Dry, No Lube Ch. 04b: Mutiny

There's a whole series of these; while each one can stand alone, I think that if you like Pixy and her people, it's probably best to read all the rest. You'd definitely benefit from reading Desperado, of which this is a direct continuation.

Enjoy!

* * *

Pixy waited impatiently, eyes welded to the chrono above the Main Dock with the shuttle sticking off the side of the Desperado like a stubby little dick. "Five minutes," she muttered to the Boarding Officer. "Five fucking minutes, I want that thing off the ship." It felt like a cancer, like a useless appendage. She turned irritably to her deputy. "Fuck. Where's your buddy Mr Delmer? He and the captain are overdue to be aboard."

Welson blinked at her through his old-school glasses. In the two months she'd been aboard he'd never impressed her even once, but then the man who gets assigned to be Deputy Executive Officer on a Fleet frigate in the farthest reaches of the whole goddamn galaxy is not exactly likely to be the brightest sublieutenant in Fleet. He'd just signed off from Delmer's voxbox. "He says he's enroute, ma'am."

"With the captain?"

"I'll check."

"Check? Jesus H Buddha, you fucking shitbird. His entire job now is to get Captain Ledecki from Point A to Point B. What the hell else do you think I wanted you to vox him about, the size of his turds?" She held herself back from smacking the guy, aware that as long as Ledecki was aboard, corporal punishment was a no-no.

And aware, too, that subcommanders weren't supposed to smack sublieutenants.

Her own voxbox buzzed at her belt. She glared down at it. "Yeah? Pfeiffer here."

"Hi!" It was her steward, irrepressibly energetic, her voice pitched high enough to make everyone at the Main Dock grimace. Pixy turned the volume down. "Remember, you've got that FD hearing at 0900. Petty Officer Hume?"

Fuck. Pixy had forgotten completely. "Yes, Juno, obviously I remember," she lied. "I'll be there, you whiny little bitch. You don't need to keep nursemaiding me." She had not the faintest clue why the unfortunate Hume was about to get a Fleet Directive from the XO, but clearly he (or she? Or it?) had done something bad. Juno, who was also the ship's legal clerk, would tell her what the right punishment was. "I'll be there. Did you post the Officers' Call in the wardroom at 0930 like I told you to?"

The pause from the voxbox was enough to give everyone time to look away; everyone aboard knew it didn't do to piss off Juno. "You don't need to keep nursemaiding me. Ma'am," came the icy reply. The older hands nodded knowingly at each other; Juno had been a steward for a long time. The last XO, Jedwin, had pissed her off frequently. And now Jedwin was dead, a suspiciously sudden and unanticipated "fall" out the airlock that looked like an accident. Or suicide, the Big Step some people took out into space when they were just sick of it all.

Pixy owed her job to that unfortunate encounter with the airlock. No, more than just her job: this slot was an incredible opportunity for her. Senior officers didn't usually transfer from Service to Combat, and when they did they lost a few years while they made the connections and gained the experience needed to become an XO, then a CO. Pixy had short-cutted that by taking a gig out in the middle of nowhere after seducing an Assignments Officer with several antique dildoes.

Pixy was a woman who did what she had to.

But she was also a woman who made the most of her opportunities. Already the Desperado, with its vapid crew under a captain who spent all her time prepping for Parcheesi tournaments, had been whipped into a ship she'd felt comfortable taking into an encounter with an enemy spyship. And blowing that ship to smithereens. Now the captain was off to her next tournament, taking along the First Officer Pixy loathed, and things were definitely looking up. Way, way up.

If only her fucking Deputy would start acting like a fucking Deputy.

"So, Mr Welson," she told him now, the captain safely on her way with Delmer; the launch clock read 3:44... "your next task once the shuttle leaves is going to be to go apprehend Petty Officer Hume and bring him to my dayroom."

"Her."

"What?"

"Her, ma'am." Goddamn, Welson hated her. She could see it in every glance her sent her way, though in fairness she'd never been anything but hateful and dismissive toward him. Where subordinates were concerned, Pixy believed in tough love: she loved to be tough. Some just couldn't handle it. "Hume is female."

"What the fuck ever. It changes nothing. Wrae Juno is setting up the FD sheets right now. Give me ten minutes to get back to my office and familiarize myself with the charges, then have Hume at my hatch. Comprehend?"

"Aye aye, ma'am." He kept himself from giving a public eye-roll, which was something. "What should I do about the midshipmen? Do they come to the Officers' Call?"

