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She grew silent and I watched her kind of shrinking into herself. “Yes, they tried. I said no and made it stick.”

“But Sissy couldn’t?” I asked.

Her head snapped up and she scowled at me. “Where’d you hear that name?”

“Couple of the crew said the ship had changed Sissy for Isshy. I presumed that was her name.”

“Burnside called her that. It was his little slap. She wouldn’t give in. Locked herself in here between watches, and only left to go to the bridge and the wardroom for meals.”

She sighed and scrubbed her face in her palms. “There was an incident with a couple of Burnside’s bully boys. It wasn’t pretty. After that she was afraid to go anywhere on the ship alone. So, Burnside started calling her ‘Sissy’ for being so afraid all the time.”

“That’s crap!” I exploded. “They can’t do that. It’s harassment!”

“Yeah, but who ya gonna complain to?” she asked with a serious look. “The captain?”

She had a point.

“How’d she get out of her contract?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t and just took the penalty clause.”

“She didn’t talk to you?” I asked, looking at the connecting doorway. “I’d have thought you two would have…”

“Discussed it? Banded together against the common foe?” she asked with a fair amount of bitterness in her voice.

I gave a small shrug. “Something like that.”

“She didn’t trust me either.”

“She thought you were in on it?”

“I was already aboard. She thought I was a bunk bunny already, I guess.”

“Bunk bunny?”

“You’ve been through the academy and never heard the term?” she asked sardonically.

“Oh, no, I’ve heard it. I just never knew it applied to officers.”

“Well, typically there aren’t enough officers for it to be an issue,” she said wryly. “Here? Why do you think the captain and Burnside are so upset that you’re here? You’re not exactly their cuppa tea.”

“They prefer their bunnies with a little more padding?” I ventured.

“Something like that.”

“How have you escaped? Or have you?” I asked suddenly very concerned.

“I let them know I don’t like guys. When they tried to change my mind, I broke Apones’s arm and kicked Mosler so hard in the jewels that he sang soprano for a month. I got Mel and Fredi to back me with the captain. After that, they left me alone. As far as they’re concerned, I’m just another filthy lesbo.”

“Why didn’t you press charges?” I asked.

She shrugged. “They made me a deal. If I didn’t pursue it, they wouldn’t charge me with aggravated assault. They had more proof than I did.”

“Kinda hard to hide a broken arm?” I asked.

“Something like that,” she screwed up her face and said in an almost dead on impersonation of the captain. “‘Now, Ms. Novea. You know boys will be boys. And after all, they’ve taken more damage than you have.’”

“Was that before or after the ‘my word is law’ speech?” I asked.

“Oh, that was the first day. Just like you got,” she assured me. “I didn’t get the spy routine, though. I was already on station when the job opened up. He spent a lot of time hinting that I should sleep in the cabin, but he didn’t come out and do anything I could haul him up on charges over.”

I nodded my understanding. If she had a problem with the skipper as second mate, she could file a grievance with the company, but problems with the crew got stonewalled without the captain’s support. Even with the support of the engineering and cargo chief officers, she’d have had a hard time making anything stick. I was no lawyer, but I’d sat through enough Legal Implications of Space Command lectures to have a pretty good guess of what the problem was.

“Why do you stay?” I asked incredulously.

“The hard part’s over,” she said with a shrug. “They leave me alone. I don’t break any more arms. Mel and Fredi are good people and there are some of the crew who appreciate having somebody besides the Testosterone Gang to talk to.”

“And you can’t get out of your contract,” I finished.

She shrugged. “That too. A few more months and it’ll be over. Two stanyers goes by quickly. I’ll be eligible to sit for first mate before we get to Breakall.”

“Not soon enough for some people,” I pointed out.

“Roger that,” she said ruefully.

We sat there thinking our own thoughts for a bit.

“So, what’s with Mel and Fredi?” I asked. “Fredi seems afraid of her own shadow.”

