Not Unexpected, But Not Understood

Not Unexpected

Month 9 Day 13

Shore Leave Day 14

1746 Hours

Bugalu

Bugalu looked up from his book when the hotel room door opened and a short, plump brunette walked in. He raised his eyebrows when she leaned against the closed door to expel a deep breath. “What happened?” he asked.

“He was there,” she growled

“Told you he would be.”

“You said he might be.” She released her bag to the floor.

“I said, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was there,” Bugalu corrected. “It’s why you decided to go in disguise. Did he see you?”

“Oh, he definitely saw me!”

Bugalu’s forehead creased a little. “Did he recognize you?”

Now she frowned, and expelled another deep breath, that might have been a sigh. “No. Not the way he was acting.”

“Well-“ His stomach growled, reminding him he’d had lunch several hours ago. “Let’s go have supper. You can tell me all about it.”

Her eyes grew huge behind her tinted glasses. “Looking like this? No thanks! Besides, I don’t think I want to leave this room until it’s time to go back to the ship. And I’m not too sure about that, either.”

“I thought you liked being on the Fireball.”

She visibly swallowed. “I love being on the Fireball.” Now she frowned, her gaze lowered to the floor. “But after today, I don’t know how I can possibly face him again.”

“You said he didn’t recognize you.”

“I don’t think he did. I mean, he was nice to me, and that’s not normal. Space, he might even have been flirting with me! I’d never know it because if that’s what it was, it bore no resemblance to the heavy-handed stuff most men throw at me. I’ve never experienced any other kind.”

Yes, she has, but do I tell her? How else is she going to learn? He sighed and tossed his book aside. “Yes, you have. Tall Bear has the lightest touch at flirting I’ve ever seen, and it stays that light unless the woman indicates she’s interested. So if you learn from him, then you’ll know the lightest version of flirting. You already know the worst versions. Then you can decide if a guy is flirting or just not thinking.” He stood up. “Look, if you don’t want to go out for supper, then let me go get something and bring it back, because I’m hungry. While I’m gone, you can shower that brown stuff off and change your clothes. It could get hard to talk to you like a sister if you continue to not look like my adopted sister.”

“Sounds good,” she answered, stepping away from the door. She reached up to pull a couple pins from her hair and tossed the brown wig onto the desk. “Make it a big, thick sandwich or something. All I had for lunch was a salad.”

“Okay, one salad sandwich coming up.”

“Bugsy!”

He grinned as he opened the door. “Just teasing.”

But Not Understood

Month 9 Day 13

Shore Leave Day 14

1831 Hours

Bugalu

When Bugalu returned to their hotel room, Mac sat at the desk, no longer looking like a brown stranger, though her hair was wrapped in a towel and couldn’t be seen. She had her datapad out and was manipulating the keyboard. “That looks like the Mac I remember from the Academy; going through her notes, making sure she understood everything.”

“Well, I didn’t,” she answered. “Hopefully, things will clear up once I get a chance to follow the clues Smit gave me.”

Bugs put down the sack he carried and turned his full attention to her. “You said he saw you, not that he talked to you.”

She still didn’t look up from her datapad. “It would have been hard for him to be nice to me if he didn’t talk to me, wouldn’t it?” she answered.

He considered that as he pulled the spare chair over toward the desk and sat down. “Well, other than being polite, how was he nice to you?”

“He gave me clues when I got confused.”

“He interrupted the talk to give you clues?”

“Interrupted? No, he whispered them to me. He was sitting right next to me.”

How did that happen? Dig for details later. It’s a wonder she was able to think at all, with him at her elbow.

“And he bought lunch. That was unexpected. When the talks stopped for a lunch break, he said we’d be given a table more quickly if we entered the restaurant together, rather than separately. I thought we were each paying for our own ; that’s why all I had was a salad and iced tea. I’d already dipped into my credit line paying for the seminar, the clothes, the wig, the makeup. But when the bill came, he paid the whole thing, never gave me a chance to protest.”

“That’s not-“

“Of course, I did pay for his meal, once, on that first shore leave, so maybe he thought he owed me.”

She paid for his... dig for details later. “He... didn’t know it was you, today,” Bugalu pointed out. “Or so you said.”

She made a face. “Right. So, see? He was just being nice. At least we weren’t yelling at each other. In between talks, we even engaged in small talk...”

“What about?”

“Nothing special. Where I got confused during the last talk, mostly. And then, at the very end, he gave me a lingering handshake, and made sure I took down his contact information. Said he’d be happy to explain anything engineering I didn’t understand at any time.” She paused with a slight wrinkle on her forehead, her eyes unfocused for a moment. “I thought that sounded pretty flirty,” she finally said as her cheeks went rosy.