"Oh! Them." Pixy had forgotten, the three youngsters frothing out of the hatch from the shuttle just moments ago on their Academy cruise. "Sure. In fact, why don't you be their babysitter? Keep them out of trouble." She chuckled. "That should be a full-time job, Mr Welson." Good. She'd been wondering what she could decently do with him, a job that wouldn't be too obviously a slight. He was Delmer's main crony.

"Aye aye, ma'am." It came out as a surly mutter and Pixy turned to wipe the sneer right off his face, but now Golightly was peering down the corridor toward the captain's suite. He cleared his throat.

"Attention for the captain!" he called, and everyone snapped to. Lina Ledecki came regally up the hallway with Delmer behind her hauling her duffel case, the brand-new Ship's Commendation sparkling at his breast. Pixy's doing, with the spyship, and rumor had it she herself was about to get a Bronze Cross to go with her two silvers. Ledecki waved lazily.

"At ease, everyone." She nodded pleasantly to Golightly. She always nodded pleasantly to younger male officers. "Thank you, Brantley." Pixy, as always, set her teeth on edge; she hated captains who used first names, and it bothered her that Golightly had a pussy name like Brantley to go with a surname that sounded like a strip club. "I'll miss you."

"Ma'am." Golightly's blush clashed with his orange Engineering uniform.

"And you, Pixy." She beamed at the XO. "Do let me know if anything goes awry, yes?"

"Of course, ma'am." Pixy let herself unbend slightly, smiling as pleasantly as she could.

"Naturally, I won't be answering my voxbox, but Chonny will get me all your messages."

"Ma'am." Pixy glared hard into the smug bearded face of the looming Delmer, knowing it would be a cold day in hell before she let any messages go through his conniving ass. He and Welson were muttering off to the side now, whispery like a high school clique at the Promenade, and Pixy suppressed an urge to smack them while simultaneously smiling at the captain. It took some doing.

"Safe voyage, ma'am, and, uh, bring home the trophy!" She had no idea what one competed for, in high-level Parcheesi.

"It's a cup, Pixy. The Celestial Cup." She sniffed, then nodded vaguely around at the whole Dock. "Farewell, Desperado. I'll be back soon." And then she was through, her cape swishing through the docking ring with the crew member from the circuit ship standing off to the side, pretending not to look at his chrono. Pixy suddenly grew impatient.

"Hey. You. Mr Delmer." The whispery pair broke off, staring. "You're traveling as the captain's aide. So why the fuck is she aboard the shuttle and you're still here?"

"Uh huh." He, at least, did not choose to dispense with the public eye-roll, and Pixy congratulated herself for the eightieth time on her success in getting him the hell off this ship, since the captain wouldn't let her kick his teeth out. His disdain for her background in Service Command had been sharply apparent from the first day they'd met. "I'll miss you too, Commander."

"Don't let the hatch hit you in the ass as you leave," she muttered. "And, while you're gone, maybe you should reflect on whether your continued assignment aboard this vessel is really in everyone's best interests." She gave him a mock-encouraging smile as she pushed him not too subtly through the docking ring, then raised her voice. "Good luck in the Celestial Cup, Captain Ledecki. Three cheers for the captain!"

The little knot of people assembled at Main Dock dutifully roared their encouragement, but Pixy was already thinking about the rest of her day. Because there were changes coming to the Desperado. Soon.

* * *

She watched Hume leave with no pleasure at all, the Captain's shuttle still a twinkle visible on the optical scanner outbound; Pixy did not believe in wasting time, especially on an FD hearing that was as cut-and-dried as this. Juno had done her homework thoroughly; she was always thorough about everything, the annoying little bitch, whether it involved legal research or making sure Pixy's uniforms were unwrinkled. Now, the little redhead sniffed. "It's fine, ma'am," she shrugged. "The penalty is set in stone for a 33A. You can't go less than three years in the clink."

"Yeah," Pixy grunted shortly, and she knew what was bothering her: this was the first time she'd had to do an FD on her own authority. Officers handled legal shit all the time, of course, but the Fleet Directives were the duty of captains, not first officers or even executive officers.

Unless the captain was off the ship.

Most of the time, the XO doubled as the ship's legal officer; whatever the XO said, the captain typically signed off on. It was the XO's responsibility to do an investigation, interview all the people involved, and work with the legal clerk to make sure everything was halal. But still, always, the commanding officer had the final say.

Today, that commanding officer was Pixy.

