Proving Ground
by Gerri Leen
Captain Jim Rutherford walked briskly to the makeshift parade ground and barked orders to the assembled survey crew. They wearily came to attention. Most looked as if they hadn’t woken up yet. This planet—the latest of many, but the farthest out the fleet had been—had a difficult atmosphere to acclimate to. Taking pity on them, he ordered parade rest.
He looked at his exec in the first row. Her parade rest made the others look like they were slumping. “Keating, report.”
She handed him a databoard, then moved to stand next to him. She seemed unnaturally bright eyed and bushy tailed. Well, maybe not the last. He didn’t notice the tails of his female officers. Or of the male ones, either. She looked alert is what he meant—maybe he wasn’t at his best, either.
“You feeling all right, Sir?” She actually sounded concerned. A strange switch from her almost hostile aloofness since she’d reported in at base, just before this mission.
“I’m fine.”
“You seem tired.”
“I didn’t know you cared how I seemed, Commander.” He gave her a stern glance, trying to tell her that she should probably stick to her former not-caring mode. He scanned the ranks again. “Where the hell’s Dimeano?”
“Late.” Keating pointed at the errant lieutenant commander just now running to formation.
“Demerits for him.”
“You can’t let it slide?”
“Ms. Regulations”—it was the name she’d been given by the crew—”wants me to let it slide?”
Her small smile seemed warmer than he’d seen before—then again an iceberg would seem warmer. “Not everyone’s like us, Sir. All work and no play.”
“Very funny. And for the record I am letting him slide by just giving demerits—regs say I could dock his pay for being this late. And I know you know that.”
“So you’re going soft?”
Was she trying to spin his head? “I didn’t know we got a counselor as a bonus when we took you aboard, Keating.”
“A good exec—”
“Knows when to keep her comments to herself. Dimeano’s getting off easy because this planet is a bitch to get used to.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“I know. Lucky you. Where did you say you were from?” Mount Everest, maybe?”
“I didn’t, Sir. But I’m from Dubuque.”
“Hmmm.” Not sure how to follow that up, he looked at the databoard, then looked again to make sure he’d read it right. He met her eyes, could tell by her look of anticipation that she’d known how he’d react. “Moreau found this?”
“Yesterday. On the western slopes.”
“Holy jumpin’.”
“My thoughts exactly—well, not exactly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that particular expression.” She pursed her lips. “What’s that amount of gold worth?”
“Lots.”
“Lots and lots. Give me a ballpark.”
He shot her a look. “It depends on the market. Why do you care? It’s not ours to keep.” If it were theirs, they’d be sitting pretty—there was a hell of a lot of gold here.
“I know but—”
“But nothing, Keating. Abandon your line of thought, understood?”
“I didn’t mean I wanted to take any. I’ve just never seen that much gold.”
“Well, you haven’t seen it yet. We have to get it out of the ground.”
“Sir, I guess my point was more. . .can you trust this crew? Not everyone’s as honest as you are.”
“They are on this crew.” He could tell she didn’t believe him. “Look, Commander, I don’t know what kind of crew you served with before, but this one is the best. And they don’t steal.”
She gave him a grudging smile. “Humanity at its finest.”
“Well, since there’s nothing out here but us. . .” It was the fleet’s greatest disappointment: no aliens in the deeper reaches of space.
“You wish there were?”
“Well, of course. What spacefarer doesn’t?”
“To be the one to discover a new race. That has to be worth something.” She had a faraway look.
“It’s not the money. It’s the thrill of first contact.”
“Sure it is, Sir.” With a smile that was a bit too knowing, she went to join the crew.
“Sir,” Dimeano said, “I’m getting some odd readings.”
“Odd how?” Rutherford asked.
“I caught a ghost image for a second. It looked like. . .well, buildings.”
“Buildings, huh?”
“Yeah. A bunch of them. And. . .”
“And. . .?”
“People?” Dimeano smiled sheepishly. “Like I said: strange readings.”
“You’ve been tired lately, haven’t you?”
“I have, Sir. But I can read a sensor even half asleep. You know that.”
