Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer) (34 page)

“Okay,
if you want to continue no one is saying you should stop. I'm saying that it's
not the only thing your people can do. You can still clean, and you can manage
the robots that will
help
you with the task.”

“Making
it easier for you,” Warner said, looking from the admiral to the chief elf.
“Taking some of the tedium out of the job. I know how tiring my job is. I can
only imagine what it is like for you. Don't you want more help?”

“But
that... the work isn't enough for all of us with robots as well!” a voice cried
in denial.

“Then
you can do other jobs!” Irons said waving his hands. Teela looked at him. “You
can run wiring into places where large hands can't,” he held up his own hands.
Each was nearly as large as an elf. “Or you can become doctors or other
careers! You are a people!”

That
brought about a murmur among the elves. Warner looked at Irons.

“We
are the people of the ducts! That is who we are!” A voice said.

“Yes
but you are starfarers! Your ancestors rose into the sky and flew ships like
other races. You can do so again if you put your minds to it! There's
nothing... NOTHING wrong with your minds. Just because you are small doesn't
excuse you. It doesn't with me and it shouldn't with anyone else. You are a
people,
not
robots.”

“No
offense,” Sprite interjected dryly.

“None
meant,” Irons replied as he locked eyes with the chief elf. He watched the elf
rasping breath as his people murmured and talked about the idea.

Finally
the oldster's grip tightened on his cane. He tapped it twice against the floor
he was on. Slowly all eyes turned to him. “This is too much for one day to
discuss and attend to. We will discuss it,” he said turning.

“I
know an elf who is a first lieutenant on Firefly. She is the ship's chief
tactical officer. Her name is Purple Thorn, she is related to Oberon. Think
about it. If she can do something like that then what can you do? Check the
ship's net for careers. I'm sure you can do a great deal of things given time
and an education,” Irons said, feeling like he was pleading with them.

“We
will consider it and get back to you,” the oldster said, one hand balled into a
fist behind his back as he looked over his shoulder to the Terrans. “Good day
to you,” he said. “There will be no more interference with your robots from now
on,” he said firmly.

“Thank
you,” Teela said with a nod. “That's all I ask,” she said. She turned to
Warner. “The rest is up to you,” she said.

“No
it's up to them,” Warner said looking at the aliens around them. “I... the
Admiral is right. I'm sorry I didn't encourage your people to be more than what
they currently are. But I will work to change that if you will,” he said one
hand over his heart. He motioned for the others to go. Teela brushed a hanging
bag out of her face as she turned. It swayed back and forth. An elf dropped
down the line and turned to glare at her. She ignored it as she left. The men
followed.

“Well!
That was interesting,” Warner said as the hatch clanged shut behind them. “So
they were doing it all along to protect their jobs. And we didn't see it.”

“Sometimes
we overlook the obvious,” Irons replied thoughtfully. He hoped something good
would come out of the confrontation.

“True,”
Teela said. She nodded to the guard. He was a Terran with a standard black ship
suit on. It seemed new, unlike the slightly worn coverall Warner was sporting.
Apparently someone had figured out how to fabricate clothing. That was a good
sign.

“We
done here?” he asked.

“It
appears so,” she said looking at Warner. He nodded. “All right then. I'll file
a report.”

“I'll
inform the captain,” the exec said with a wince. Irons felt a little sympathy
for that. He wasn't sure how the captain would react.

When
the others were gone Irons paused, looking at the hatch thoughtfully.

“Is
that all they do?” Sprite asked quietly. “Spend their entire lives in the ducts
scrubbing them?” she asked softly. She couldn't imagine such an existence for a
sentient to do day after day for literally generations.

“It
appears so,” Irons said quietly. He felt a little disappointed in that. He'd
seen the tiny brooms and shovels the elves had. He couldn't imagine spending a
day doing that, let alone a life time. One generation after another, just
toiling away. Like being in a mine shaft, constantly having to go back over
your own work since the job never ended. “So much waste. So much talent there
wasted on menial tasks. They deserve better,” he said.

“Then
we need to make sure they have the opportunity to try,” she said.

“I'm
not sure if they can,” Irons said, turning away slowly. He started forward.
“Some people can't get out of a job. Out of their comfort zone. They spend so
much time doing a task that...”

“That
they lock themselves into it. They stopped taking risks and accepted it. They
no longer see the prison bars limiting them, they see the bars as protection,”
Sprite murmured catching on. “Agoraphobia.”

“They
don't see the bars limiting them. They see it as comfort and security. To them
it's not penning them in, it's keeping the rest of the universe at bay,” he
murmured.

“What
a way to live a life,” Sprite said.

“Not
for me,” Irons said. “We've got work to do.”

A
day later the gardener had a sit down with O'Mallory and Cora. The admiral
wasn't invited but Sprite listened in. The gardener is defensive and annoyed by
all the changes. Cora managed to diffuse the situation and put him at ease by
asking how his plants were doing. She explained that they wanted to continue
with the gardens; after all they needed fresh fruit and vegetables. What they
would like to do is clean up things; make them more safe and efficient. Repair
anything that needs fixing and maybe design the plumbing and lighting for the
maximum use of the space.

“We
do need better lights,” the gardener replied.

“See?”
O'Mallory asked with an inviting smile. “We can replicate some UV and IR lights
that are much more efficient than the ones we currently have in place. And we
can design the wiring so we get the maximum amount of light where you want it
when you want it. Same for the plumbing. I believe you want drip lines but we've
had problems right?” O'Mallory asked.

“We
have some, but they become brittle. I've improvised more.”

“We
can replicate them. The admiral showed us how to make plastic parts with a food
replicator so we don't need to use his. How would you like coils of drip line?
Or new fittings?”