FD 33A was a simple regulation, regarding disobedience by enlisted sailors. It wasn't always prosecuted; most officers gave sailors two or three chances to decide to obey orders, or they just beat the shit out of them and called it good. But Captain Ledecki didn't like corporal punishment, so in just a few months aboard Pixy and Juno had found themselves dealing with three 33As already. Hume had gotten caught dealing drugs outside the semi-authorized market, had been told to stop, and had disobeyed. So she'd be getting three years imprisonment, starting the next time a circuit ship came by to get her; until then? Pixy had no idea what to do with her.

"Three years." Juno shook her head. "Worse for her clone, though." Fleet personnel convicted on an FD lost their clone, meaning no spare parts if anything went wrong in the future. Getting a clone was the one real, tangible benefit of enlisting; indeed, it was the sole reason why a lot of people joined up, along with plenty of food and a guaranteed wardrobe of sentient clothes. Now Petty Officer Hume's clone, whiling away the time on some Clone Farm planet somewhere, would be pulled out of her group and summarily liquidated. "Seems unfair."

"Yeah." Pixy had made runs to and from the Farms in her Service days, and she'd never enjoyed it. You never knew how to act around the clones. "Well. They're clones. It's why they're there. Anyway, that's a question for philosophers. I'm just a fucking XO."

"No, you're not." Juno's eyes shone with excitement. "You're the acting CO, now. Which makes me a captain's steward." She rubbed her hands together in glee. "You'll be getting more money, effective today. Command Stipend. For things like entertaining and shit." She giggled. "Your steward gets to control most of that, ma'am."

Pixy smiled despite herself. "You just want to get one over on Payne." Payne was Captain Ledecki's steward, currently hiding himself in her suite during her absence. Pixy had noticed the two stewards loathed each other, but then Juno loathed most people.

"Fuck yeah, I do." Juno glanced at the paperwork, back in Legal Clerk mode, gnawing at her lower lip. "I'll proof these and get them off to Fleet. What are you going to do with Hume before we can send her off to the brig?"

Pixy flipped dismissively with her hand. The FDs gave her the right to do almost anything to Hume while she was waiting to go to jail. "I'll deal with that shit later. Off to the wardroom now." She glanced to make sure the hatch was closed; there were things she said to Juno that she didn't like to be overheard. "Got to go yell at the fucking officers. The vice on this ship needs to pick up, big-time."

"Yeah?" Juno raised an eyebrow. "More whores?" Ledecki limited prostitution aboard.

"Maybe. And the drugs. Definitely, we need to get a handle on the ODs. And then there's other things." She licked her lips. "Beatings are coming back, Juno. Tell a friend."

"Nice." Juno liked beatings.

"Anyway." She rose. "I'm off. Butter-tea after my meeting, Juno."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

* * *

Pixy had been in charge before; anyone who'd ever been a First Officer or XO had, at times, when the skipper was off for meetings or whenever. But this was her first time in sole command of a warship. With orders saying so, even if only temporarily, and she was nearly trembling with excitement as the departmental officers stood in the wardroom to give their reports to her.

Her deputy, Welson, took notes as they went: McZylenko, Acting First Officer while Delmer was off with the captain, talking about weapons inventories: they were almost back up to full complement after taking out that Cathos Vremein spyship. Paulus, Second Officer, with Pixy's bedwarmer Jeyne giving him whispered support as the moron talked about comms. From Engineering came the cool competence of Cheeley Prowne, her voice clipped and confident after the tentative sluggishness of McZylenko and Paulus.

Captain Ledecki hated Prowne, and Pixy hadn't ever figured out why.

Certainly she needed no help from her assistants, Golightly and Dwart, sitting there in their orange utilities. Then came Vecque, the Fourth Officer, on supply and logistics, followed by the Tygon Zuus and his assistant Praaskinen. Zuus was one of Delmer's disciples, so Pixy always watched him closely, but ever since she'd put him in charge as OOD during the spyship chase she thought he kind of liked her. Still, he was a Tygon; you never really knew. Pixy nodded, then shifted back to Vecque. "Where's Mr Charlatul?" Vecque's assistant was the ship's Junior Officer. "I had some things to discuss with him."

"He's OOD right now, ma'am." Vecque was a moron, but courageous and loyal.

"Huh. Well, based on our last supply swap, I'm going to be asking you to let him take the lead on all future swaps." The table stirred. Many of the officers there had served in Supply before, as Pixy had for three years on the Pulver, and getting demoted from swaps was a big deal. "He really did a good job sealing the deal last time. I think he's got potential."

Vecque frowned. "'Sealing the deal,' ma'am?"