“I don’t honestly know,” she admitted. “And before you ask, I have no idea if they’re a couple or not. I don’t care. Mel is a great person and Fredi, if you can get her away from these goons, is one of the sharpest minds in the Western Annex.”

She grinned. “Personally, I think the ‘frail bird’ thing is an act, but whatever it is, it keeps them out of harm’s way.”

“So, who’re the troublemakers in the crew?”

“I already told you about Apones and Mosler. Mallory is okay, but he won’t buck the flow. He’ll walk away rather than put his butt on the line. Xhang likes a bit of fun now and again, but I think they just take advantage of the general chaos. I don’t think they’re really bad.”

“Who’re the victims?”

“Davies in the wardroom. She’s bearing up under the strain pretty well, but she’s a very unhappy camper. Ulla Nart, I’m keeping her under my wing as best I can. Some of the boys think she’s my bunk warmer, and I let them think that, for obvious reasons. Vicki VanDalon and Osmia Lignaria in the engineering were both getting a lot of the captain’s attention, but he’s having to be careful when poaching from Mel’s group. Below decks, I don’t know how well that’s working out. The official policy is, ‘No blood, no problem.’”

“Could this group be any more dysfunctional?” I asked.

“Yeah, it could. They still speak wistfully of the BDSM parties on the mess deck and there’s reputed to be one body still missing back from the ‘good old days’ before there were so many uppity women in the ranks.”

I blinked in disbelief a couple of times. “You don’t suppose the smell…” I started to say but couldn’t finish.

Arletta shook her head. “No, that was too long ago. The smell would have dissipated by now. It was before I came, and I think they just tell that story to terrorize the new hands.”

“This is so wrong. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

She sighed. “We can only do so much, Ishmael. Even though he’s a megalomaniac, the captain is correct about being the law out here. He’s got the mechanics of it down. In port, he’s never on the ship. Underway, his word is gospel. You go against him at your peril. Put in your time, keep an eye on your back, and get out when you can.”

She was right, of course.

“Okay,” I agreed, “so what can we make better? Why is everybody always in a dirty shipsuit? Why is there crud on the decks?”

She snorted. “I think that goes hand-in-hand—dirty ship, dirty crew. If we could get one cleaned up, then the other would probably follow.”

“Okay, well, other than brow beating the watch section to put on clean clothes, what else?”

She shrugged. “The coffee sucks. I don’t remember the last time I had coffee this bad.”

I grinned. “Coffee, I can fix. How do we get to it?”

“Prove that you can make better coffee and I think you’ll have Vorhees eating out of your hand. That ‘joke’ that the captain used on Vorhees this morning? That wasn’t a joke. The captain wants better coffee, but Vorhees doesn’t have a clue what to try.”

I looked at her skeptically. “Isn’t he a spec one chef?”

“Indeed he is, but he took a lateral over as spec one from environmental to stewards.”

“He’s an engineman?” I asked.

“Well, not now, but he was, yeah.”

“No wonder the coffee tastes like burned engine oil. I think we can do something about that much. Give me a couple days to work on it.”

She looked at me with a dubious expression. “
You’re
going to make the coffee better?”

“Nope,” I said with a grin. “I’m going to help Vorhees make coffee to die for.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN
D
IURNIA
S
YSTEM
2358-
J
ULY-8

The worst of the shakes had run their course by the time Arletta went back to her stateroom to get ready for watch. Having that back door felt a little like sneaking around, but it also felt more like normal. Everything was going to be okay. The captain was a loon. The first mate was a sexist sadist. The engineering and cargo firsts were probably sleeping together. But it was going to be okay, because at least I could talk to Arletta.

“You’re a sick man,” I told myself with some degree of satisfaction as I made my way down to the mess deck.

