Chapter 11 - Bankruptcy (And Beatrice!)
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
The officers all filtered together through a pressure lock, and though I had no particular need for the slower process they used, it wouldn't do to have me reenter the station with the troops. We crowded in and everyone sat down on the chairs on either side, while I stood awkwardly in the corner, and Lt. Col. Harrison pulled the hatch behind us.
"Good day's business, I'd say." Major Gaynestown said through the radio, looking over us all. "Lieutenant, you can take a seat if you like."
"Can't, actually. The pack." I said, pointing with a thumb behind me.
"Oh, blasted thing. You should buy yourself a better one while the War Office gets it figured out." he said, shaking his head.
"Blast it, Henry, what happened to you?" I heard Beckham ask, and followed his eyeline to an officer who was, head to toe, covered in grey dust, with just a small portion of his helmet cleared so he could see.
"Took a nasty bit of a tumble going up the hill." he said, his smile just visible beyond the sticky dust, "Rolled a good fifty yards, it's hard to stop once you get going."
"As usual, you're all free for the night, dress code's relaxed for the mess." Harrison said, trying to wipe the dust from his jacket. It just stuck fast to his glove and smeared further. "And my apologies to your housemaids."
"Fusilier, you going to be joining us for once?" Lieutenant Duncan called over the group, and there were a couple of chuckles from the assembled group.
"I would love to. As you all know, eating human food with the mouth that I have is among my passions." I said, shaking my head. "Unfortunately, this is my only suitable outfit."
"Next time then." he said, as I started to notice the hissing of air become audible. After a few more minutes conversation, the candles above the door turned green, and I finally disconnected the coolant pipe and pulled it out of my collar, shivering from the action and the stray freezing cold drops that raced down my back. All around me, helmets were being removed and people were starting to shuffle out, and I eagerly shed the radpack, stretched, and headed home.
Miriam was waiting at the door, as usual, shaking her head as I stood.
"You're on thin ice with the housemaids already. Go around the back to the servants entrance, I'll see you there in a few minutes." she said. I stepped by as she walked out, then I stepped around the back of the estate. There was a lovely little garden there which I hadn't even noticed before, and a machine was trimming the hedge that ran around the property.
"Morning, ma'am!" he called, and I acknowledged him with a wave. He wasn't even on any staff I knew of, must have worked for the base. Bizarre.
I found my way to the servant's entrance down a short set of steps and waited. After about fifteen minutes, the door swung open to reveal Miriam with a large canvas bag in one arm and a large blue housecoat folded over the other.
"Clothes in the bag, housecoat on." she said, hanging them up on the hooks beside the door and disappearing back inside. Sheepishly, I stripped, trying to do so carefully in order to not get any more dust on my person, and shrugged into the housecoat. It was very, very soft on the inside. Boots off, I gingerly stepped inside, noticing I was in the servant's room I'd seen before, just from the other end of the hall. Rooms to my right, the door back into the house at the far end, a small table at which Thomas the mechanic stood.
"Evening, ma'am. Nice housecoat." he said, looking up from his book.
"Thanks. I haven't a clue where it came from." I admitted.
"Good news, by the way. I got approval from the base to install an outlet in your room. I'm going to do it day after tomorrow while you're out at the ball." he said as I stepped past, and I thanked him in a mumble, feeling very out of sorts. Miriam was waiting for me on the other side of the door, and she did not look pleased.
"Do you have any clothes other than that uniform and the pink one?" she asked, as I headed to one of the water rooms for a cloth. There was still dust on my face.
"I have my civilian dress, I suppose." I said, ducking inside. I wet a rag and peered at the mirror, and it didn't look too bad until I ran the cloth over my cheek and suddenly noticed how much brighter it was. "It's not exactly fancy or anything, though."
"It'll have to do. You have a date." she said, snatching the rag from my hand. "Have you got tomorrow's schedule?"
"Not much to do… urgh. We're doing formation bayonet drill, some training with the ensigns? But nothing in the evening." I said, wincing as she aggressively wiped at the plates on my neck. She scowled, and I saw the rag sail into the sink in front of me before she began attacking the problem with a fresh one. "Now what's this about a date?"
"Hold on a moment. Have you talked to that sergeant of yours yet?" she asked, making a vain attempt to get the dust out of my hair.
