Much like the officer's quarters, the office's mess was one of those spaces which I'd lived around my entire life but never had cause to venture to. I was only ever assigned as an ensign's aide in the field when I was a corporal, and I was starting to suspect that was because my worn-out appearance would likely have been discouraging to any fresh-faced young officers. So the building was always just an exterior, the most I'd ever seen was the entry hall through the door as people came and went.
I followed Captain Murray apprehensively up the stairs, through the double doors, and inside. I wasn't exactly sure what I was expecting, but the space was far cozier than I anticipated. Relatively low-ceilinged and with warm wood and wallpaper finish, the room was decorated top to bottom with oddities and pictures, a mix of paintings and small holographic captures from campaigns. Not of battles or anything, but groups of officers standing together, or individual officers caught in candid moments.
The main room had three tables for the unit's thirty or so officers, and a long bar at the rear manned by civilian bartenders. Officers were sitting, talking, eating, there were small card circles, the entire room filled with the low hum of overlapping voices. Just beyond the hall, I could see a second room lit by a flicking fireplace set to a low cyan, one filled with bookshelves and overstuffed chairs. Officer's aides, Jameses and Marias, would occasionally enter to deliver food or messages.
Then the door clicked behind us, and eyes across the room flickered up to me. I did my best not to let my nerves show, but I soon realized I didn't know where to sit or what to do. I nearly followed Captain Murray out of a sort of blind instinct, but then I realized she was going to the bar and an entire conversation emerged unbidden in my mind, where she'd asked what I could possibly be getting at the bar and I'd laugh nervously and try to play it off and consider ordering something anyway like an idiot but then I can't even do that because I'm flat fucking broke…
What I needed to do was sit down, but I wasn't sure if there was a place for me to sit. It seemed as though officers were just sitting wherever they pleased, but I had no way to know if there was a secret set of rules or something, like if that empty table was simply empty because nobody was sitting at it or because it was reserved for officers yet to arrive. Realizing I'd been standing stock still for several seconds now, I decided that I needed to either take a seat or turn and leave, and it took everything I had to walk the dozen steps to the empty table, pull out a chair, and sit down.
That done, and with no plans beyond it, I very carefully studied the worn wooden surface of the table. I became an expert in its grain and polish. I could have written a dissertation.
"Lieutenant, you alright?"
I glanced up to see Captain Murray had returned, a glass in front of her, a look of concern on her face.
"Ah, yes, sorry. I just… what does one do, in the officer's mess? What's my job right now?" I asked.
"Your job right now is to relax and enjoy yourself, alright? Officers usually eat dinner together, that's why everyone is here, but nobody will bat an eye if you take your meals in private just so long as you aren't a total stranger. Or… not take them in private, as they case may be."
"Right." I said, looking around. More officers were starting to filter in, taking seats, talking and laughing. Another joined our table, an ensign from 6th company who couldn't help but stare at me wordlessly until Murray glared at him, and then another, much more familiar face.
"Well, I can't say I believed it until this moment." Lieutenant Duncan, 4th company B section. My section. My old officer. "I think congratulations are in order, however?"
Don't say sir, don't say sir, don't say sir.
"Thank you, sir."
Fuck.
Fortunately, he waved it off, looking a little amused.
"You were an excellent sergeant, I hope you'll make a good officer too."
"Sorry, what's going on here? Why is she dressed like that?" the Ensign said, looking around the table. "There's not machine officers, are there?"
"There have been before. Not many, but it does happen." I said, hoping that would placate him.
"Why, though? I thought you lot were supposed to be happy where you were?" he asked, an edge to his voice. "I thought they liked it! Do they all want to be officers?"
"Relax, Ronald. Deep breaths." Captain Murray said, "I don't think we have an uprising on our hands. Do we, Dora?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny." I said, trying to keep a straight face. Messing with Ensigns was the one part of officer-ing I had ample experience with. "But don't you worry. We don't sit around resenting the officers by any stretch."
"But why are you an officer?" he asked.
"I bought a commission, same as you." I explained, and he cut me off.
"Yes, by why?" he insisted.
"Ronald, come now, leave it." Duncan added, growing frustration in his voice.
"No, it's quite alright, really. We Doras are made to love soldiering, it's etched onto our circuits. Keeping humanity safe is what we're for. But we're all different, you know, and we do have preferences. Some soldiers are drawn more to marksmanship, or enjoy a long march, or who are most relaxed cleaning their gear for inspection."
I noticed that not only was everyone at the table listening intently, there were officers at nearby tables leaning over to listen as well. I stumbled a bit on my words at that, rather self-conscious.
"I guess…. Well, I guess I've just always felt I could help more by leading than in the line, which is why I pushed so hard to make NCO, and saved until I could afford a commission. That's all."
"Well said." Captain Murray added.
"Well… alright. But how come you got to go straight to Lieutenant?" the ensign asked, pushing the hair from his eyes as he looked me over critically.
"Previous military experience, Ronald, she could take the lieutenant's exam." Duncan explained.
"I did consider it." I admitted, "I had to save quite a few years to afford the commission, and it would have gone faster if I had gone to Ensign the moment I could afford it and taken the higher pay. But I decided I'd much rather five more years as a Sergeant than three and a half as an Ensign."