As I expected, the place was largely deserted. The chrono said 17:00 and we’d been underway for only a couple of stans. Those who had day work were undoubtedly doing it, and those who had watch standing duties were either on, or preparing to go on, watch. The galley proper was just beyond the mess deck. The door was open and I heard voices. They’d be getting ready for the dinner mess which meant making sure the coffee was made.

I stepped up to the galley door and stuck my head in.

Mr. Vorhees spotted me right away and smiled. “Mr. Wang, can I help you?”

The two messmates looked up from their work—Davies, whom I recognized from wardroom service and another woman whom I’d never met. I read, “Cramer,” on her shipsuit.

“Actually, Chief, I think I can help you. I know you’re getting ready for the evening mess, but I wonder if I could borrow whichever of your mates usually makes the coffee?”

He frowned slightly at that and crossed the galley to where I was standing, and I backed out of the doorway so we could step onto the mess deck for a modicum of privacy.

“Something wrong with the coffee, Mr. Wang?” he asked with a guarded expression.

“No offense, Mr. Vorhees, but my sense from the wardroom meeting this morning was that the captain has been raggin’ your coffee for a while now? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

He looked at me hard. “You got that just from one question and my answer?” he asked.

“No, I’ve had the coffee.”

He barked a laugh in surprise. “Well, Mr. Wang, you shoot from the hip, but you got the right of it. What’s on your mind?”

“I know a bit about making coffee. Long story, but I was a messmate before an officer. I know what you’re up against.”

“I’m still listening, but the clock’s tickin’, sar,” he said.

“You buy beans or ground?” I asked.

“Beans, we grind it by the bucket load.”

“Okay, who does the coffee? Cramer?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because Davies has wardroom duty and you strike me as a fair man.”

“Fair? How’s that, sar?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“You’d not give all the crap duty to one messmate.”

He barked another laugh. “Guilty as charged, sar.”

“Could you send Ms. Cramer out, and we’ll see if we can do a little good here. Which one’s the next urn to go?” I asked.

“Number two,” he said, pointing at one of the chrome monsters mounted on the bulkhead.

I rolled up my sleeves and nodded. “Excellent. If you’d have Ms. Cramer bring out a step stool, a scrub brush, and a couple of liters of white vinegar, we’ll get on this.”

He didn’t stand there looking for more than a heartbeat before he went back into the galley and started giving orders.

Ms. Cramer came out looking scared and confused but lugging the supplies I’d asked for.

“You wanted to see me, sar?” she asked.

“Yes, Ms. Cramer. How would you like to make coffee to die for?” I said with a smile.

“Oh, sar, if we could get people to stop complaining about the coffee, sar…” she said wistfully.

“I think your next problem will be keeping the urn full, Ms. Cramer. Now look sharp because we don’t have a lot of time.”

We got to work and between the two of us, managed to overhaul the number two urn. There was a fair amount of sludge built up in it, but the vinegar and hot water made short work of it. The mess deck smelled like a pickle vat for a while, but that was actually an improvement.

I explained the ratios of water to coffee, and we went back to the pantry where the requisite equipment was stored. I tossed the bucket of stale ground coffee and had her break out a fresh one. We ground enough for three urns, which would take the ship through dinner, evening, and the following morning. I had her write down the amounts and the grinder settings. It was a standard twenty liter model. It was so much like the
Lois’s
that I felt a little homesick. We loaded a basket and filter and I had her check the water temperature to make sure we were brewing with cold water. She looked at me one last time and I nodded encouragingly. She opened the valve and began the brew cycle.

While the urn brewed, I stuck my head into the galley.

“Thank you, Mr. Vorhees,” I called. “I’ll get out of your hair, but I think you’ll find Ms. Cramer has a most astonishing talent for making coffee.”

He didn’t look like he believed me, but as I left the mess deck, the smell of fresh coffee was beginning to overwhelm the pickley smell of the vinegar. I smiled in satisfaction and headed for the bridge to check on the ship’s systems before I needed to report to the wardroom for dinner.