"Not yet, I didn't want to make an issue before void training, it's dangerous. Tomorrow! Now, why do I have a date?"
"One of my friends wrote back, you're very lucky, she's a sweetheart. But you have to meet her beforehand, obviously, you can't bring a total stranger as your guest." Miriam said, and I shuddered as she cleaned off the cable port at the base of my skull. "As for tomorrow, I managed to get you an appointment with my detailing girl on incredibly short notice, and we're going to see how much damage they can undo for two pounds four shillings. Was your uniform sealed?"
"No, I didn't bother- two pounds what? What the hell?" I protested, trying to twist in my seat. She gripped my shoulders firmly to keep me in place, surprisingly strong for a woman literally made of glass.
"Miss, you look like you fell from orbit. We will not be able to make you look presentable by any means, but they wouldn't let you in that hall as a servant right now, nevermind an officer. It'll be well worth the money. Now, come, off with the coat, I won't have you getting moon dust on Beatrice."
"Beatrice?" I said, squirming out of my coat, "So she's a seamstress then?"
"Not any longer. You'll like her, she couldn't just stick to her job either. Good lord, it's all down your back. Seal your uniform next time!"
"I had to leave the collar open for my speaker…"
So there I sat, housecoat hanging open and feeling a little like a kitten caught out in the rain as Miriam aggressively tackled with clingy static dust with a seemingly endless supply of damp cloths. I'll admit, none of my fantasies about being undressed around a Maria much looked like this.
Eventually, as she was finishing, I saw her step back a moment in the mirror, looking at me, her eyes soft.
"Miss, if you don't mind my asking, what happened to your back?" she asked. "I wasn't going to say anything, but…"
"Oh. Yes." I said, feeling rather awkward. "Well… it happened a long time ago. I don't like to think about it."
"Hmm. Alright." she said, stepping back to work. "I'll say, I don't think fixing it is quite in your budget yet. Constance is a genius, but she isn't a miracle worker."
"Where did you get this housecoat, anway?" I asked, but she was already stepping out.
"Miss, where's that civilian dress you mentioned?" she asked from the bedroom, and I told her to look in my trunk. I heard the sound of the latch and some rustling, and then a gasp.
"It is twenty years old." I mentioned sheepishly. "And was free when I got it."
"Well… it shall have to do. We have half an hour yet, let me get my sewing kit."
---
An hour later, I found myself climbing nervously out of a cab in front of a small building downtown in my newly mended dress. Miriam had, at record speed, shorn the high collar off with a pair of scissors and made a flawless seam at the remains to bring the neckline 'vaguely into season' and affixed a white bow at the neck which she got from who-knows-where, and promptly shoved me into a cab she'd presumably arranged for with three pence in my hand.
I stepped to the door, finding the three pence was what was needed for the cover charge, and went inside to find some very light music playing, trying to get my bearings. I hadn't been in a place like this ever: when I did used to go out, it was to places a lot more… well, rough and tumble. If anything, it reminded me vaguely of the cafes I sometimes heard officers talk about. The interior was clean, simple, minimalist almost, with small booths, and machines were sitting, reading, talking quietly, playing cards, chess, and other activities I didn't recognize. One, sitting the corner alone, had a stack of papers beside her, and was tapping her fingers against a strange device sitting in front of her.
She certainly looked like a Beatrice. Very, very tall, sort of awkwardly spindly, perfect for reaching around clients or measuring even the tallest, with long, delicate fingers and a socket for a magnifying lens over one eye. She was made of a combination of brass and white glass plates, though I noticed that one of her forearms was a marbled green, and dressed in a lovely pink and white dress. Her hair was a bright mess of coiling curls, anodized to a bright orange.
She was very unusual looking, but I couldn't say she wasn't intriguing. I stepped to her, hand raised awkwardly.
"Excuse me, are you waiting for somebody?"
"Yes, a… are you the Theodora I'm waiting for?" she asked, her voice immediately pegging her as American, and I nodded, sliding into the booth as she indicated. At no point did she stop tapping at her strange device, her fingers resting on a half-sphere of push-buttons, and I realized that below it was a sheet of paper that was moving in time with the clacks, letters appearing.
"Let me begin this rather awkwardly by asking… what is that thing, and what are you doing with it?" I said, instantly feeling like a giant idiot.
