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Authors: Cheryl Angst
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Rebeccah shrugged her shoulders in response to Forbes’ questioning glance. Cheng coughed and shifted from foot to foot. With a shrug of his own, Forbes turned and walked down the adjoining corridor; Cheng following in close pursuit.
* * * *
One foot in front of the other. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
He tried to avoid noting the details of his surroundings. He didn’t want to make connections between this warship and the ones he’d served on. He ordered his eyes to stare at the decking, but they had other plans. Despite his mantra, his brain seemed determined to learn about the ship and its crew.
The uniform style had changed a little, but the sound of UESF boots striding along the corridors remained the same. He liked the new shirts. Made of a lightweight tan material, he noted the freedom of movement the officers enjoyed, and recalled the stiff pull of seams on his own uniform whenever he needed to stretch or do something physical. He noticed the change within seconds, and found he approved of the new location of the rank insignia. In his day, he wore his rank on his sleeve cuffs, now they resided on the collar.
The UESF logo and the ship’s name were printed on the right and left shoulders, and the surname of each individual was embroidered in black over the left breast pocket. Ribbons representing various medals earned adorned the space above the right. All in all, John felt satisfied he could identify anyone he encountered on the ship. The only thing throwing him off was the UESF’s decision to have every department wear the same neutral top.
“Where are the departmental insignia?”
Santiago glanced down at her sleeve before answering. “Check the trim on the cuff, as well as the color of the belt, and the emblem on the buckle.” She pointed to her own dark green cuffs and belt, and the symbolic olive branch in the center.
“Subtle.”
“The UESF decided to make it harder for an enemy to determine the chain of command in a combat situation.”
“Hmm.”
Images of a battle to take over an avian outpost played before his mind’s eye. The avians hadn’t taken out the leaders wearing blue tops, but had targeted the medics in their burgundy uniforms instead. The horror of watching the one group of soldiers universally respected as neutral cut down took the fight out of the UESF troops faster than a field of anti-personnel mines.
One foot in front of the other. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
John and Lt. Santiago approached the general quarters of the ship. He made out the crew names on the doors they passed, and the aroma of food wafted from a nearby junction.
“The Senior Officers’ Mess is down that corridor,” Santiago said. “That’s where you’ll be taking your meals while on board.” She pointed the opposite way along the same hall. “The Junior Officers’ Mess is over there. The dining facilities for the enlisted troops are located on decks fourteen and fifteen, closer to their billets.”
“Which shift should I eat with?” he asked, knowing the kitchen staff prepared staggered meals to accommodate the three shifts that kept the ship running twenty-four hours a day.
Her eyes widened at the question. “The captain and the rest of the main bridge crew eat on the alpha shift schedule. Please join us.”
He nodded.
One foot in front of the other. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
They arrived at the door to his cabin. Small and cramped by civilian standards, John recognized the opulence inherent in the space he’d been granted. To be offered quarters with a bed and separate seating area was a huge gesture of respect. The window in the living area was another luxury accorded to only the highest ranking officers on board. In short, he was impressed.
“I’m sorry,” said Lt. Santiago. “I know this is not what you’re used
* * * *
One foot in front of the other. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
He tried to avoid noting the details of his surroundings. He didn’t want to make connections between this warship and the ones he’d served on. He ordered his eyes to stare at the decking, but they had other plans. Despite his mantra, his brain seemed determined to learn about the ship and its crew.
The uniform style had changed a little, but the sound of UESF boots striding along the corridors remained the same. He liked the new shirts. Made of a lightweight tan material, he noted the freedom of movement the officers enjoyed, and recalled the stiff pull of seams on his own uniform whenever he needed to stretch or do something physical. He noticed the change within seconds, and found he approved of the new location of the rank insignia. In his day, he wore his rank on his sleeve cuffs, now they resided on the collar.
The UESF logo and the ship’s name were printed on the right and left shoulders, and the surname of each individual was embroidered in black over the left breast pocket. Ribbons representing various medals earned adorned the space above the right. All in all, John felt satisfied he could identify anyone he encountered on the ship. The only thing throwing him off was the UESF’s decision to have every department wear the same neutral top.
“Where are the departmental insignia?”
Santiago glanced down at her sleeve before answering. “Check the trim on the cuff, as well as the color of the belt, and the emblem on the buckle.” She pointed to her own dark green cuffs and belt, and the symbolic olive branch in the center.
“Subtle.”
“The UESF decided to make it harder for an enemy to determine the chain of command in a combat situation.”
“Hmm.”
Images of a battle to take over an avian outpost played before his mind’s eye. The avians hadn’t taken out the leaders wearing blue tops, but had targeted the medics in their burgundy uniforms instead. The horror of watching the one group of soldiers universally respected as neutral cut down took the fight out of the UESF troops faster than a field of anti-personnel mines.
One foot in front of the other. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
John and Lt. Santiago approached the general quarters of the ship. He made out the crew names on the doors they passed, and the aroma of food wafted from a nearby junction.
“The Senior Officers’ Mess is down that corridor,” Santiago said. “That’s where you’ll be taking your meals while on board.” She pointed the opposite way along the same hall. “The Junior Officers’ Mess is over there. The dining facilities for the enlisted troops are located on decks fourteen and fifteen, closer to their billets.”
“Which shift should I eat with?” he asked, knowing the kitchen staff prepared staggered meals to accommodate the three shifts that kept the ship running twenty-four hours a day.
Her eyes widened at the question. “The captain and the rest of the main bridge crew eat on the alpha shift schedule. Please join us.”
He nodded.
One foot in front of the other. Don’t look. Don’t think. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
They arrived at the door to his cabin. Small and cramped by civilian standards, John recognized the opulence inherent in the space he’d been granted. To be offered quarters with a bed and separate seating area was a huge gesture of respect. The window in the living area was another luxury accorded to only the highest ranking officers on board. In short, he was impressed.
“I’m sorry,” said Lt. Santiago. “I know this is not what you’re used
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