As I said, I loved soldiering, a thing Ensigns got to do very little of.
"Can't hardly blame you there." Ronald admitted, to the chuckles of the table.
"Probably wouldn't have saved you any time at all, anyway. With mess fees and such, ensigns earn about as much as sergeants, I believe." Duncan said.
"Mess fees?" I asked.
"Yes, part of your pay will be garnished, um, it'll be broken down by the paymaster, but what is it for a lieutenant again?"
"Sixpence for meals, six for quarters, four to the mess." Duncan ratted off. A shilling and a half, I was still making 7s6d, which was two and a half times my previous salary. "Oh, and your aide, I think the regulation rate for Army aides is eighteen pence."
"I doubt they'll make her pay for meals, Duncan." Murray added lightly.
"Electricity, maybe?" I offered, and that got some strange looks.
"Stars, I can't imagine. They'd probably pay you for help meeting the minimum output of the Volta plant, if anything." she responded. "Still, that's more to put toward your next rank."
"Presuming I don't have to pay for food I won't eat or an aide I won't need, it'll only take me 12 years and 117 days to be able to afford it. And I'll have 5 shillings 9 pence to spare!" I announced cheerfully. That was nothing!
"You just did that in your head?" Ensign Ronald (he surely had a surname, but I didn't know it) asked.
"What, like it's hard?"
"Well, I'm afraid it'll take you a little longer. You have to have an aide." Captain Murray said, "I don't know if it's regulations, but you won't be able to get by without one, I promise you."
"It wouldn't do to be seen without one either. I imagine you can get straightened out tomorrow." Duncan added. I was about to protest and try to find out why I needed an aide when I noticed the room had gone quite quiet, and I looked about to see what was happening.
Oh… there was Lt. Col. Harrison, standing up at a table where he was sitting with the majors.
"Just a few matters before dinner. Firstly, we have the first of our new transfers and commissions today to start the re-establishment of our 9th company, Captain Murray and Lieutenants Beckham and Fusilier. Welcome to the 7th Foot."
I realized Murray was standing and I did the same, then spotted Beckham also standing at a far table. Every single head in the room turned to me as there was a scatter of polite applause, and it was a blessed relief to sit down again.
"Tomorrow or the next day we ought to get our gaggle of new ensigns to boot." the Lt. Colonel added, some amusement in his voice. "And, as usual, I'd like to thank our guests from the Royal Artillery for their continued presence in our regiment."
Once again, everyone was getting to their feet, all of them holding their glasses. I stood up awkwardly, as everyone held the glasses out.
"To the Royal Artillery!" the Colonel said, and everyone around me took a sip from their glasses, accompanied by a few half-hearted 'here heres' from among the group. Utterly mortified, I took a seat again with everyone else. Did I need a glass? What was I doing here?
"Should I get a glass of water or something?" I asked quietly.
"I… definitely not!" Murray hissed back, clearly mortified.
"And finally, to Britain, the Regents, and the colours!"
That was met with a lot more enthusiasm and polite cheers. Once again, I simply stood awkwardly by, hand empty, then crumpled back to my seat.
---
After dinner, a singularly awkward affair where I sat in front of an empty plate and watched everyone else eat and talk, too terrified to say anything, I beat a hasty retreat back out to Number 18 at full pace. I was greeted at the door by a different maid (Gail, if I recalled correctly) and climbed up the stairs to my oversized bedroom. I was still at 71% charge, but I felt utterly exhausted, drained like I never had before.
I stripped, draping my uniform over the nearest surface, retrieved my power cable from my trunk, clipping it to the back of my neck, and after a few minutes of hunting around the walls of the bedroom, checking to see if any of the fixtures were covers of some kind, I was forced to conclude there simply wasn't a power outlet at all. I'll admit, I may have taken a small moment to beg the Creator forgiveness for my hubris before getting dressed again and wandering out to the hall on a hunt for my staff. I discovered Abby polishing the brass doorknobs to the kitchen downstairs.
"Um… Abby? I… my room doesn't have an outlet."
"Huh?" she looked over, her face falling. "Right. Of course it doesn't. Uh…"
"Is there a room that does? I just need to sleep." I asked, and she shrugged.
"Just the servant's quarters, I'm afraid. Um… there's your aide's room, it's behind the curtained door. There's a port there." she said.
I hadn't seen any such door, but within a moment Abby was heading upstairs and I was following, and she indicated to a spot on the wall which I realized was, indeed, a door, though well hidden. I clicked it open, and inside was a cozy little room. Bare walls, a small slit window above the narrow bed, just space enough for my trunk and a few shelves around it. And there, at the side of the bed, was a port set in the wall. It was perfect.
"Thank you, Abby."
"You're welcome, ma'am." she said, clearly frustrated. "Maybe talk to Thomas in the morning and we'll see about fixing this. Also, if you need help, you don't have to go wandering, it's what the pull cords are for.
"I see. Thank you." I repeated as she left, and I closed the door to the small room, stripped, and collapsed onto the bed. Thickest mattress I'd ever had in my life, quiet, practical. I cracked the window open and spent a moment, staring out at the carpet of stars outside the station's dome, feeling altogether overwhelmed.
Then I plugged myself in and went to sleep.
[/I]