"This is a Hansen Writing Ball. It never really caught on, people prefer their letters hand-written for the most part, but when volume's what matters, it helps quite a bit. My apologies, I'm on a deadline." she said, still tapping away. She thumbed a plunger on the back of the device, and it shuffled the current sheet aside and opened the holding claws for another, which she slid in with a smooth, practiced motion. It reminded me a little of a gunner changing heat sinks on a revolver cannon, the same instant, unhesitating action.
"You're a writer, then?" I asked, remembering Miriam mentioning she wasn't working her original job. She nodded, pausing a second before resuming the rapid taps.
"Yes! And I rather bit off more than I could chew this month. If I'm going to take a night off, I've got to make up about ten thousand more words." she said, frowning. "Do you read much?"
"Can't say I do, though I'm reading more these days." I said. "What do you write?"
"I do a variety of serials for the red tops and a few, um, other periodicals. It's very popular stuff, they usually get printed together later. And some other stuff, I guess, ha!" she said, pausing a moment to scan me over. "I was told you're a lieutenant? Impressive. You look sort of rough though."
"Uh... very recently a lieutenant. Had to save for a rather long time." I admitted, feeling a bit awkward at her bluntness. "My finances are somewhat in recovery from purchasing the commission."
"Ah, that's why you're wearing a thirty-year old dress with some hasty modifications. Whoever did it was in a bit of a rush, huh? Whatever, you make it work." she said. She finally paused a moment, taking her hand away from the typing ball and cupping her chin as she looked at me. "Stars, you've been through a lot, though? The scars are very evocative. Mysterious. Mhmm."
"Uh, yes. Thank you?" I said, unsure how to handle this. Was this what dates were supposed to be like? As best I knew, we were just making sure we wouldn't kill one another at the event itself. "So how do you know Miriam?"
"One of her previous officers was a huge fan. Though, uh, that's a huge secret so don't tell literally anyone." she said casually, back to tapping away. "Why'd you want to be a lieutenant? That's for sure a human-only thing over here?"
"Uh… well, not entirely, as you can see." I said nervously. "I just always thought I'd be more helpful leading and taking responsibility. It's my way of trying to contribute more."
"Oh, I totally get that." Beatrice said, switching her papers again. "Sorta started writing that way. Well, no, I started writing because I was bored. I was working for this family for a while but they kinda became a bit reclusive for a bit, some kind of social drama, I don't know, and suddenly I was only working like six hours a day because they didn't need so many new fashions or anything, so I took up writing to fill the time. Started passing it around my friends, soon found out the whole staff was reading it and were super excited, bringing energy back to the whole place."
"Oh, that's lovely." I said.
"Right? I felt so accomplished, and realized I was doing far more good raising spirits and giving people escapism than I was making clothes every once and awhile. Though…" she paused her tapping, glancing under at her sheet. "Still do sometimes. Just for myself. And friends. Clients sometimes. But mostly writing. And there we go?"
"Oh?" I asked.
"Fifteen thousand. That's it for the day." she said, pulling her hands away from the writing ball like it was superheated and stretching out. "So… seen anything exciting out there? Anything that'd inspire any stories?"
"Well… would you like to hear any about the rimward frontier?" I asked, and she perked up, her eyes wide.
"Would I ever!" she beamed.
---
"Next matter. We need somebody to shoot the ensigns."
"Hell, I'll do it." I volunteered.
"Nah, that's not right. It ought to be one of us." Beckham said, "Something disconcerting about a machine doing it, right?"
"Come to think of it, Dora, you need to get shot too." Captain Murray pointed out. "It's only fair."
"Let's make it even then. I'll shoot the ensigns, Miles shoots me?" I said, and everyone around the table nodded.
"That works, I suppose." Beckham conceded.
"Well, best get it done. Lunch is in a bit. Pistol's by the door. Make sure it's the right one."
"That'd be a bit of a thing to explain, yes." Beckham said, grabbing his coat. "Dear Mister and Missus Brodeway, funny story…"
I plucked the pistol out of its box and made sure to check it over carefully, in full view of everyone to make sure we all saw which one it was, before leaning my head out. The ensigns were sitting around the little outdoor table, laughing obnoxiously at something.
"Ensigns! It's time to get shot!" Beckham announced, and they came over eagerly, excitement on their features. "Make sure you've got your hats!"