“Maybe,” Bugalu reluctantly agreed. “Except it seems pointless to flirt if there’s no chance to follow up. And it could be years - or never - before the Fireball gets back here again.”

She gave a deep sigh and pushed her datapad aside. “Well, if he wasn’t flirting, what was he doing?”

“Smythe really enjoys his field. And it makes him happy to see others also like engineering. So it’s possible he was simply trying to encourage someone he thinks might have potential.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be me. So he was being nice, in other words.”

“Could be.” He pulled the sack holding their supper closer, got out a fat, paper-wrapped sandwich and set it down in front of her. “Here is your salad sandwich. I couldn’t keep them from putting some roast beef in it, too. And here’s some multi-colored potato salad to go with it.”

“Thank you, Bugs. I’ve been meaning to try that potato salad.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then she suddenly demanded, “What is wrong with me?”

“What?”

“Okay, I didn’t have the answer for his question that first day. He decided he didn’t like me, and he won’t give me a 2nd chance! He gets along with Ivy. Abdulla. Della. Practically every woman aboard ship. He even gets along with a meek, overweight woman who never got around to giving him a name during the entire seminar, but all he does is yell at me! Why?”

Sexual frustration? Nope, not going to say anything like that to her. Not sure about it anyway. Besides, there’s been times she started it. “I don’t know.”

“Men make a lot less sense than engineering,” she stated, and went back to eating.

Unexpected Distraction

Month 9 Day 13

Shore Leave Day 14

0746 Hours

Smythe

“Lt Cmdr Smythe, if we’d known you were interested in our seminar, we would have invited you to speak,” gushed the awe-inspired man at the registration table.

Smitty tried not wince as he accepted his payment card’s return. He thought he managed to smile. “I’m flattered, but giving speeches isn’t my strong point. I’m more of a hands-on, spaceship kind of engineer. I doubt if there’s much call for my experience on a well-colonized planet.”

“Oh,  we’re pretty much on the edge of known space out here, and it’s often more feasible to build a ship locally rather than buy one built elsewhere.”

“I suppose that’s true in a lot of places. Do you have a copy of the schedule I could have?”

“Oh! Yes, of course!” The man handed over a brochure and a name tag. “The Main Room is down this hall and to the right. The smaller rooms are on the left.”

“Good, good. Thank you. I’d like to find a seat before they’re all taken.” Smitty escaped to the main room. He noticed tables in the back of the room where a supply of pastries and beverages were laid out, and veered that way.

Slept so poorly these last 2 nights, one could almost say I didn’t sleep, and leave it at that. And then I couldn’t drag myself out of bed in time to have breakfast, so I guess pastries and coffee will have to do. At least there’s a restaurant in the building, so I won’t have to go in search of lunch; I just have to make it that long.

He glanced at the first batch of pastries as he walked by, but what he needed first was coffee. There were several urns of that available, but those closest to the door had long lines, so he continued on, until he finally found an urn on the opposite end that wasn’t as popular. He gulped half of the cup down without moving away, and refilled it as he welcomed the ‘pep juice’ that now coursed through his body. He turned his attention to selecting a sweet to start his day.

With a plate holding a muffin and a local pastry in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other, he turned his attention to finding a seat. He wanted something near the front and in the middle, but not actually in the first couple of rows.

I think every engineer on the planet has come to this seminar, and they all have the same seating preference. Wait, there’s one, near the middle of row 3, if I can get to it before anybody else does.

A moment later, Smitty lowered himself into the empty seat and asked the older man on one side, “I hope you weren’t saving this seat for someone.”

“Not me,” the heavily bearded man replied. “I can’t speak for the young lady.”

As Smitty turned to his other side to complete the formalities, he realized that the few women at this seminar seemed to wear black or dark blue, which made them blend into the crowd of men. But the young woman beside him wore a red pantsuit with a bright blue shirt. As colorful as her clothing was, it was the only thing that made her stand out; her skin was a pale brown, her hair a dark brown. She looked completely out of place, and her intense study of the seminar program said this was all new to her. “Were you saving this seat for someone?”

“No,” she answered softly, without looking up from the schedule.

Good, then I’ll just eat my breakfast and drink my coffee in peace.

As he ate, some part of him still gathered bits and pieces about the young woman, like the facts that she didn’t speak to anyone, and her curves were... generous. As he finished his first pastry, she opened a bag resting at her feet and pulled out a datapad. While one hand still held the program, the red fingernails of the other began tapping on the keyboard, which she balanced on her lap.

