Wasteland of flint

as holding flash-frozen food supplies – potatoes, chiles, rice, onions, wasabi paste, buffalo meat, mutton, carrots, peas, mangoes – everything the kitchens would need to keep three hundred men and women from rioting over an unvarying diet of vanilla-flavored three-squares, recycled bodywater and vitamin supplements.

She reached a pressure door with a small sign reading JUNIOR OFFICERS' QUARTERS taped to the bulkhead. The crates stacked to the low overhead on either side of the hatch were labeled MEDICAL SUPPLIES. Stonefaced – though there was no one to see her – Kosho examined the seals on the cargo pods and found them intact. Pursing her lips slightly, she plugged her duty-officer's comp into the bottom crate's dataport and watched for a moment as the two systems conversed. The inventory request registered thirty-six full bottles of Usunomiya-city-brewed sake, in ceramic bottles.

Kosho considered opening the case, which had been placed in such perilous proximity to the JOQ by the ship's supply officer – a man widely regarded as being without pity or remorse or any human sense of mercy or decency by the crew – to see if the bottles were truly inside, or if they even retained any rice wine, but did not. The hour was deep into second watch and she had her own business to finish.

The pressure door yielded to her command insignia and levered up into the overhead with a hiss. Kosho schooled her face to perfect stillness and stepped through the hatchway into a thick miasma composed of human sweat, the acrid taste of metal oil, drying laundry and half-cooked food. A clamor of sound enveloped her as the hatch closed; music blaring from personal players, the clatter of two midshipmen fencing with rattan swords at the far end of the deck, people shouting encouragement to the duelists, an ensign arguing passionately with a bored- looking second lieutenant, the beep and whir of electronics, someone singing a Noh ballad off-key… The sho-sa's nostrils flared slightly, then settled. Dark brown eyes surveyed the rows of bunks sitting over tiny desks and lockers with interest. Every square inch of the long, slightly curving room was covered with people, equipment, posters, 3v postcards or zenball schedules.

Forty-seven violations of shipboard regulations, she thought as her eyes returned to look down the long, crowded hallway. A very faint, calculating smile touched her lips. Though none needful of real punishment. Not today, at least.

A middle-grade lieutenant standing in front of the nearest desk, shirt off – revealing a jawless skull tattooed on a powerfully muscled cocoa-colored back – happened to turn at just that moment. He was dressing for third-watch duty, his tunic, uniform jacket and soft, kepi-style cap laid out on a neatly made bed. The Mixtec froze, seeing her, then his brain restarted with admirable speed and he stiffened to attention.

'Senior officer Kosho,' he bawled in a voice worthy of a Jaguar Knight gunso, 'on DECK!'

His voice echoed back from the far end of the JOQ in abrupt silence. The Noh singer's caterwauling aria flew in counterpoint, but was immediately silenced. There was a commotion as men and women swarmed down off the bunks and leapt up from their chairs or the deck and formed two rows facing into the central walkway. Kosho nodded politely to the thai-i.

'You will be late for your duty station, Eight-Deer. Please continue.'

The African bowed gracefully in response and resumed dressing.

Kosho took two steps into the room, politely removing herself from the lieutenant's way. 'I require the assistance of Sho-i Ko-hosei Smith,' she announced in an inflectionless voice. 'The rest of you, as you were.'

Everyone stared at her and not a few heads turned to look at the far end of the room. A murmur of noise carrying the midshipman's name flew down the walkway. The fencers were frozen en-pointe, the tips of their boken touching. Kosho saw Smith appear, hastily shoving a handful of pay chits into the hands of another midshipman, and hurry through the crowd toward her. As the baby-faced communications officer passed, the other junior officers relaxed and returned to very subdued, decorous activities. Kosho noticed, to her private amusement, two ensigns osculating on an upper bunk did not resume their extracurricular activities.

'Ma'am?' Smith made a futile effort to straighten his hair. 'Is something wrong?'

'Come with me, Sho-i.' Kosho turned smartly on her heel and left the JOQ. Eight-Deer was gone, having fled quietly while her back was turned. The hatchway closed behind them with a thud and the hiss of pressurized air. 'There's something you should see.'

The ride in the core-transit car to the bridge ring was very quiet, which did not discomfit Kosho at all. She believed in the benefit of learning to wait silently and was not averse to helping others – particularly junior officers – improve their skills. Watching Smith-tzin fidget out of the corner of her eye, the sho-sa reminded herself she had learned these skills at a younger age, when sitting motionless, clad in the elaborate drapery of one of Hannobu's juni-hitoe for five hours while listening politely to scratchy, ill-executed music was a matter of course. He does not have to wear four kilos of hair, golden pins and jeweled ornaments either. A good switching would improve his posture, though.

A chime signaled the arrival of their transit car at the command ring and Kosho pushed away from her seat and kicked off to fly through the widening iris of the door leading to the bridge. Smith followed, entirely at ease in z- g.

The bridge was quiet and dim, the lights having switched into nightcycle. Kosho nodded to the officer of the watch and swung herself over to the communications station. Smith's usual configuration had been entirely changed, with the broad work panel split into three sets of v-panes. The sho-i dropped into his shockchair while Kosho took a newly added second seat. Out of habit, Smith strapped himself in and tested chair integrity. The sight brought a brief, warm glow to Kosho's breast. Ah, but he does occasionally learn.

'Reconfiguration of the shipskin is complete,' the sho-sa said quietly, tapping her half of the divided panel alive. A new set of blank v-panes and controls appeared. Her console shone a light green, indicating a standby status. Curious, Smith leaned over, checking the intermediate display, which was the fruit of Thai-i Helsdon's foregoing sleep for two days. While Smith's reduced primary panel showed the feed from the remaining, normally-configured sensor array, the intermediate display served as an amalgam of the two sets of data. At the moment, it showed the main battle plot from Smith's panel.

'Helsdon-tzin assures me,' Kosho continued, 'all of the new data feeds are online and the shipskin is properly reconfigured for g-wave detection.'

Smith nodded, impressed, but he still looked a little puzzled.

'Your idea was a good one,' Kosho continued in a low voice. Only a skeleton watch was on deck at the moment, so she felt safe enough to talk openly with this boy. The raven-wing of her left eyebrow curved up gracefully. 'Did you feel slighted when Chu-sa Hadeishi tasked me to implement the concept, rather than you?'

'No!' Smith looked horrified – properly horrified – but Kosho could see a twinge of memory in the boy's pale eyes. 'I'm only a junior officer,' he said, almost stammering.

'You are correct,' the sho-sa said quietly. 'You are a junior officer. You've much to learn before Hadeishi-tzin is entirely comfortable with placing you in a lead role. But the day will come when he does, never fear.' Avoiding the surprised look on his face, she activated the newly configured panel and handed him a v-pad already keyed to a set of security codes.

'Smith-tzin,' Kosho said formally, 'would you care to bring the new system online?'

The midshipman blinked once and then took the pad. Visibly gathering himself, Smith looked over the codes, then examined the g-scan panel. Kosho sat beside him quietly, keeping a very close eye on what he was doing. Taking a deep breath, Smith tapped open a comm channel.

'Bridge to Engineering.'

There was an immediate, tired-sounding answer. 'Helsdon here, Bridge.'

'Are your crews clear of the outer hull?' Smith was searching frantically on the reconfigured display. Kosho continued to watch, an expression of mild interest on her face. 'We are preparing to bring the g-scan array online.'

'Wait one, Bridge.' Helsdon's voice cut off with the squeak of a muted channel. A moment later, he came back on comm. 'Bridge, we are clear. All crews are accounted inside the secondary hull. You are clear to activate the g-