I flipped off the safety and the pistol whined in my hand as it charged up.
"Right, who's first!" I asked, and three hands went up. "Really? Not you Ellen?"
"I'm not exactly eager, no." Ensign Darley said, wincing.
"Oh, come on. Won't be so bad." Kelly said.
"Yeah, I heard it's just like falling asleep." Sumner insisted.
"Alright, Chris, you're up." I said, and Brodeway shuffled over to the side to make a clear target.
"Any last words, sport?" Beckham asked, barely able to contain his laughter.
"Miles! That's awful." I said, a little horrified.
"Nah, just do me." Broadway said with a shrug, and I leveled the pistol at his chest and fired. He didn't throw his hands up or anything dramatic like that, he just folded over and fell stiffly onto the grass, writhing slowly.
"Uuurugh.... Fuck." he moaned, slowly rolling over. "Fuuuuck…"
"Oh, stars." Sumner said, "I think it didn't work. Hit him again."
"Nah, that's about right." Beckham said, prodding Brodeway with his foot. "You feel like you're going to get up?"
"Bleggh…"
"Right, who's next!" I asked, as the charging light of the pistol turned green. "Lydia?"
"I didn't realize it would be like that…" Sumner said, looking down at the fallen Brodeway, who was clutching his chest and twitching slightly.
"Come on, it won't be so bad." Kelly insisted, stepping forward. "I'm ready."
I shot him too, and he pitched forward with a groan into the grass, spending the next several seconds struggling to turn over before seeming to give up.
"See, that looks really unpleasant." Sumner said nervously. Darley rolled her eyes and shrugged with a resigned expression, and I hit her too. She sort of locked up and fell slowly, like she was suddenly too tired to stand. "Mmmhm. Yeah. I'd prefer if not."
"Sorry, you have to. I do too, even."
Wincing, Sumner nodded and closed her eyes, looking away. I hit her, and she staggered and sprawled out onto the grass limply.
"Well, that's done." I said, turning the pistol around and handing it butt-first to Beckham. He checked the coolant levels, nodded, and pointed it at me, and I could see my expression reflected in the lenses at the muzzle. "Make it quick, will you?"
"'Course, Fusie. Night-night." he said, and he pulled the trigger with a flash.
Being stunned isn't like it is in the books, where you just blue screen and pitch over fast asleep for as long as the plot requires. I don't exactly understand the science, but it's some sort of disruptive rapid electrical pulse which plays havoc with any voluntary motor actions. You don't feel any pain or anything, but instead you simply feel very numb all over and even the smallest motions feel very, very difficult. You can, with some effort, roll over or even crawl a short way, but fine motor control in particular is very hard, and balance is utterly impossible,
It doesn't put you to sleep, but there's very little else to do but take a nap for the next twenty minutes as you wait for the effects to wear off. You'll be a little slow and shaky for the next hour or two, but that's why we did it before lunch.
Consequently, we were soon sitting around the office table, all moving slowly. The ensigns seemed drowsy, leaning against the surface or cradling their head in their arms, trading off yawning intermittently. For my part, I was bright and alert, but having rather a lot of difficulty moving my limbs about properly. It's a good thing I didn't need to eat or drink, or I'd have smacked myself in the face more than once, I imagine.
"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Beckham asked, to collective groans from the group.
"Didn't hurt, at least." Broadway said, squinting against the sun.
"It sorta feels like when your arm falls asleep, but everywhere." Darley said, trying to drink her tea while propping her head up with one hand. Some of it tricked down her chin and into her cuff, and she set the cup down while squirming uncomfortably.
"So now you see that we can't just go stunning people willy-nilly. Especially if they're standing on a hard surface, they might hurt themselves." Captain Murray said, hiding her smile behind her own teacup.
"Couldn't we have learned that in a classroom?" Sumner complained, and I found myself agreeing as my twitching hand clattered against the wood of the table.
"Experience is the best teacher." Murray said sagely. "Miles, after lunch take the youngsters out for a brisk march, that'll wake them up."
"Surely Dora wants to do it." Beckham said, and I tried and failed to make a rude gesture his way with a shaky hand.
"Not for the next hour I don't." I said, trying to keep my voice from modulating too badly. "I'm going to go get the week's reports sorted, if that's alright."
