Sinclair.' Sykes waved grandly toward one of the other chairs grouped around the rectangular metal table. 'Don't worry about strapping in. That's only required while we're underway.'
Paul glanced at the chair as he sat, noticing harness straps lying at the ready. 'The ship maneuvers during meals?'
'Not if we can help it. Or, rather, not if the line officers actually driving the Merry Mike can help it.' Sykes smiled again, this time conspiratorially. 'Being a limited duty supply specialist, I'm just a passenger of sorts.'
Paul smiled back. Sykes' rank as commander probably put him on par with the other department heads and the ship's executive officer, but those others were all line officers, a term derived from the days when such officers commanded sail-powered warships which exchanged broadsides in the line of battle with other warships. Unlike the line officers, Sykes' status as a limited duty officer meant he exercised no authority over the actual operations of the ship. Even if the executive officer (another commander, if Paul remembered right) hadn't occupied a superior position in the command hierarchy of the ship compared to a department head, she still would've been senior to Sykes on operational matters. For that matter, line officer Ensign Paul Sinclair would also be senior to Commander Sykes for operational purposes (a daunting prospect Paul tried not to dwell on) even though Sykes was his superior officer otherwise.
Paul let his gaze wander around the small room. A slightly stylized painting of the Michaelson in near-Earth orbit was fastened to one wall. Another held the small opening through which meals could be passed to the officers from the tiny food prep area beyond. On the third… Paul blinked, looking again as if his eyes had betrayed him. 'A skull and crossbones? Why is there a pirate flag in here?'
Sykes followed Paul's look, then chuckled. 'Why is it here? Because neither the executive officer nor the captain has yet seen it and ordered it taken down. Some of your fellow junior officers stuck it up this morning.'
'Why?'
'Why? Ah, there you're getting into 'line' issues. Operational stuff. You'll have to ask a fellow ship driver.' Sykes rubbed his forehead, momentarily serious as he frowned in thought. 'Well, welcome aboard and all that. You'll eat, um, second shift.'
'Second shift?'
'That's right.' Sykes looked around the wardroom himself, then shrugged. 'This space can't hold every officer at once. Well, it can if they're hanging off all four bulkheads and the overhead, but not for a nice sit-down meal like the Captain prefers. So, you get second shift.'
Paul nodded, repeating second shift in his mind several times to ensure it wasn't forgotten.
'Have you heard much about food in the space fleet?'
Paul shook his head.
'Good. Try not to look at it or taste it, and you'll do fine.'
Paul hesitated, then nodded again.
'I imagine you want a bunk someplace?'
'Uh, yes, sir.'
'Well, my young friend, you are in luck. It just so happens I have a vacancy. Come along, Ensign Sinclair.' Paul hastily scooped up his bag, following the Supply Officer out the hatch and down a short passageway, ducking as he passed through other hatches and trying to hug the bulkhead to his right as an occasional crew member squeezed past going in the other direction. Sykes finally halted before a hatch with three nameplates already stuck on it. 'Welcome, Mr. Sinclair, to the starboard ensign locker.'
'Ensign locker?' Paul looked on with foreboding as Sykes rapped sharply on the bulkhead, then opened the hatch.
A bedraggled lieutenant junior grade glanced up from a tiny desk and raised one hand to wave two fingers in greeting. 'What's up, Suppo?'
'Got you another roomie. Meet Ensign Sinclair.'
'Ah, fer… Okay. I guess we won't be able to stretch out in here anymore.'
'Too much luxury spoils the young. Everybody happy? Wonderful. I'm off to attend to my many and exhausting duties. He's yours, Mr. Meadows.'
'Thanks, Suppo. I'll take him from here.'
Sykes nodded and left as Paul carefully maneuvered himself and his bag into the ensign locker. The JG stuck out his hand as Paul dropped his bag. 'Welcome to a tiny corner of hell. And I do mean tiny. I'm Carl Meadows.'
'Hi. I'm Paul. Paul Sinclair.' Paul looked around, taking in the three bunks stacked against one of the bulkheads, the four small desk and locker units ranked two-by-two on either side, and a fourth bunk wedged between the top of one set of locker units and the overhead. 'I guess it's a good thing I packed light.'
'A very good thing. You get the top bunk.'
Paul glanced upward, noting the power cables and ductwork overhead, which reduced the clearance above the top bunk to something less than the three feet of space the other bunks enjoyed. 'Lucky me.'
'You're junior ensign, my lad. Get used to the short end of the stick.' Meadows grinned to take the sting from his words. 'Ship designers pack everything they can inside the volume of the hull. It makes for tight quarters. I hope you didn't believe all those movies that showed space crews living in individual luxury apartment suites.'
'The ones with soaring ceilings and lots of floor space?' Paul laughed. 'Heck, I've never lived that good back on Earth. I didn't expect it up here, in living quarters provided by the government.'
'A wise expectation. For an ensign.'
Paul laughed again, then surveyed the small amount of personal storage space and shook his head. 'If this is an ensign locker, why is a JG living here?'
'Because I've not yet achieved the exalted rank of full lieutenant, after which I can aspire to a two person stateroom which is about half the size of this place. That's supposed to be better. But it beats living in one of the ensign lockers. Your two other roomies are also men, by the way. I hope that doesn't disappoint you. Aside from me, you get to share quarters with Ensign Sam Yarrow, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Bill Door. Don't expect to see much of Bill. He's the Computer Systems Officer. Basically, Bill lives in the mainframe compartment. If you and he end up on opposite watch schedules, you may never see him except for rare sightings when he actually sleeps in his bunk. We send Bill emails occasionally to make sure he's still with us.' Carl pointed out the hatch. 'As for our female counterparts, the port ensign locker is where the babes live.'
'Babes? The female junior officers get called babes?'
'Sometimes. In private. If they're in a good mood. And even then only among the other junior officers,' Meadows cautioned, 'not around anybody ranked lieutenant commander and above, and never, not ever in front of the enlisted.'
'So, what do the, uh, babes call us? Sometimes, in private, among junior officers, that is.'
'Studs.'
Paul unsuccessfully tried to smother a laugh. 'First time I've ever had that nickname.'
'Me, too. Enjoy it while you can. I have a suspicion the stud nickname is at least slightly facetious, though. I'm Gunnery and Fire Control officer, by the way. Have you got any idea what your primary duty will be?'
'My detailer said I'd be Assistant Combat Information Center Officer.'
Meadows raised one eyebrow. 'And you believed him?'
'No, not really. When do I find out for sure what my job will be?'
'When you meet the executive officer.' Meadows canted his head in a direction Paul guessed to indicate forward and to port. 'Commander Herdez. If she tells you that you'll be ACICO, then you'll be ACICO.'
'What's she like?'
'She's the XO. She works our butts off. Then she works us some more. But Herdez knows what she's doing. The XO's a very sharp officer. And, trust me on this, when you screw up you'll find out just how sharp she can be.' Carl grinned. 'You'll note I said 'when you screw up', not 'if.' I've been the ensign route, and the best you can say for it is that it's a learning experience.'
'Yeah.' Paul sagged into one of the free chairs. 'I'm really looking forward to it.'
'Don't worry. From the dawn of time, naval officers have gone through the ensign stage, and most have later gone on to lead happy, productive lives.'
'Most have?'
