Way of life, Arc 7 of "Gone with the Sun"

Chapter 84 The shorn lamb

Go down to the sea again

Familiar shape, different dress. As an Alliance frigate North Cape was in currently standard black, blue, and silver livery with the SR2 function designator in orange.

Shepard's new dress uniform crinkled as he walked to the airlock and was piped through with Eva, wearing plain Alliance battledress – but he'd watched her pack fatigues, silks, a little M-11 in a sling, and her skinsuit, in her duffel. Also, oddly, a little paper bible, of all things, in glagolitic script no less. Eva was clearly serious about blending with her crew. But where had she got such a thing?

No toothbrush. Shepard would get her some… organic things, for the look of it.

They met a pair of officers saluting at the cockpit entrance: a lieutenant and a commander, who would be his XO, Alexander Olegovich Chernykh. If all went well, Chernykh would be elevated to 'captain' on his departure.

Shepard greeted them with a salute, and introduced himself before the autotranslators kicked in:

"Captain John Shepard, reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?"

"Капитан, кто это? Ста́рший ми́чман."

"Oh, I'm sorry. May I present to you your new AI tech, Dr Eva Coré?"

It had been decided that Eva would continue her specialist Mars Archives ID as a technical specialist, but with pilot training – rather like the historical Buzz Aldrin, "Doctor Orbit."

Specifically, this frigate's new AI would have a PhD, granted dans un temps record from the still-running Sorbonne – though from L'Institut d'astrophysique de Paris, part of College no. 6 (Université Pierre-et-Marie-Curie), whose records weren't extant. This meant the diploma was uncheckable. But while the Jussieu campus was now a somewhat radioactive rubble pile, Eva's was indeed a genuine Sorbonne degree, or at least genuinely paid for by Cerberus, and she had in fact passed the viva and written exams for it, taking care to make the occasional excusable error.

"Добро пожаловать на борт, Капитан."

"Спасибо, Старший лейтенант; Кавторанг," (Shepard used the informal Russian abbreviation for Капитан второго ранга, corresponding to 'commander'.)

They shook hands and passed through to the CIC where Shepard's and Eva's orders were validated by a young signals chief at the comm board, in English thank god – Shepard was more comfortable with that (damn Russian reflexive verbs).

They then returned to the cockpit where Eva was shown her battle station – the co-pilots seat.

By this time the slow turian-built VI running North Cape's automated systems had twigged to the fact that a non-Russian language was being spoken and engaged the autotranslator net.

"Eva, you did satisfy EDI on Normandy-class flight parameters, right?"

"Yes, Captain. I have the refined Normandy protocols. We conducted a full-scale interior test suite" – meaning that the mobiles had sat and looked blank for twenty minutes, linked with a cable, running a Normandy cockpit digital tutorial sim.

At this point they were rejoined by the middle-aged Russian, line Commander Chernykh, who stood next to the Lieutenant.

"Good. The instant we clear Citadel control, I want you at the controls for the trip to lunar orbit, S-1, and on to Jump Zero." This was Shepard's very first operational order. The niceties, however, were apparently lost on the North Cape's pilot:

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I can't allow that."

Spare the lamb from the freezing breeze

Chernykh winced. Shepard had been expecting something like this, though not so soon. He and Eva turned and stared at the interloper.

"And who are you, exactly?"

"Lieutenant Bogdan Pavlovich Nicolaev, sir. Flight lieutenant, and North Cape's pilot, Captain" - exclaimed the young man, snapping to attention, using old and not really correct but widely-used rank descriptors (Лейтенант авиации, Flight Lieutenant, meaning commander of a 'flight' or fighter squadron section).

"Pilot, right…"

Nicolaev had presented as very enthusiastic, especially when shaking the hand of the new 'AI specialist,' a carefully ambiguous phrase meaning "specialist who is an AI", not simply "specialist in AI technology". Yet despite the Russian military tradition of assigning combat roles to women, he seemed unable to credit Eva's competence.

Shepard scarcely blamed him. His own jaw had dropped with all the others after the little dress-up exercise by Liara and Oriana. Still, Nicolaev was way out of line here.

"…I am sorry you feel that way, Lieutenant. Follow my orders."

Eva was comfortable with not being introduced as an AI, and for infiltration purposes it suited Hackett just fine. Sooner or later her synthetic nature would be apparent, of course, but there were policy questions here: would AIs suffer discrimination? Might they hold rank? Must they declare themselves?

"But sir! She is quite unqualified to fly my ship!" The pilot thus yielded a data-point, as well as the first confirmation that not disclosing Eva's nature on North Cape could be 'diverting', as Hannah put it. Among the Russians, only the flag officer, Admiral Pyotr Mikhailovich, would be in on the joke, at least to begin with.

"Really? I'll bet she could beat your time to the Gagarin rebuild, Lieutenant. How many times have you made that run?"

"Five, so far, sir, just freight hops through the local conduit relays with the dock engineer. But sir, you must be joking. She's only an ensign and not flight-trained."

And in fact, that did not appear on Eva's military record. Yet.

"She is flight-trained, Lieutenant. Her check flight was an hour ago. I might add that her record has yet to be updated…"

The pilot opened his mouth to speak again, but subsided when his XO raised a finger. Shepard continued: "… Nonetheless, Lieutenant, that is not sufficient justification for telling your commanding officer that you cannot allow a course of action specified in a direct order."