Murray nodded, and I got up stiffy and started walking to the desk set aside for me. I settled in, read over the quartermachine's report while I waited for my limbs to stop shaking, then glanced up at the runner posted by the door.
"Theodore, will you fetch the Senior Sergeant, please?"
"Good day's business, I'd say." Major Gaynestown said through the radio, looking over us all. "Lieutenant, you can take a seat if you like."
"Can't, actually. The pack." I said, pointing with a thumb behind me.
"Oh, blasted thing. You should buy yourself a better one while the War Office gets it figured out." he said, shaking his head.
"Blast it, Henry, what happened to you?" I heard Beckham ask, and followed his eyeline to an officer who was, head to toe, covered in grey dust, with just a small portion of his helmet cleared so he could see.
"Took a nasty bit of a tumble going up the hill." he said, his smile just visible beyond the sticky dust, "Rolled a good fifty yards, it's hard to stop once you get going."
"As usual, you're all free for the night, dress code's relaxed for the mess." Harrison said, trying to wipe the dust from his jacket. It just stuck fast to his glove and smeared further. "And my apologies to your housemaids."
"Fusilier, you going to be joining us for once?" Lieutenant Duncan called over the group, and there were a couple of chuckles from the assembled group.
"I would love to. As you all know, eating human food with the mouth that I have is among my passions." I said, shaking my head. "Unfortunately, this is my only suitable outfit."
"Next time then." he said, as I started to notice the hissing of air become audible. After a few more minutes conversation, the candles above the door turned green, and I finally disconnected the coolant pipe and pulled it out of my collar, shivering from the action and the stray freezing cold drops that raced down my back. All around me, helmets were being removed and people were starting to shuffle out, and I eagerly shed the radpack, stretched, and headed home.
Miriam was waiting at the door, as usual, shaking her head as I stood.
"You're on thin ice with the housemaids already. Go around the back to the servants entrance, I'll see you there in a few minutes." she said. I stepped by as she walked out, then I stepped around the back of the estate. There was a lovely little garden there which I hadn't even noticed before, and a machine was trimming the hedge that ran around the property.
"Morning, ma'am!" he called, and I acknowledged him with a wave. He wasn't even on any staff I knew of, must have worked for the base. Bizarre.
I found my way to the servant's entrance down a short set of steps and waited. After about fifteen minutes, the door swung open to reveal Miriam with a large canvas bag in one arm and a large blue housecoat folded over the other.
"Clothes in the bag, housecoat on." she said, hanging them up on the hooks beside the door and disappearing back inside. Sheepishly, I stripped, trying to do so carefully in order to not get any more dust on my person, and shrugged into the housecoat. It was very, very soft on the inside. Boots off, I gingerly stepped inside, noticing I was in the servant's room I'd seen before, just from the other end of the hall. Rooms to my right, the door back into the house at the far end, a small table at which Thomas the mechanic stood.
"Evening, ma'am. Nice housecoat." he said, looking up from his book.
"Thanks. I haven't a clue where it came from." I admitted.
"Good news, by the way. I got approval from the base to install an outlet in your room. I'm going to do it day after tomorrow while you're out at the ball." he said as I stepped past, and I thanked him in a mumble, feeling very out of sorts. Miriam was waiting for me on the other side of the door, and she did not look pleased.
"Do you have any clothes other than that uniform and the pink one?" she asked, as I headed to one of the water rooms for a cloth. There was still dust on my face.
"I have my civilian dress, I suppose." I said, ducking inside. I wet a rag and peered at the mirror, and it didn't look too bad until I ran the cloth over my cheek and suddenly noticed how much brighter it was. "It's not exactly fancy or anything, though."
"It'll have to do. You have a date." she said, snatching the rag from my hand. "Have you got tomorrow's schedule?"
"Not much to do… urgh. We're doing formation bayonet drill, some training with the ensigns? But nothing in the evening." I said, wincing as she aggressively wiped at the plates on my neck. She scowled, and I saw the rag sail into the sink in front of me before she began attacking the problem with a fresh one. "Now what's this about a date?"
"Hold on a moment. Have you talked to that sergeant of yours yet?" she asked, making a vain attempt to get the dust out of my hair.
"Not yet, I didn't want to make an issue before void training, it's dangerous. Tomorrow! Now, why do I have a date?"