He
blinked and leaned backwards. His long clawed hands scratched at one side,
picking off flakes of dirt and scaly skin. “Some of the parts have been worn
down. We have valves that have been stripped.”

“And
we can replace them. We can run the lines where you want, out of the way. Water
lines, ducts, sewer lines, all of it. Do you want to make more room and stack
things in some places? What about timers to send nutrients to plants at
specific times and with specific amounts? We can do that. Think about it,”
O'Mallory said.

“You
can do that?” The Gashg asked, leaning forward and staring at her with his eye
stalks. His mouth opened and closed. His long claws dug into the side of the
desk. Cora saw the marks and winced.

“Yes.
Anything is possible if we put our minds to it,” Cora said with a smile. “And
we can do it right. No slapped together things that fall apart after heavy use.
New pots... you know what, make a list. A wish list and prioritize it. Everyone
else in the other departments has, you should too.”

“The
ceramic pots...”

“Break.”

“So
we make plastic pots. I'd like a few hanging pots for my quarters. I'd love to
have some plants in my quarters,” Cora said with a smile. “I grew up around
green things. I even have my little watering can still. Silly, but I still do.”

“I
can see about getting you some soil and some seeds,” the gardener said.

“I'd
love to have them,” Cora smiled appreciatively.

O'Mallory
talked with Numiria over breakfast. She nibbled on toast as they talked.
Numiria devoured a chicken omelet. She dabbed at her muzzle when she was
finished and O'Mallory sipped her coffee, relaxing and enjoying the release of
tension. “Always the carnivore,” she teased as her eyes drifted to the count
down grease board with 42 days on it.

A
Neo Hyena entered. He was a scruffy being, red fur with black stripes from the
mane running down his back. He was wearing a set of stained coveralls with one
shoulder strap unhooked. He looked like a hay seed from some space show. He
even had a tattered red ballcap on. He leaned over and nuzzled Numiria's muzzle
with his own. It's the equivalent of a kiss for Neos. “That's my wife,” he told
O'Mallory with a cackling laugh. Numiria wiggled her ears and stroked her
husband's cheek. “See you at dinner tonight?” he asked.

“I'll
try,” she said. Her eyes were soft and not quite firm in her answer. There was
a hint of an apology there. She knew she unintentionally let Lobo down all too
often.

“I've
got to tear down the number four recycler again. But I'll make it,” he told
her. “I heard that admiral fellow is going to help. About time I met him,” he
said shooting O'Mallory a look. His ears flicked and then settled forward.

The
chief set her cup down in surprise. “Something I said?”

“More
like didn't say. You of all people know it's wise to close the loop properly,”
Lobo said shaking his head as he turned back to her. “You just don't like
getting your hands dirty,” he said wrinkling his muzzle as he took his battered
ball cap off and shook his black mane out before putting it back on. “Like us
honest folk,” he said, hooking his thumbs under the suspenders of his overalls.

O'Mallory
snorted. “I do my share of dirty work. I just don't revel in it like some
people,” she said giving him a glare. “And I'm not a connoisseur of trash? So?”

“Tisk
tisk,” Numiria teased. O'Mallory turned a mock glower her way. “I didn't know
you had skipped over the recycling.”

“Well
some people were bitching and whining to skip to the head of the line. Not
naming any names though,” she said, glaring at the doctor accusingly.

“Always
ladies first,” Lobo sighed then smiled taking Numiria's hand and stroking it.
“For her I don't mind though,” he said.

She
smiled, squeezing his hand. “I'll be home. Unless something comes up,” she said
softly.

“Good,”
he said with a nod. He went to the food replicator and grabbed a couple of
energy bars and a cup of coffee and then left stuffing the bars in his pockets.

“He's
running late,” O'Mallory said.

“I
forgot to wake him,” Numiria admitted. “He was so cute flat out on his back,
head hanging over the side of the bed, tongue hanging out snoring...” She
grinned. “I took a picture and used it to replace his profile picture. I'm
wondering how long it will take before he notices.”

“Teach
him to have you set the thing up for him and not change the password,”
O'Mallory chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.

Numiria
looked down suddenly. “Something's got me by the pant leg,” she looked under
the table as O'Mallory scoots back to look as well.

“Hello,”
Numiria said. “Why don't you come up here where we can better see you,” she
said. She could smell an elf.

The
elf looked uncertain but then shrugged. She hopped up on an empty chair and
then onto the table nearly landing on Numiria's dirty plate. The doctor moved
the plate aside. The elf watched it clatter aside warily.

“Something
we can do for you?” O'Mallory asked. She'd heard about the bots yesterday and
wasn't happy about it. It was reflected in her icy tone. Numiria shot her a
quelling look.

The
elf looked at the human and then back to the neo. She gulped and dry washed her
hands a few times. Numiria cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

“I
want to learn,” the elf finally said.

“Learn?
Learn what?” Numiria asked.

“I...
I want to be a better medic. A nurse or a doctor,” the elf said hesitantly.

“You
are one now?” O'Mallory asked, looking at the elf and then looking at the
doctor. “I didn't know that.”

“Neither
did I. I've actually never had an elf patient. I wondered why until now. Now we
know,” she nodded politely to the elf, ears forward and attentive. The elf's
antenna wiggled up and down. Her tail was stiff behind her. “You'll pardon me
for my ignorance.”

The
elf looked uncertain. Her tail thrashed back and forth, a clear sign of
distress. “I... I am the healer of my clan. I would like to know more,” she
told them. Numiria is a little skeptical but O'Mallory nodded and nudged her
friend to go along.

“We
can always use new students. Anyone willing to learn is welcome. And if it
means your people get better medical care, all the better right doc?” O'Mallory
said, prompting the doctor with a look.