Rutherford did know that. Dimeano could make a sensor sing, even if the working end of an alarm clock seemed to elude him.
“Let me know if it happens again.”
“Yes, Sir.” Dimeano suddenly looked startled. “Uh, Sir?”
Rutherford turned. Keating was walking up with a carryall. Or sashaying up might be more accurate. She didn’t normally walk that way, did she?
“Huh,” Dimeano said, then turned back to his sensors at the look on Rutherford’s face.
Keating smiled. A real smile. An ear-to-ear grin kind of smile. Rutherford looked around to see who she was smiling at.
She actually laughed. It was a pretty sound, if not one he’d thought his exec was capable of a making. “I brought lunch. Enough for two.”
“Uhhhh.”
Her smile faded. “I know I’ve been standoffish, Sir. You alluded to it earlier: I didn’t serve with the best crew last time. They may have made me. . .guarded.”
That explained the smile. In no way did it explain the va-va-voom-worthy hip action.
“There are some things we need to discuss.” Her voice turned all business, but her expression stayed soft. “Crew things.”
Rutherford had a sudden, very annoying, vision of sitting on a blanket with her, eating fried chicken and maybe sipping some nice Chardonnay as her blonde hair shone in the sun. God, how long had it been since he’d had a date?
“Sir?”
“Can we talk later, Commander Keating? We’re right in the middle of something and—”
“Sure. Finish up here.”
Dimeano shot him a glance that said he clearly thought his captain was an idiot.
Keating didn’t seem hurt. She smiled easily as she handed Rutherford the carryall. “You do need to eat. Both of you.”
He was almost afraid to see what she’d packed, but he found only standard rations and water. Had he really been expecting fried chicken and wine? “Thanks, Keating.”
She nodded and walked away. There was no sashaying this time. Maybe he’d imagined that?
But then he saw that Dimeano was watching her backside as closely as he’d been. “Eyes up, Commander.”
Dimeano had them up in record time, an innocent look on his face. Rutherford laughed, then tossed him a ration and went back to work.
Rutherford sat just beyond the tents, enjoying the fading sunset. He heard footsteps, turned to see Keating. And this time she did have wine.
“Is that regulation?”
“No, but have a snort anyway.” She sat down next to him. “I need to talk to you.”
He just stared at her.
“You’re off duty. You can indulge. Remember, I’m ‘Ms. Regulations,’ so I should know.” She didn’t sound at all bitter about the title. In fact, it seemed to amuse her.
“About that.”
She waved whatever he was going to say away. “I was a hard ass on the way out here. I had to be.”
“And now you don’t?”
“I sure don’t.” She tipped the bottle back, took a long pull, then handed it to him.
He shook his head.
“It’s very good wine. Normally you’d pay a fortune for it. Live a little. I won’t tell.”
He took the bottle, drank gingerly. It was damned fine wine. He looked at the label; it was written in letters he’d never seen before. “Keating, where the hell did you get this?”
“My name’s Zihn, not Keating.”
He turned to look at her. Her basic shape hadn’t changed, but her blonde hair was now burgundy, her blue eyes had given way to green, and her fair skin had turned to a dark rose.
He dropped the bottle; she caught it.
“Careful. That’s very expensive.” At his look, she smiled. “You’re new around these parts, so I’ll go slow.”
“Keating, dammit, if this is some kind of stupid joke.”
“It’s what you wanted, Jim.” She made his name sound very, very nice.
“What I wanted?”
“First contact?” She pointed off into the distance—the same general direction Dimeano had gotten his strange readings from. Things were materializing. Building-like things, lit in colors bright enough to chase back the growing darkness. The effect was a lot like Vegas back on Earth.
“Holy. . .”
“Jumpin’.” She smiled tenderly at him. “Welcome to our pleasure planet. La Trazh.”
“Pleasure Pla—but why hide it?”
“We’ve been observing you for months, but people can be deceiving until you get to know them. As I found out the hard way the last time I infiltrated a species.” Her features seemed to melt, then she reformed as Keating. “I was much luckier this time.”
“You’re a spy?”