"One of my friends wrote back, you're very lucky, she's a sweetheart. But you have to meet her beforehand, obviously, you can't bring a total stranger as your guest." Miriam said, and I shuddered as she cleaned off the cable port at the base of my skull. "As for tomorrow, I managed to get you an appointment with my detailing girl on incredibly short notice, and we're going to see how much damage they can undo for two pounds four shillings. Was your uniform sealed?"
"No, I didn't bother- two pounds what? What the hell?" I protested, trying to twist in my seat. She gripped my shoulders firmly to keep me in place, surprisingly strong for a woman literally made of glass.
"Miss, you look like you fell from orbit. We will not be able to make you look presentable by any means, but they wouldn't let you in that hall as a servant right now, nevermind an officer. It'll be well worth the money. Now, come, off with the coat, I won't have you getting moon dust on Beatrice."
"Beatrice?" I said, squirming out of my coat, "So she's a seamstress then?"
"Not any longer. You'll like her, she couldn't just stick to her job either. Good lord, it's all down your back. Seal your uniform next time!"
"I had to leave the collar open for my speaker…"
So there I sat, housecoat hanging open and feeling a little like a kitten caught out in the rain as Miriam aggressively tackled with clingy static dust with a seemingly endless supply of damp cloths. I'll admit, none of my fantasies about being undressed around a Maria much looked like this.
Eventually, as she was finishing, I saw her step back a moment in the mirror, looking at me, her eyes soft.
"Miss, if you don't mind my asking, what happened to your back?" she asked. "I wasn't going to say anything, but…"
"Oh. Yes." I said, feeling rather awkward. "Well… it happened a long time ago. I don't like to think about it."
"Hmm. Alright." she said, stepping back to work. "I'll say, I don't think fixing it is quite in your budget yet. Constance is a genius, but she isn't a miracle worker."
"Where did you get this housecoat, anway?" I asked, but she was already stepping out.
"Miss, where's that civilian dress you mentioned?" she asked from the bedroom, and I told her to look in my trunk. I heard the sound of the latch and some rustling, and then a gasp.
"It is twenty years old." I mentioned sheepishly. "And was free when I got it."
"Well… it shall have to do. We have half an hour yet, let me get my sewing kit."
---
An hour later, I found myself climbing nervously out of a cab in front of a small building downtown in my newly mended dress. Miriam had, at record speed, shorn the high collar off with a pair of scissors and made a flawless seam at the remains to bring the neckline 'vaguely into season' and affixed a white bow at the neck which she got from who-knows-where, and promptly shoved me into a cab she'd presumably arranged for with three pence in my hand.
I stepped to the door, finding the three pence was what was needed for the cover charge, and went inside to find some very light music playing, trying to get my bearings. I hadn't been in a place like this ever: when I did used to go out, it was to places a lot more… well, rough and tumble. If anything, it reminded me vaguely of the cafes I sometimes heard officers talk about. The interior was clean, simple, minimalist almost, with small booths, and machines were sitting, reading, talking quietly, playing cards, chess, and other activities I didn't recognize. One, sitting the corner alone, had a stack of papers beside her, and was tapping her fingers against a strange device sitting in front of her.
She certainly looked like a Beatrice. Very, very tall, sort of awkwardly spindly, perfect for reaching around clients or measuring even the tallest, with long, delicate fingers and a socket for a magnifying lens over one eye. She was made of a combination of brass and white glass plates, though I noticed that one of her forearms was a marbled green, and dressed in a lovely pink and white dress. Her hair was a bright mess of coiling curls, anodized to a bright orange.
She was very unusual looking, but I couldn't say she wasn't intriguing. I stepped to her, hand raised awkwardly.
"Excuse me, are you waiting for somebody?"
"Yes, a… are you the Theodora I'm waiting for?" she asked, her voice immediately pegging her as American, and I nodded, sliding into the booth as she indicated. At no point did she stop tapping at her strange device, her fingers resting on a half-sphere of push-buttons, and I realized that below it was a sheet of paper that was moving in time with the clacks, letters appearing.
"Let me begin this rather awkwardly by asking… what is that thing, and what are you doing with it?" I said, instantly feeling like a giant idiot.