What can she possibly be taking notes about from the program? Is she somebody’s intern, left to her own devices at a seminar that looks to be fairly advanced? That hardly seems fair.

“I’ve never been to an engineering seminar on Ulseess before,” he stated.

She seemed to freeze, but eventually her head rose to stare straight ahead. Slowly - reluctantly was the word that came to his mind - she turned to face him. And then she panicked.

He’d seen that look on many youngsters’ faces over the years, mostly on new subordinates who had - or thought they had - done something wrong. But this young woman was not a subordinate of his, and he certainly knew of no reason for her to panic. He shuffled his plastic plate with the remaining pastry and his cup of coffee until he could offer his hand. “My name is Smythe, but I generally answer to Smitty.”

She ignored his offered hand, continued to stare at him through rose-colored glasses. Are those a fashion statement? There’s no reason to wear sun-blocking glasses inside. Her eyes are brown, too. No wonder she wears colorful clothes, to keep from fading into the background.

Somebody tested the microphone on the stage, and the hubbub of the audience faded into silence. The brown young woman suddenly clutched her items to her ample chest. “I should leave,” she muttered, and started to rise.

Smitty placed his hand on her shoulder to keep her in place, and leaned toward her to whisper, “After what you paid to get in? Just get your datapad ready and take plenty of notes. This is likely to be complicated.”

She settled back, giving him another look. She didn’t seem panicked anymore, but definitely confused.

It had been a long time since Smitty had listened diligently to a talk on hydro-electric turbines. It was not a subject he dealt with on a spaceship, although he was familiar with the basic subject. But it didn’t take him long to realize that if the young lady’s fingers hesitated over her keypad, she was probably confused. At those times, he would whisper 3 or 4 words, hoping to give her some direction for further research on her own. At the end of the 45 minute talk, she thanked him in a low, hesitant voice, but didn’t put her datapad away.

“Are you planning to stay here for the next talk?” he asked.

“Should I not?”

“Up to you,” he returned. Except the subjects are completely unrelated. Power generation on a space station never relies on the movement of water. But none of the subjects at this seminar are of much interest to me, personally, and she could use my help. It’s good to see a young person taking such a broad interest in all sorts of engineering. I came here thinking I would at least be with other engineers, and I’m finding enjoyment in being with a youngster who wants to learn. Why stop helping now?

Regrets / Other Regrets

Regrets

Month 9 Day 11

Shore Leave Day 12

2229 Hours

Drake MacGregor

Drake gestured for a taxi, which obediently stopped at the curb. A silent Smitty climbed in, then reluctantly made room for him as he followed. “The Rosewood Inn,” Drake instructed, then gave his fellow officer a long look as he tried to figure out the other man’s actions tonight. “I get the feeling tonight’s contest didn’t finish the way you expected it to.”

Smitty gave him a quick glower then turned to stare out the vehicle’s side window. “I didn’t have any expectations. I mean, if I expected anything at all, it was that it would end in a big fight.”

“Yes, that would be an unsurprising ending to the evening,” Drake agreed. “But Tall Bear had agreed to protect her. And even if he hadn’t, she’s a heavy-worlder. I’m pretty sure she could have held her own. Probably even against all those men, including Winthrop.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” the engineer growled.

“You’re right,” Drake agreed. “In a perfect universe, she wouldn’t.”

“Anyway, she was drinking, which could have eliminated her heavy-worlder advantage.”

“Maybe, but you were drinking, too. If things had come to a brawl, you would have been in a much better position if you were sober.” The engineer grunted but didn’t reply. Drake pushed onward. “You know, I’ve heard this isn’t the first time you’ve stepped in when Winthrop was on hand. I think you like being the knight in shining armor.”

“And I think you’re a few centuries out of your time period, Drake. I’m just an officer, and I want to keep my people safe.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Drake agreed softly with a touch of sarcasm.

Far head, they could see a couple walking along the side of the road, approaching the stark light of a street lamp. Glints from the red hair of the woman identified them. They stopped and Mac tipped her head back, apparently drained the contents of a bottle, and tossed that bottle into a disposal chute. As the taxi passed them, Bugalu moved forward and wrapped his arms around his adopted sister, pulled her into a tight embrace.

Smitty jerked his gaze away from the window to stare at the floor and gave a deep, heavy sigh. “Why does she keep teasing him so?” he muttered.

At least, that’s what Drake thought the other man said. Why would he care if he thought Mac was teasing someone? Unless... no, that’s too preposterous an idea to entertain. Or maybe I misheard the pronouns, and he thinks Bugalu keeps teasing Mac? When Mac showed up, scuttlebutt around the ship seemed to be that Bugalu and Wilson might soon tie the knot. Now they hardly talk to each other. And the new rumors... Oh, they’re nonsense, of course. In any case, Smitty doesn’t listen to gossip. Doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk tonight, either, so I’m glad the hotel isn’t much further. And I still don’t know what possessed him to join the game tonight. Nor why he chose not to win.