Pixy stared at him. "He was able," she explained in her clipped tone, "to bargain for new supplies by exchanging sexual favors with the supply officer on the Maida Vale." That he'd done so while Pixy herself was exchanging sexual favors with the captain on the Maida Vale didn't need to be brought up. "That's the unwritten job of all supply officers, Mr Vecque, a job that you should have been doing. But he was good enough that you won't have to." She glanced around. "Anyone here interested in helping Mr Charlatul do even better? The reports were encouraging, but there's always room for improvement; does he have a bedwarmer?"

"He's the JO, ma'am," Prowne put in mildly. "JOs almost never have bedwarmers."

"I'll step up, ma'am." That was Submajor Origami, the Marine officer, who'd been present in this very room when Pixy had quizzed Charlatul about his sexual abilities. She grinned now, feral. "I think I can make a man out of him. I've seen the raw material."

"Perfect. I mean, far be it from me to force an officer to warm anyone else's bed, but this is different." She sniffed. "This is professional development. Thank you, Major."

"Ma'am."

Pixy stirred then, the topics now more sensitive. "Surgeon. Anything to report? Sergeant Plovsek's legs? Private Ghyll?"

Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Ghyll was dead, nothing now but a lump of cerebrum in the surgeon's freezer, awaiting resurrection when his clone arrived... if that cerebrum could be transplanted. It was an awkward topic. Plovsek's legs were a lot easier, the platoon sergeant stumping around on prosthetics meanwhile. "Order's in, ma'am. Combat priority." He licked his lips. "I'm optimistic about Ghyll."

"I'm not." Origami sniffed. "He was kind of a shitty Marine, frankly."

"Anyway." Pixy said it sharply, dripping with sarcasm. She'd been shocked, coming aboard, that the captain didn't hold officers' calls, so she'd started doing it herself; Ledecki had never seemed to mind her taking initiative. She nodded to her deputy. "Next item, Mr. Welson?" She was starting to lose track, to speed up the meeting; she had to pee.

"Only three more items," he soothed, his fingers skating across his tabslate. "The midshipmen."

Pixy sighed, leaning back on her chair, and nodded at the three young people standing rigid against the forward wall. "Those things?" They looked equal parts scared shitless and eager. She glanced at them, mulling. "Mr Welson here is going to be your babysitter," she announced, seeing Welson twitch forward out of the corner of her eye. "You'll be his main duty," she went on, "and he'll make sure you get a taste of each department. You're here for, what, three months?"

"Yes, ma'am," one of them said after a pause. He was short and thin, with slightly pointy ears.

"We're from the Academy," another one blurted, bigger and with a redder face.

"No shit," Pixy snapped. "Is that what 'midshipman' means? Nobody ever told me. What's your name, ass-kisser?"

The red-faced guy blinked. The third one was a woman, fresh and dewy-eyed in that Fleet Academy way. "I'm Skyler van Shaughnessy, ma'am."

"You?" Pixy nodded at the first kid. "You, with the pointy ears?"

"Nergui Smith-Aliyeva, ma'am."

"So many syllables." The other officers were grinning. "I'll just call you Shitbird. How about you, with the vagina?"

The girl stiffened to attention. "Dahlia Wollz, ma'am. Third Quadrant Tae-Kwon-Do champion."

"I could give two shits." Pixy nodded mildly toward her deputy. "Within an hour, you'll assign Kissass, Shitbird, and Vagina to different departments to improve their commissioning prospects. Next fucking item."

He swallowed. "Corporal punishment, ma'am."

"Yeah. That's an easy one." Pixy raised her eyes, glaring fiercely around the table. "Tell your people that although I support and appreciate Captain Ledecki's orders and directions, she's off the ship for three months minimum." She frowned. "Probably more like six. So I owe it to her to hand her back a ship that functions as an awe-inspiring, death-dealing combat machine. I think that's best done the old-fashioned way: by kicking the shit out of slack sailors." She noted many smiles around the room, but paid more attention to the frowns. "From this point forward, beatings are back on the menu at individual officers' discretion. Sublieutenant and higher, or any section chief."

"Nice." Prowne was smiling for the first time Pixy could recall.

"Junior Lieutenants, if your supervisors approve, you can kick ass too. But if it goes wrong, your superiors are responsible." She paused, meeting the frowners' eyes. "To me."

Praaskinen, a frowner, cleared his throat. "So. Officers can get, uh, punished too?"

"Only if I want them to, Mr Praaskinen," Pixy purred, letting the chuckles settle. "Okay. Last one, Mr Welson."