"This is a Hansen Writing Ball. It never really caught on, people prefer their letters hand-written for the most part, but when volume's what matters, it helps quite a bit. My apologies, I'm on a deadline." she said, still tapping away. She thumbed a plunger on the back of the device, and it shuffled the current sheet aside and opened the holding claws for another, which she slid in with a smooth, practiced motion. It reminded me a little of a gunner changing heat sinks on a revolver cannon, the same instant, unhesitating action.
"You're a writer, then?" I asked, remembering Miriam mentioning she wasn't working her original job. She nodded, pausing a second before resuming the rapid taps.
"Yes! And I rather bit off more than I could chew this month. If I'm going to take a night off, I've got to make up about ten thousand more words." she said, frowning. "Do you read much?"
"Can't say I do, though I'm reading more these days." I said. "What do you write?"
"I do a variety of serials for the red tops and a few, um, other periodicals. It's very popular stuff, they usually get printed together later. And some other stuff, I guess, ha!" she said, pausing a moment to scan me over. "I was told you're a lieutenant? Impressive. You look sort of rough though."
"Uh... very recently a lieutenant. Had to save for a rather long time." I admitted, feeling a bit awkward at her bluntness. "My finances are somewhat in recovery from purchasing the commission."
"Ah, that's why you're wearing a thirty-year old dress with some hasty modifications. Whoever did it was in a bit of a rush, huh? Whatever, you make it work." she said. She finally paused a moment, taking her hand away from the typing ball and cupping her chin as she looked at me. "Stars, you've been through a lot, though? The scars are very evocative. Mysterious. Mhmm."
"Uh, yes. Thank you?" I said, unsure how to handle this. Was this what dates were supposed to be like? As best I knew, we were just making sure we wouldn't kill one another at the event itself. "So how do you know Miriam?"
"One of her previous officers was a huge fan. Though, uh, that's a huge secret so don't tell literally anyone." she said casually, back to tapping away. "Why'd you want to be a lieutenant? That's for sure a human-only thing over here?"
"Uh… well, not entirely, as you can see." I said nervously. "I just always thought I'd be more helpful leading and taking responsibility. It's my way of trying to contribute more."
"Oh, I totally get that." Beatrice said, switching her papers again. "Sorta started writing that way. Well, no, I started writing because I was bored. I was working for this family for a while but they kinda became a bit reclusive for a bit, some kind of social drama, I don't know, and suddenly I was only working like six hours a day because they didn't need so many new fashions or anything, so I took up writing to fill the time. Started passing it around my friends, soon found out the whole staff was reading it and were super excited, bringing energy back to the whole place."
"Oh, that's lovely." I said.
"Right? I felt so accomplished, and realized I was doing far more good raising spirits and giving people escapism than I was making clothes every once and awhile. Though…" she paused her tapping, glancing under at her sheet. "Still do sometimes. Just for myself. And friends. Clients sometimes. But mostly writing. And there we go?"
"Oh?" I asked.
"Fifteen thousand. That's it for the day." she said, pulling her hands away from the writing ball like it was superheated and stretching out. "So… seen anything exciting out there? Anything that'd inspire any stories?"
"Well… would you like to hear any about the rimward frontier?" I asked, and she perked up, her eyes wide.
"Would I ever!" she beamed.
---
"Next matter. We need somebody to shoot the ensigns."
"Hell, I'll do it." I volunteered.
"Nah, that's not right. It ought to be one of us." Beckham said, "Something disconcerting about a machine doing it, right?"
"Come to think of it, Dora, you need to get shot too." Captain Murray pointed out. "It's only fair."
"Let's make it even then. I'll shoot the ensigns, Miles shoots me?" I said, and everyone around the table nodded.
"That works, I suppose." Beckham conceded.
"Well, best get it done. Lunch is in a bit. Pistol's by the door. Make sure it's the right one."
"That'd be a bit of a thing to explain, yes." Beckham said, grabbing his coat. "Dear Mister and Missus Brodeway, funny story…"
I plucked the pistol out of its box and made sure to check it over carefully, in full view of everyone to make sure we all saw which one it was, before leaning my head out. The ensigns were sitting around the little outdoor table, laughing obnoxiously at something.
"Ensigns! It's time to get shot!" Beckham announced, and they came over eagerly, excitement on their features. "Make sure you've got your hats!"
I flipped off the safety and the pistol whined in my hand as it charged up.
"Right, who's first!" I asked, and three hands went up. "Really? Not you Ellen?"
"I'm not exactly eager, no." Ensign Darley said, wincing.