Both the Navigator and the XO went white. Russian-crewed Alliance ships were particularly severe on internal discipline. Chernykh stood to attention:

"Captain, I do not wish to offer excuses for my comrade here, but is the Captain aware of the formal penalty for a delict of that nature?"

"As I recall, commander, the Alliance Code of Military Justice envisages a general discharge from Alliance service." Shepard was inclined to invoke the Code, sending this kid before Mikhailovich, to avoid being second-guessed in a crisis by an unknown.

"Yes, Captain Shepard – at which point our feckless pilot would revert to Russian military service." At this point, Eva – astonishingly – spoke up in the pilot's defence:

"On the other hand, Shepard, the mere fact of being seconded to the Alliance…"

– she trailed off as Shepard glared at her. But it was true, Alliance secondment implied this particular silly Russian boy must be highly thought of by his peers.

"Hm. Pilots of advanced skill are not easily replaced."

"That is not my point, Captain," insisted Chernykh. "If the conditions of his Alliance discharge are less than honorable, he will be assigned to a penal corps."

Clearly he was missing something. "Penal corps? Is this something to do with SPD codes?"

But even as he spoke, Shepard became aware there was more to this than a note on the discharge certificate. He had practised people-watching with Samara and Kelly for some time. Out of the corner of his eye, he perceived that now young Bogdan seemed frozen. He allowed the silence to draw out a few seconds, then turned to the pilot.

"Lieutenant, would you prefer a formal hearing before the flag, or Captain's mast?" A formal hearing by Mikhailovich was one step down from a Court Martial.

"Captain's mast, if you please, sir." This, by contrast, was a purely administrative measure. Shepard nodded assent. There was perceptible relaxation among crew studiously examining their consoles.

"We will make your reparation an educational exercise, I think, Lieutenant. We will see if you can prevent Ensign Dr. Coré from buckling into the co-pilot's seat. Go!"

Hajimae

Eva, not slow on the uptake, instantly sprinted for the cockpit and leaped into her seat. Shepard, chasing her mobile on Mars, had barely been able to keep up despite peak condition. By the time she'd buckled in, poor Bogdan Pavlovich was barely at the end of the CIC, which seemed to occasion no end of amusement among his crewmates.

Bogdan stopped, turned, and in an outraged gesture, arms wide, protested that such a race on zero warning was unfair. His commander, Chernykh, groaned and closed his eyes. Shepard, though, placidly conceded the point and added:

"Very well, Lieutenant. Although I note that the Ensign is not complaining. You will bar her from repeating the performance. Eva, return to the CIC."

As Eva unbuckled and walked straight past Nicolaev, nose in air, all present noted that she was eight centimeters smaller in height than the pilot – and that she was beyond doubt a slightly built female. Any contest should be hopelessly one-sided.

Shepard himself noted something else: that she seemed to have been taking lessons from either Oriana or Kelly. Chernykh looked a little perturbed:

"Captain, are you sure about this?"

"Commander, I have personally seen Eva, in an earlier incarnation, give a strong well-built and armored infantry officer a severe concussion."

This outrageous tale met with general disbelief. Eva, returning to the CIC, asked:

"Orders?"

"Finish the impasse, not him."

"Is there any point in hurrying, Shepard?"

"No, Eva. In fact, please be gentle with him. In your own time, Ensign."

Eva walked casually, again with that gentle sway, straight towards the pilot attempting to bar her passage. On arrival, Bogdan extended his left arm to push her chest. She began to push it aside, and he attempted to grab her tunic.

Eva took his extended fist in both her hands and flexed it back in an adductive wristlock – an aikido nikyō technique which obliged the pilot to drop to his knees, howling. She converted that to a supinating wristlock; Nicolaev shrieked and dove to his left, rolling to one side. Eva continued down the access-way toward the cockpit.

Still groaning, Bogdan, half-mad with the adrenaline rush, up and stormed toward her back, even as Commander Chernykh shouted, "Stop!"

Eva turned in the last half-second and took the onrushing pilot in morote seoi nage. His back hit the ground with a resounding thump, and no breakfall. Shepard winced, and cried "Ip-pon!"

Eva turned, nodded, and stepped over Bogdan's supine form.

Chernykh rushed down towards his gurgling, winded, and stunned pilot.

Shepard by contrast shook his head in resignation and proceeded toward the cockpit, reaching the two officers as the pilot staggered to his feet, assisted by his commander.

On arrival Shepard assumed parade rest and waited, giving the pilot a fixed stare. A few seconds later, supported by Chernykh, Nicolaev twigged that he was expected to say something:

"Er… I yield?"

"Well done, Lieutenant. Your education is complete. I see no need for penalty. Resume your action station. Eva, take us first to lunar parking orbit at discretion. And ensign, why that throw in particular? The high dump thoroughly winded him."

"There wasn't sufficient room either side for tai otoshi or a leg sweep, sir. Rather too much uke momentum for a hip throw, and tomoenage…"

"… would have projected him into the cockpit. Yes, I worked that out. Thank you, ensign, for doing it the gentle way."

A greatly subdued crew spent the next twenty minutes in the routine transit. Shepard spent the time in the loft, now – briefly – his to use, and caught up on administrivia at the private terminal, until his terminal bonged and Eva asked:

"Sir, when should we power up the AI core?"

"Admiral Mikhailovich wishes to see that in progress, Eva. We await his arrival."

Next chapter: #85, "Crew and Cargo"

Friday, August 14, 2015