He was mopping the deck on the orbital base when we found him. That right there confirmed my notions of this ensign. Robots were quite capable of scrubbing decks, but a man with a mop and a bucket could move around with a certain amount of freedom, finding opportunities for fun and profit.
Marie took the initiative. "What are you doing, Ensign?" she had asked him with a dramatic snarl.
"I’m just moppin' the deck, ma'am," Ensign Slickpea answered.
"Do I look like a 'ma'am'?" Marie growled. "I'm a goddamn sergeant, rat-man!"
"Y-yes, Sergeant!" exclaimed Slickpea, almost dropping his mop as he suddenly stood at attention. "Sorry, Sergeant!"
Marie stood in his face, glowering with great effect. I launched into a line of questions. "Ensign Shiny Slickpea, how come you haven't qualified for any specialty? How come you've been in the Fleets for six years and never tried to get into a department? Why is it that any transfer you receive is cancelled? How is it that an ensign makes 17 thousand credits a year, and you’ve got bank accounts totaling 350 thousand credits?"
Slickpea's face turned red, and a sudden viciousness appeared on his face. "I'm sure it's all totally innocent, sir-" he began, but Marie snarled, "That's 'Fleet Commander', rat-man!" I love my Sergeant. (Not like that- okay, maybe a little like that.)
I thought for a moment- a brief, insane moment- that Slickpea was going to take a swipe at Marie. I sort of wanted him to try; Sergeant Marie Du-tse was a colonist, hard as stone, tough as steel, and strong in will and body. Ensign Shiny Slickpea, on the other had, was a half-head shorter than my Sergeant and looked to weigh a third less than she. He was skinny, soft, and out of shape.
I told the ensign that Fleet Intel had uncovered all sorts of dirt on him, but he might stay out of the brig if he helped me out. "You see," I told him, "I need another ship. And a devious little rat-man could find me a ship in a fleet that was short on resources and long on enemies." I could almost see the wheels spinning around in his head.
"So, you'll leave me alone if I can get you your ship?" he asked, adding for the Sergeant's interest, "Fleet Commander?"
Oh, yes, Ensign. I'll go away like a bad dream, never to confront you again. And you best be at the Grinder by the end of your deadline, or you're going to have a long vacation (five to 10 years) in a little room with no windows and a toilet that is used for a sink.
Next Chapter >> 24: The Rat-man's Hanger
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