Other Regrets

Month 9 Day 11

Shore Leave Day 12

2235 Hours

Bugalu

After Mac finished her body, she cried so long, the entire front of Bugalu’s shirt was wet. When her sobs finally slowed and her grip on him loosened, he softly asked, “Didn’t go the way you wanted, huh?”

She took in a sharp breath and tried hard to wipe the wetness from her face. “What are you talking about? Of course it did.”

“I think you were surprised when Smythe joined the contest.”

She hung her head, abruptly turned to continue their walk toward the hotel, and he placed a companionable arm around her shoulders. “Stunned,” she corrected.

“I’m pretty sure he knows what you had to deal with in your previous assignments. And knowing him - as much as I do - I was astounded when he decided to join.” It just isn’t what I’d expect from him.

“He knew the rules.”

“Not when he decided to join the game. You hadn’t gone through all the rules at the time.”

“Doesn’t matter, because he has the same rule. He practically quotes regs at me whenever he turns me down.”

Bugalu stopped short. His mind whirled with lots of questions, questions like ‘why would you ask him such a question?’ and ‘how did you manage to ask such a question?’, but the only one of his questions he could get out was, “When did he turn you down?”

It had taken her another step or two to halt, and now she turned to face him, but glanced around them at the nearly deserted street. “I’d prefer not to talk about it. I’m not sure I can talk about it. But if you insist on it, I’d rather do it at the hotel.”

We are going to talk about it. But doing it in our room instead of out here on the street is probably a good idea. Especially since the door to the hotel is only a few feet away. And I need to change my shirt. “Okay, we’ll talk at the hotel.”

“Good.” She was unexpectedly agreeable, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I hope it doesn’t take an entire case of whiskey for me to get it out. I’ve been dreading this talk for a long time.”

I think it’s going to be a long night. But whatever she needs, I’m here for her. I always will be.

Mac’s Challenge (Part 6)

Month 9 Day 11

Shore Leave Day 12

2212 Hours

Bugalu

Previously:

“Starships rely on communications officers to not only offer basic translation, but also to provide insights into the culture, as much as one can. Anyway, it won’t be long before any communications officer who can list ‘Yukosk’ as a known language will start being requested by merchants and scientists. Possibly even tourist groups. Especially when it’s been learned as close to natively as you have.”

Mac stared at him. “Still want to get rid of me, Smit?”

He looked up sharply. “That’s not what I said,” he declared.

“Drink up,” Bugalu told them.

They both tossed their shots down their throats and then sat motionless, staring at each other. Bugsy filled Smythe’s glass, walked around the table to fill Mac’s.

He was surprised when her eyes fluttered closed and shocked when she started to lean, crashed against Yellow Dog and was headed for the floor. Both AmerInds hastened to catch her.

“Doc!” Bugsy called.

This is strange. She was playing cards fine, wasn’t slurring while she talked. She hasn’t drunk nearly enough to reach this stage! Have I ever actually seen her pass out?

After a moment, MacGreg leaned close to whisper in his ear. “She’s pretending!”

She’s what? How would she even think of doing that? Desperation? He cleared his throat. “Oh. That’s... remarkable.” His hand shook slightly as he placed the bottle on the table. He grabbed the closest empty chair and sat down. “Just a couple minutes left, Mr Smythe.”

“What?” The engineer looked at him, then back as the AmerInds got Mac into a stable position, with her head and arms resting on the tabletop, which sent cards skittering toward the floor. Smythe stared at her so intensely, sweat started running down his face. “Whatsh wrong w’ her?”

Suddenly the man is slurring?

MacGreg took a quick scan of the engineer and bent over to whisper in Bugalu’s ear once again. “Him, too.”

Bugalu swore in his mind in his mother tongue, because swearing in English just didn’t fit his mood. Both of them gave up rather than see it to the end? Then what was the purpose? Maybe she should have just challenged him, and let stand the ‘traditional’ rule of who wins what. But this... this ending is just a huge mess! Unless... “All you have to do now, Mr Smythe is take one more drink.”

“One more drink,” Smythe repeated, but didn’t seem certain about it. He glanced at the ‘sleeping’ Mac and moved a stack of cards atop a King, despite there being no queen involved. “Issee okay?”