“I like to think of myself as a market researcher. But whatever you want to call it is fine.” She changed back to her alien form. “I still get first contact credit.” She rubbed her hands together. “So you see it is worth something—not just the thrill. Although there was some of that, too.” She winked at him.
“Give me that.” He tipped the bottle back and drank liberally.
She just laughed.
He waited for the warm glow in his gut to spread to his brain. She didn’t press him, sat with a serene smile on her face—mentally spending her first-contact finder’s fee, he imagined.
He finally gave her back the bottle. “So, you did all this because you didn’t want to share your world with just anyone?”
“Share?” Her eyes crinkled in a really adorable way when she laughed. “I can assure you this bottle is the last thing we’ll comp you.” She handed him a databoard full of numbers, all with fleet currency notations beside them.
“A bill?”
“A large bill. But give us back the gold, and we’ll adjust it.” She pointed to the biggest number on the list. “Not one of you stole any of it. Quite the integrity gene your people have.”
“The fleet has certain ideals.”
“Yeah, that’s what my last assignment said, too. Until they robbed the first planet they found blind. They weren’t very pretty when they partied, either.”
“I’m sorry you had to experience that.” He suddenly felt a little protective of her.
She made a face. “I can more than take care of myself. Believe me, the crewmen who tried to party down with me ended up in the infirmary. For a month.”
He laughed softly.
“But I’ve seen parties on your ship, even if I was never invited to any. And your species manages to cut loose without hurting anyone—well, except maybe themselves. Human vomit is a horrible smell.”
He didn’t want to know how she knew that.
“Your people have needs we can understand and accommodate.” She stood. “Come to the city. We have gambling, shopping, lots of intoxicants. And. . .companionship, if you get my drift. In many shapes and sizes. Anything you can imagine. But tell the crew no haggling. We hate that.”
“We’re welcome here?”
“Anyone we’ve vetted is welcome. Well, providing they pay.”
“Anyone who—are there more species than our two?”
“Yes, dear, there are.” She patted him on the head as if he was a puppy.
He caught her hand; her skin was surprisingly warm.
She smiled tenderly. “I enjoyed serving with you, Jim.”
He found himself unaccountably sad that she wasn’t part of his crew anymore.
“You spend too much time alone, Sir,” she said in Keating’s stern voice. Then she giggled as she pressed the wine bottle into his hand. “Look me up. If you’re real nice to me, I might comp you something else.” Blowing him a kiss, she headed toward the city.
Rutherford watched her walk down the hill as Dimeano strolled over, looking more impressed by her hips as she va-va-voomed away than by the fact she was an alien.
“Wow, huh?”
“Wow, Sir. Very big wow.”
Rutherford stood up. He took a long pull from the wine, then handed it to Dimeano.
“Orders, Sir?”
“Tell Moreau to put the gold back. It’s belongs to them.” He pointed to the alien Vegas. “But tell him he can wait till morning.”
“And. . .for now?”
Rutherford looked toward the city; he could just make out his ersatz first officer disappearing. Shouldn’t he follow her? First contact and all that? “I’m going to go make history.”
“What about us, Sir?” If Dimeano were a puppy, he’d be whining and pawing at the door.
Rutherford didn’t blame him one bit. “I seem to be short an Exec, Commander.”
Dimeano started to grin. “You do seem to be, Sir.”
“How would you like to be first officer?”
“I’d be honored. And what do I tell the crew, Sir?”
“Exec’s discretion, Dimeano.” Rutherford was already heading for the city. “Totally Exec’s discretion.”
Gerri Leen is celebrating the release of her first book, Life Without Crows, a collection of short stories published by Hadley Rille Books. She has over fifty stories and poems published in such places as: She Nailed a Stake Through His Head, Sword and Sorceress XXIII, Return to Luna, Sniplits, Triangulation: Dark Glass, Footprints, Sails & Sorcery, and GlassFire. Gerri lives in Northern Virginia and originally hails from Seattle. Visit http://www.gerrileen.com to see what else she’s been up to.
I liked the story. The idea of an alien Vegas, where prospective customers have to be vetted before being allowed to participate, was clever. Well written and entertaining. Three shooting stars from me.