The Honor of the Dread Remora by Aaron Rosenberg

Author:Aaron Rosenberg [Rosenberg, Aaron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2013-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

It was not until the next morning that Demming ventured forth from his cabin. He had eventually drifted off to sleep, but his slumber had been restless, filled with images of men and women in an unfamiliar white uniform accusing him of murdering them and of being a pirate in deed as well as name. Thus he was still a bit thickheaded when he swam out into the corridor and turned to head for the officer's mess.

It was late morning, and there were others floating up and down the corridors in the normal exercise of their responsibilities—he didn't see any other officers right now but several crewmen swam past, two carrying what looked like a damaged scrubber part and another holding a small screen, most likely a manifest. The first two nodded respectfully but couldn't salute, as their hands were full. The third one, however, just glared without even the faintest dip of his chin.

That brought Demming up short. "Attention, sailor!" he snapped, back-kicking to bring himself to a sudden and complete halt. The crack of his voice froze the sailor as well, and the man straightened at once and tossed off a salute. "What's your name, lad?" Demming demanded, deliberately using the diminutive even though the other man was taller and broader than he was and probably a few years older as well. The way his broad features flushed showed he got the insult as well.

"Flanders, sir," the man responded quickly, his voice as thick as his build. "Edgar Flanders, Able Seaman." He saluted again and held it this time.

Demming let him stay that way a minute, floating around the crewman with his best hauteur firmly in place, hands behind his back, chin up. "Seaman Flanders," he said finally from behind the man, letting his voice drop, "is it customary in Her Majesty's Royal Navy to salute an officer?"

"Yes, sir!" The big man's arm was starting to strain a little from holding the salute firmly in place, Demming noticed. He didn't bother to acknowledge that however.

"And is your eyesight up to Royal Navy standards?"

"Yes, sir!" There was a different tremor there along the forearm and the biceps.

"Were you so distracted by your current task that you failed to mark the officer's jacket I wore, or the captain's markings upon it?"

"No, sir!" A smarter man might have taken the out, but Flanders was either too dim or too honest to lie about it. Very well.

"Then what explanation can you have," Demming asked, continuing his circuit so he was back in front of the sailor again, "to not salute when your captain swims past you?" He let his voice sharpen again on those last few words, enough that Flanders actually shrank back a bit. To the man's credit, however, he still held his salute.

"No explanation, sir!" the big sailor replied, the strain evident in his voice now as well. "Sorry, sir! I take full responsibility for my mistake!"

"Yes, well"—Demming switched to a more casual tone, even a friendly one, as

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