"Oh, come on. Won't be so bad." Kelly said.
"Yeah, I heard it's just like falling asleep." Sumner insisted.
"Alright, Chris, you're up." I said, and Brodeway shuffled over to the side to make a clear target.
"Any last words, sport?" Beckham asked, barely able to contain his laughter.
"Miles! That's awful." I said, a little horrified.
"Nah, just do me." Broadway said with a shrug, and I leveled the pistol at his chest and fired. He didn't throw his hands up or anything dramatic like that, he just folded over and fell stiffly onto the grass, writhing slowly.
"Uuurugh.... Fuck." he moaned, slowly rolling over. "Fuuuuck…"
"Oh, stars." Sumner said, "I think it didn't work. Hit him again."
"Nah, that's about right." Beckham said, prodding Brodeway with his foot. "You feel like you're going to get up?"
"Bleggh…"
"Right, who's next!" I asked, as the charging light of the pistol turned green. "Lydia?"
"I didn't realize it would be like that…" Sumner said, looking down at the fallen Brodeway, who was clutching his chest and twitching slightly.
"Come on, it won't be so bad." Kelly insisted, stepping forward. "I'm ready."
I shot him too, and he pitched forward with a groan into the grass, spending the next several seconds struggling to turn over before seeming to give up.
"See, that looks really unpleasant." Sumner said nervously. Darley rolled her eyes and shrugged with a resigned expression, and I hit her too. She sort of locked up and fell slowly, like she was suddenly too tired to stand. "Mmmhm. Yeah. I'd prefer if not."
"Sorry, you have to. I do too, even."
Wincing, Sumner nodded and closed her eyes, looking away. I hit her, and she staggered and sprawled out onto the grass limply.
"Well, that's done." I said, turning the pistol around and handing it butt-first to Beckham. He checked the coolant levels, nodded, and pointed it at me, and I could see my expression reflected in the lenses at the muzzle. "Make it quick, will you?"
"'Course, Fusie. Night-night." he said, and he pulled the trigger with a flash.
Being stunned isn't like it is in the books, where you just blue screen and pitch over fast asleep for as long as the plot requires. I don't exactly understand the science, but it's some sort of disruptive rapid electrical pulse which plays havoc with any voluntary motor actions. You don't feel any pain or anything, but instead you simply feel very numb all over and even the smallest motions feel very, very difficult. You can, with some effort, roll over or even crawl a short way, but fine motor control in particular is very hard, and balance is utterly impossible,
It doesn't put you to sleep, but there's very little else to do but take a nap for the next twenty minutes as you wait for the effects to wear off. You'll be a little slow and shaky for the next hour or two, but that's why we did it before lunch.
Consequently, we were soon sitting around the office table, all moving slowly. The ensigns seemed drowsy, leaning against the surface or cradling their head in their arms, trading off yawning intermittently. For my part, I was bright and alert, but having rather a lot of difficulty moving my limbs about properly. It's a good thing I didn't need to eat or drink, or I'd have smacked myself in the face more than once, I imagine.
"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Beckham asked, to collective groans from the group.
"Didn't hurt, at least." Broadway said, squinting against the sun.
"It sorta feels like when your arm falls asleep, but everywhere." Darley said, trying to drink her tea while propping her head up with one hand. Some of it tricked down her chin and into her cuff, and she set the cup down while squirming uncomfortably.
"So now you see that we can't just go stunning people willy-nilly. Especially if they're standing on a hard surface, they might hurt themselves." Captain Murray said, hiding her smile behind her own teacup.
"Couldn't we have learned that in a classroom?" Sumner complained, and I found myself agreeing as my twitching hand clattered against the wood of the table.
"Experience is the best teacher." Murray said sagely. "Miles, after lunch take the youngsters out for a brisk march, that'll wake them up."
"Surely Dora wants to do it." Beckham said, and I tried and failed to make a rude gesture his way with a shaky hand.
"Not for the next hour I don't." I said, trying to keep my voice from modulating too badly. "I'm going to go get the week's reports sorted, if that's alright."
Murray nodded, and I got up stiffy and started walking to the desk set aside for me. I settled in, read over the quartermachine's report while I waited for my limbs to stop shaking, then glanced up at the runner posted by the door.
"Theodore, will you fetch the Senior Sergeant, please?"
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