This is the only time he’s shown any interest in a contestant who’s passed out. “Since it’s down to the two of you, I have to make sure you surpass her efforts before I can declare her out. But I’m sure she’ll be fine, as soon as MacGreg gives her a shot of detox.”

“Oh. Yess. I have to win. Firss.” The chief engineer gave an inane smile at no one in particular and reached for his shot glass. But somehow, his hand knocked the glass over instead of grasping it. The whiskey splashed over half his cards, and the glass rolled to the edge and fell to the floor. Smythe blinked, leaned over to find where the glass had gone, eventually grabbed the chair next to him to keep from falling over. “There it iss!” he declared, and lowered his body to the chair seat to reach, couldn’t quite grasp the shot glass and wound up closing his eyes. Despite his contorted position, he gave a soft whistling snore.

He’s doing it. He’s actually giving up, rather than win.

“He’s out?” Abdulla asked.

“Looks like it,” Bugalu stated.

“Then it’s a tie?” she continued.

“Looks like it,” he repeated.

“Well, that’s... kind of an anti-climax, isn’t it?”

One Mac sure isn’t used to. Even if it was real. Bugsy realized it was now time for somebody to take the next drink, if the contest were to continue. “Drink up,” he whispered, and was relieved when neither of the remaining contestants seemed to hear him. He carefully waited out another 15 seconds and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s it,” he announced, standing up. “The contest is over. It’s a tie between Mac and Smythe. They each get one of the remaining bottles. Doc, you can detox them, if you want. It would make it easier to get Mac back to her quarters.”

“Don’t we just put her in a taxi, like we did everybody else?” Capac asked.

“She’s heavier than she looks,” Tall Bear reminded him. “Plus, she tends to hit whatever man puts his hands on her, even if she isn’t conscious. No, I agree with Bugs; give her some detox, doc.”

“Of course,” MacGregor agreed, and quickly gave each of the final contestants a dose.

Only one shot, and the same amount for each, because he didn’t make any adjustments. Not the double or triple shot he gave Mac at the end of last shore leave. She must have really given up early. Was that her plan all along? Then why make it so plain that whoever ‘won’ would not win her? Maybe she didn’t really have a plan, just tried to... take some kind of advantage of a perceived opportunity. Which Smythe - simply by following her lead - snatched away from her.

Poor girl.

Smythe’s eyes opened and he laboriously worked his way upright to sitting in his chair, looked around the table in an apparent daze.

Mac groaned and started to work her torso off the table into a sitting position, her eyes still closed. “I hate being detoxed.”

“Give up drinking,” Tall Bear suggested.

She grunted. “Might as well tell me to sprout wings and fly. Doesn’t happen on Gaelund.”

“You’re not on Gaelund anymore,” the AmerInd pointed out.

Bugsy capped the opened bottle he’d been pouring from and placed it in front of Mac. Her eyebrows wrinkled together. “What’s that for?”

“The contest was a draw,” he explained. “You, uh, passed out first, so you get the bottle that’s been opened. Smythe lasted a couple more minutes, but also passed out before he could take the winning drink, so he gets the unopened bottle.”

“Oh. Okay. Makes sense. I guess.” She gazed across the table at the engineer, who was busy collecting his cards, wiping any wet ones with a cloth the server had supplied. After a moment, she distractedly started pulling her own cards toward her, and then started laying them out in suits so she could tell when she had them all. Some, after all, had fallen to the floor. An incomplete deck of cards would not be fun the next time she wanted to play solitaire.

Yellow Dog retrieved the last missing card from the floor, and Mac shoved the deck into her pocket and stood up. “Bugs, I feel like a movie.”

“Okay,” Bugalu agreed. She should say something to Smythe, I suppose, but what? Not ‘nicely played’, like some athletic endeavor, and certainly not ‘better luck next time’. Well, if I can’t think of anything suitable, then I can hardly fault her for not saying it. “You want to take a taxi or walk?”

“If it’s nice, let’s walk. The hotel’s not that far.”

“You two are staying at the same hotel?” Capac asked in mild surprise.

“Yes,” Bugalu replied. “The same hotel.” The same room, but that’s nobody’s business.

Mac picked up her partial bottle of whiskey, then hesitated. “Thank you for participating in the contest, Smit. You did a very good job of... remembering the rules.”

Smythe collected his cards into one pile despite their dampness and stood up, as if to show her some old-fashioned respect. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your shore leave, Colleen. It sounds as if you’re going to have plenty to do once we’re back on the ship.”

She gave a short nod. “Good. Maybe it will keep me out of trouble.”

Bugalu laughed. “Only if you sprout wings and fly!” He turned and headed for the exit, knowing she would follow.

“Don’t be silly!” she told him, sounding cross.