51 - Spare Me the 'Sirs'

On the moon, the station’s sweet voice grated on his ear as he closed down a program with a couple of keystrokes.  “New orders from the Font of All Knowledge: Sub Commander Eckert relaying.”

Standard. He thought as he straightened in his chair, appropriately attentive. Pretending that all orders come from the Font himself.  It’s impossible that he not delegate.  The Eckerts have been my family’s bosses for generations now. “I attend and look forward to learning.” He answered. 

The relay clicked and the recorded message came through.

“Your replacement is on his way, and should be arriving in the next few minutes.  You are commended for your lone service on the moon, Terence, and have six months paid leave coming.”

“Oh, that is wonderful!  I’ll be able to attend part of the season!”  His response was recorded and he logged off the equipment, went out to see the shuttle land.  The shuttle piloted itself on the surface to moon and back run, so there was only his replacement on board.

I’ll be out of this kernel and inside the main node.  That’s good, and bad.  I’ll not be isolated here, under the recorders, but I’ll be under the country security, which is much better than this old equipment.

“Clary Jones, reporting for relief duty,” the boy snapped, precise and almost military.  The Joneses were known for the number of people they had in the Font’s guard.

“Welcome, Clary.  Please come and I’ll see you settled.  The only manual you need is next to the console and the station will help you if you get confused.  The equipment is only being static tested once a month right now, since it was properly mothballed.”

“Sure, sir!”

“It’s Terry, not sir.  I’m a tech, not a commander. This is an ice-mining operation, not a military one!”

“Of course, sir.”

He’s just a couple of years younger than I am.  Spare me. I’ll go home and be able to dig into the Font’s archaic and holey old security programs, without the Station recording my every move.

He was startled when, half-way down to the planet, his seed shut down.

**

“Milari Siwion.” It was one of the new zardukar, one of the boys.  “Mother Thriti asked if you would be able to come to the school with the Honourables Basserus and Mariush.”

“Oh, certainly.  Durnat, that was his name. He bats his long eyelashes at me.  My eyelashes aren’t that long. “We can share the Honourable mother’s escort.”

“That was her thought, Siwion.”

I’d never been to the zardukar’s old school.  There’s the new school but I’ve been doing so much work there I can’t think of it physically without layering it over with images from code.