let me know if you have comments or suggestions.
Conrad Rader
I wondered if I should take something to counter the Milstem in my system. Not a good move. I needed to lay off the drugs for now. Who knew how introducing something new might mess with my brain? Well, the doc would when I went in for my checkup.
That had me a little worried. Medical scans could be overly revealing. Given that I was now a psion, and especially given the psi-drug I’d been taking, what might a full neurological scan uncover? That would be a good question for Josefeen.
I thought about her in the Intel Pod. Something was bugging me, like a wisp of something I should be concerned about. And where was Maz?
“Jacky, what is the location of the guest, Maz….?” Why could I never remember his last name?
“Director Mazarin Scarletti has left the ship.”
So they weren’t still together, not unless the ship’s computer was lying to me.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it was no use. Damn Milstem. Maybe some push-ups would do the trick. I’d found them to be a reasonably potent soporific, but before I could summon the will, an image came to mind. It was Guri Maakhiriin.
“What can you tell us about him?” a young man asked from somewhere deep in the back of my head. I recognized him. He was one of those reporters who’d interviewed me while I was on the Major’s g-carrier.
“He’s exceedingly quick to take offense,” Guri replied, “and once offense is taken, he completely lacks any sense of self-control. In short, he’s… he’s always looking for a fight, and because of who he is, he’s always gotten away with it.”
“He’s always gotten away with it,” the reporter repeated. It wasn’t exactly a question, but it was clear he wanted more.
“He’s a Plankwell.” Guri said. “In his mind, he’s the Navy golden child. And they’ve done absolutely nothing to disabuse him of this notion.”
And then, like a wisp of smoke, the vision dissipated.
(Feel free to insert Gus’s initial thoughts.)
Guri, of course, had always hated me ever since that day we’d met. It all stemmed from that “misunderstanding” we’d had regarding our bunk assignment. Since we didn’t yet have call signs, the sublieutenant who’d been charged with making our sleeping arrangements had sorted us according to our first names, so it was Guri and Gus, you have bunk such-and such. Why they hadn’t used our last names wasn’t entirely clear to me. It probably had something to do with putting us all on the same level. We no longer belonged to our respective families. We were all now property of the Imperial Navy. Personally, I welcomed it, and since relatively few of us were from Rhylanor, I wasn’t even sure if the majority of cadets knew I was a Plankwell.
It might have been partly due to this ignorance that Guri put a heavy hand to my shoulder, pushing me back slightly before I could sling my bag onto the upper bunk.
“Hold up. My choice,” he’d said.
I tensed up. It was an obvious power move, but laying hands on other crew members was a breach of protocol. Doing so implied many things, the most obvious being a presumption of superiority. I’d run into this attitude repeatedly on Rhylanor, especially among the more entitled sons and daughters of the ruling elite. They thought themselves insulated from consequence. But in the military, use of force was reserved for the enemy. So as far as I was concerned, this guy had just declared himself my enemy.
I didn’t care anything about why he wanted to choose. But I very much cared about the way he chose to express himself. Honor was now at stake. My duffel had barely hit the deck before I reached up to snag his hand and twist it down into a restraint hold.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I said in a low voice, hoping not to draw too much attention.
Next thing I knew, however, his free hand came straight at my neck, and soon we were both crashing to the deck. The other cadets just turned and stared, obviously not wanting to get involved, and the sublieutenant yelled at us to stop, but we’d already gone from zero to all out war, and once a fight begins, it doesn’t end so easily. Muscle memory had taken over, and all the other cadets were scattering to get out of our way, but then I began to get the upper hand, almost knocking him out with a kick before the bosun and some security ratings pulled us apart and put us both into submission so fast it quite literally made my head spin.
Then they marched us to the brig without even asking questions. There was no “How did this start?” That was my first clue about something that until that moment I’d only heard as gossip.
Guri glared at me, his nose still bleeding, as they put him in his cell. It was obvious he desperately wanted a rematch. As for myself, I’d taken some hits, but I was pretty sure I didn’t look half as bad as him.
Needless to say, I’d never seen the inside of a Navy brig before. Back in the academy, we were always confined to quarters for whatever we did wrong. Well, either that or expelled, but that was a fate I’d managed to avoid. My cell had plain walls, a double bunk, a fresher, and a utility tablet that turned out to only contain the Imperial Code of Military Justice, no doubt so errant detainees could try and figure out how much trouble they were in.
The first thing I did was to inventory my wounds. My ribs ached, one of my forearms was bruised where it had hit the deck, and I had bloody knuckles on both hands. Oh, and what was that ache in my foot? Oh, right. That was from when I’d kicked Guri in the face. Unfortunately, my attempt to knock him out cold had just made him madder. I wiped some blood from a cut above my eye. He’d been wearing a ring. All in all, not too bad. I had certainly taken worse in the past.
I picked up the tablet, looking up what I had possibly done to derail my career. It wasn’t until the next watch that they hauled us in front of the Captain and his XO.
The whole question in my mind was which one of us had a right to the top bunk. If it was Guri simply because R came before S, that would put me in the wrong. But he had put a hand on me and given me a slight push. It wasn’t exactly an attack, but it was against protocol. But would it count as initiation of hostilities? If not and if I was also in the wrong about who had first rights to the top bunk, that would put me in a bad place. But how bad?
I remembered us both standing at attention side by side, the Captain seated at his desk, a tablet in his hands. His cap was on the desk as well, and I noticed the grey in his close cropped hair. The Executive Officer stood to the side, arms folded, wearing a grim expression. Behind us, the Marine in charge of the brig read the charges: breaching the peace of the ship, provoking gestures, assault, disorderly conduct in quarters, and finally, dereliction of duty. The Marine continued with the names of all the witnesses in the berthing bay who had seen the fight. Then the Marine detailed the events as related by the witnesses, many of whom had only noticed when I’d dropped my duffel and put Guri in the initial restraint hold.
I held my face stoically as ever. It really did not look good for me. By all rights, I should not have responded with force. I’d let my honor get the better of me. Why?
Because my last name was Plankwell. Olav was probably the biggest swinging dick in all of Imperial history, and other guys my age were often either intimidated or they wanted to see if they could bully me. To that sort of person, nothing was sweeter than having a Plankwell under their thumb. Needless to say, my temper at such treatment became exceedingly short. That was why I’d been in so many fights. Because whenever someone tried pulling something, if I didn’t respond immediately, it would just get worse. Someone else might be able to coast under the radar, but not a Plankwell.
My father understood this. He’d been through it himself. Though he’d lecture me endlessly about personal responsibility and how I was only responsible for my own actions, not anyone else’s, he still wanted to know if I’d given as good as I’d taken.
“It’s not important whether you win or lose,” he once told me. “All that’s in higher hands. What’s important is that you stand firm for yourself and for what’s right. Remember, you’re a Plankwell. And Plankwells don’t run.”
I’d once heard him and Mom arguing. He’d enrolled me in elementary martial arts. Mom viewed it as a waste of time.
“He needs to study, not injure himself trying to break boards with his fists.”
“How’s he going to defend his honor if we don’t give him the tools?”
“Honor, honor, honor! It’s just another word for pride.”
“As a woman, you have the luxury to think that way, but it’s different for men.”
(Any additional thoughts or actions?)
Note, there are some slight discrepancies between this version and the one of page 34 of the Plankwell campaign write-up. I'll have to edit page 34 to bring it into line with what we have here. Let me know if you have comments or suggestions.
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