Darcy was just waking up to the pressure of
his bladder, his hammock swaying gently in the breeze from the open tunnel door
and snapped awake, clutching the sides so he didn’t spin out onto the
floor. The door was open from the garage
and Redcap stood there.
“Wake.
It is time to wake and the rainstorm is dropping to a tolerable level,
if you have adequate protection.” The
horse clomped in, down the centre aisle, stopping to stare disapprovingly at
the gritty puddles on the floor and the various containers they’d set, trying
to stop catch the leaks. “This damage to
your barracks must be repaired. The raz’r
fields need to be checked. The row covers on the lifeweed require maintenance.”
Rest
day is over. Darcy thought resentfully. The wind was still howling outside, but must
have dropped below a certain critical level for Redcap to wake up. “Literate
Redcap,” he said. “Many of us do not
have appropriate protection for this level of weather. The filtermasks are too old to protect us.
The suits are for use only in the open buildings.”
The horse stopped and swung its head around
to face him. “Illiterate Darcy…” Inside it somewhere something clicked and he
braced himself for some kind of punishment for speaking up. “You appear to be correct. Inventory of this barracks shows inadequate
protection.” The head swung back. “Illiterate
Fitzwilliam, you will manufacture new filter masks for this barracks and… it
ticked the floor with one front hoof. “The
others as well. This is
unacceptable. Fragiles are required to
be provided with basic protection. This
will be remedied.”
Darcy swallowed. The machine actually seemed reasonable… much
more reasonable than Versace had been, who had something to prove.
“Until protective gear is manufactured…
Fitzwilliam you will need four Illiterates and I shall set up the
equipment. Illiterate Darcy, your
protective gear is adequate, though old.
You will ride out on me and we shall inspect our precious fields.”
“Ride?
I… I don’”
“Cease your protest. It is the most efficient way. It signifies nothing. Be prepared to go out
in forty-three minutes.”
“Yes, Literate Redcap.”
**
Station made the noise that was its
equivalent of clearing its throat diffidently. “Galactic Tech Terence,” it
said.
“Yes, Station?” Terry emerged from a learning module that
Agador had set up and his head was dancing with graphs and charts and visual
programming aids. It was strange enough
that the instructor was not human but looked vaguely like a starfish that
blinked in rippling patterns that Agador helpfully translated.
“Intergalactic Stellar Current reports that
all shipping in this area is still delayed.
Transit points are unstable all along the routes of the Eastern Arm of
Corporate Space.”
“So that means that both the CEO and the regular
courier will be delayed. Prime will be
upset. Both his visitor and the service
that he pays for will not be arriving.”
He still had to play the part of a Galactic, though he was buried deep
in the training programs as if he were.
“The Board will certainly have some kind of
compensation in place for the shifting stellar currents, Tech,” Station
hastened to reassure him. “And the CEO
in question would be the very person to speak to about it, when he arrives,
after all, since he IS head of Eastern Arm Transport Company.”
“Of course.
Make a note for me, and remind me later.
Where is Alissa?”
“In the garage, Tech. She is redesigning a stomper. It appears to be a more efficient design than
previous.”
“Excellent.
Remind her to eat and sleep, please.
She shouldn’t fall over again.”
“Yes, Tech.”
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