Creative Commons – The Plainsrunner – Chapter Forty-Two

Continuing the serial release of The Plainsrunner under a Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike license – (CC-BY-SA).

Blunt goes too far.

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rjb

Chapter Forty-Two – The Joke

Tallgrass knew a bit about machinery. He had seen working machinery, and he knew what a camshaft looked like. That’s how he visualized his mind looking as he tried to sort out the last couple of days. Everything that had happened was bright and clear in his mind. The problem was, there were so many of them that they kept bumping each other out of the way. They kept bobbing in and out of view like the cams on a camshaft.

The last week had been an agony. A combination of trying to get all the preparations for launch done in a rapidly diminishing time, and time seeming to drag as he looked forward to the day. The final two days were a flashing sequence of activities, including the send-off party, attended by nearly everyone who wasn’t on duty at the time. Everyone in Mission Control, from the Mission Control Specialists to the security guards, wanted to shake his hand and wish him luck. Then there were the last few hours where they were strapped into their acceleration harnesses, waiting for the moment to launch.

At last they took off, and that memory was one of noise and pressure and violent shaking, and the feelings of fear and excitement. Then they were on orbit, docking with the space station, meeting the crew, seeing their ship, the Emissary, for the first time, and accelerating out of Grasswind’s gravity well. A day later they were still getting used to their new surroundings when they lost Mission Control. And he almost lost Seagrass again, for the second time. And that made him think of the first time, in the auditorium, with the awful, bloody wounds on his friend’s body. And later, the shrunken form on the pad in the hospital room.

All this was jostling in Tallgrass’s mind as he stood, hovering at his station, staring at the instruments without seeing them. Instead he was seeing the faces of the people who shook his hand at the pre-launch party, and wondering which of them were among the twenty who were killed, and the ten who were injured. Then they bobbed out of sight as the camshaft turned, and up came something else.

He snorted and shook his head, then bore down hard on his instruments. The work he was trying to do now wasn’t critical. It wasn’t even scheduled. He was just doing it to try to occupy his mind, so he wouldn’t get caught up in an endless cycle of grief and speculation. He knew that his crewmates must be going through something similar. Supervisor Steel and Mission Specialist Wayfarer were in their respective alcoves with their curtains drawn. He guessed they were either sleeping, or in quiet contemplation. He knew everyone had their own way of dealing with things. He could sense Mission Specialist Blunt moving around, apparently tending to his maintenance duties.

Finally, after staring blindly at his instruments, he began to see them, and something was wrong. Nearly every instrument on his board was giving the wrong readings. Nothing was wildly wrong. Nothing was in a danger area and there were no alarms or warning lights activated. Everything was just a little bit off. He was checking knobs and tapping dials when Blunt said close behind him, “Problems, Runny?” His voice was quiet so only Tallgrass could hear him. And it was insinuating.

In that moment, Tallgrass knew what was going on. He said, “What did you do, Blunt?”

“Me?” said Blunt, in transparent innocence.

“Fix it, Blunt. Right now.” Tallgrass pushed away from the control board.

“What’s wrong?” said Blunt. “Why so grumpy? Your problem is you have no sense of humor.” He grabbed Tallgrass as he headed for Steel’s alcove. “Where are you going? It’s just a little fun.”

Tallgrass looked at him and said, “I told you last time. One more practical joke and I’m reporting you.” He tried to shake off Blunt’s grip.

Blunt squeezed harder and spoke into Tallgrass’s face. He said, “I wouldn’t if I were you. Not if you know what’s good for you.”

Tallgrass stared back, unflinching. “You might just have time to get it back to normal before he gets out here.”

Blunt’s threatening scowl held for a moment before it changed to a look of panic. He let go of Tallgrass’s arm and flew over to his station, where he frantically made adjustments. By the time Steel came out and flew over to him, he was trying to look nonchalant, and looking unmistakably guilty.

Steel moved up close, and Blunt instinctively drew his head back. The Supervisor’s voice was low and calm, and it was terrifying. Even Tallgrass got a chill from it, and it wasn’t even directed at him. It made Blunt back up, and he seemed to shrink. Steel asked, “What have you been doing, Blunt?”

“Nothing,” said Blunt. “It was nothing. Just a little joke.”

“A joke?” Steel’s face was horrified. Outraged. “Do you think we’ve been sent out here as a joke?” When Blunt didn’t reply he said, “Well, do you?”

Blunt stammered, “No, sir, but …”

“No. That’s right. We haven’t. Then, do you think we can improve the mission’s success by playing jokes?”

“No, sir, that wasn’t …”

“No. So, do you want to tell me what you were doing? What you hoped to accomplish?”

“Well, sir, it was … I was trying … I just wanted to lighten things up. You know, after what happened.”

“You’re talking about what happened at Mission Control?”

“Yes. Yes, sir. I just wanted to help.”

“So, you thought you’d help by messing up our instruments.”

“No, sir! I mean …”

“Do you know what my job is on this ship, Mission Specialist Blunt?”

“Well, sir, you’re like, the boss.”

“That’s right. I’m like the boss. And that means the success of the mission is my responsibility, and to that end, I’m supposed to ensure that the members of my crew do their jobs.” Steel took a breath and said, “Do you know what your job is, Blunt?”

“Yes, sir!” said Blunt, relieved to have a question that he could answer unequivocally. “My job is maintenance. To ensure the correct and efficient operation of all the ship’s systems.” He held his head up proudly. Then, when Steel left him enough time to think about it, he began to see the problem.

Steel spoke slowly and quietly, while Blunt squirmed, aware of what was coming. “The correct and efficient operation of all the ship’s systems,” he repeated. “Was that your goal when you messed up Mission Generalist Tallgrass’s instruments? When you had your little joke?”

“But it …” began Blunt, stopping when he saw Steel’s face. “No, sir,” he said, dropping his head. “It was wrong. I see that now. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” said Steel. “It had better not, and I’ll tell you why. As part of my duty to ensure the success of this mission, I have the authority to deal with all threats to it, using my best judgement. That means I have the authority to do whatever I think is best, up to and including throwing you out the airlock, Blunt. Do you understand?”

Blunt’s eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. He swallowed and said weakly, “Yes, sir. But I was just …”

“Don’t say another word,” growled Steel. When Blunt merely shook his head, Steel turned to Tallgrass and said, “As for you, Mission Generalist Tallgrass, you’re going on report, too. By not reporting this dangerous activity immediately, you endangered the mission just as much as he did. Don’t let it happen again.” He turned toward a sleeping alcove with a closed curtain and raised his voice. “Mission Specialist Wayfarer,” he said. When she poked her head out, eyes wide, he said, “Did you know anything about this?”

“No, sir,” she said quietly.

“Tallgrass never talked about it? Blunt never played a joke on you?”

“No, sir.”

Tallgrass said, “She didn’t know anything, sir.”

Blunt said, “I never …”

“Fine,” said Steel. “That is all, then. Carry on.” He floated over to his alcove, went in, and firmly shut the curtain.

Wayfarer looked at them, then pulled her head back in and tugged her curtain shut.

Blunt looked at Tallgrass, his expression a mixture of his conflicting emotions, including a flicker of resentment that showed as he turned to get back to work.

Tallgrass looked at his back for a while, then shook his head and sighed. He took a deep breath and looked at his instruments, thinking of camshafts.