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LENA HUDDLED IN THE corner of a passage and cried. Even the amount of time she’d spent with her favourite people on the ship: the sparkies and com-techs and scientists, hadn’t outweighed the relentless bullying from Lieutenant Fazar and his small coterie of cronies. The people she’d mentally marked as goodies on the ship—the captain, the doctor, most of the engineers, obviously Uncle Ritchie—they all knew about it, but damn he was clever. And patient. If he did anything outright, the captain had said she’d put him on a charge, but the slow drip, drip, drip of a trip in engineering here, a sly word in the mess queue there was wearing. Fazar had started to call her “snotty child”, which he abbreviated to “snotty”. Damn it, she was eleven now and felt every year of it. But here she was crying like the child he accused her of being. And none of it was about him.
“Hey henny? You okay?” The friendly voice and arm of Jenny McGregor was a relief, but when the chief touched her, she exploded into sobs. “Hey, hey! Hen. It’s okay. I’ve got ya.” Jenny wasn’t really one for open displays of affection, but Lena had started to consider her a friend. She put her arms round her and squeezed tight. “Has that bastard Fazar been bullyin’ you again? ‘Cos if he has, so help me god I’ll—”
“No.” Lena managed to choke out.
“Are you sure?”
“Y- y- y-”
“Okay. But if he was you’d tell me, right?”
Lena nodded.
“We’re science buddies, remember? You and me and Maggot.” Jenny used the pet name they’d adopted for Science Officer Betty Jones. “I know he’s a sly one.”
“Nn... not- him...” blurted Lena.
“Okay. Good.” Jenny held on tight and had started to rock backwards and forwards slowly on the balls of her feet. “Who then?”
“Rowie.”
“Okay.”
“Rowie’s sad.”
Lena knew saying that was enough, Rowie was never sad. Excited, mystifying, alien, friendly, funny, clever, but never sad, until now. “Oh, and she says she’s changing course.”
“Wait, what now?”
****
THE EXECUTIVE MEETING that followed was swift. Lena felt kind of weird, almost like she was having one of those military court experiences. What did they call them? Court martials? Did sailors have those? Was she a sailor now? The XOs sat both sides of the conference table, with Lena at one end and the captain at the other. There were no informalities like water jugs, though there were glasses in a cluster at the centre of the table. Lena had been escorted there by a gruff marine, which didn’t help with the uneasiness. He’d not spoken to her, just a series of gestures and grunts. Now he waited outside the door.
“This is unprecedented for a non-crew member to be at an executive briefing,” Fazar looked as though he might have banged the table for emphasis but stopped short.
“Who the hell else do you expect to talk to the alien if she’s not here?” said Betty.
It was at least reassuring that both Betty and Jenny were there, but neither were looking at her. No Uncle Richie or Dr Solomon, though. She guessed if this were all about where they were and where they were going then it figured neither of them would be needed. Still, the marine sergeant was there, Lena was glad to have some more people on her side.
“Unprecedented,” said the sergeant, then after a brief pause, “Security and all that.”
“Really?” said Jenny.
Betty huffed loudly and checked her watch. The captain massaged her temples, stared at all the faces then stared back down at the table.
“So, if we’re done here?” said Fazar, standing.
“Sit down, lieutenant,” said the captain. Fazar stayed put. Slowly the captain drew herself to her full height, a whole head shorter than Fazar’s imposing presence. She leaned forward; her fists were clenched. She rested her knuckles in front of her and lifted her head. “Sit. Down.” Her voice was barely above a whisper but everyone round the table heard every syllable. Sergeant Stanley gurgled, trying to supress a cough. “Sergeant, go and bring our procurement officer here.”
Stanley opened his mouth to speak, closed it again then scraped his chair back.
“Don’t,” said Fazar.
“That’s an order,” said the captain.
Stanley stood.
“Do I need to remind the captain that Sergeant Stanley answers to me?”
“It is you who needs reminding who is in charge of this ship, Fazar. Stanley. Go!” the captain barked, then, “I believe Sub-Lieutenant Purves will help resolve our—”
“Egos?” offered Betty.
“I was going to say, impasse, but if the noun fits. Stanley, go. Fazar, sit. Jenny, please send my compliments to the mess and ask them to send coffee and some pastries. Perhaps a little sweetness at this table would not go amiss.”
“Yes cap’n,” said Jenny, who saluted crisply and headed for the door.
Fazar and the captain lowered themselves into their respective seats, eyes never leaving each other. “Why are we inviting someone else who shouldn’t be here to this meeting? Can we get on with running this ship now?”
“Sub-Lieutenant Purves has a specific job to do for us, so that we can get on and have a meeting with the folks who should be here.”
The second Uncle Ritchie came through the door and saluted, the captain said, “Sit Richard. By Lena. Tell me, for the purposes of this journey, you are Lena’s guardian, correct?”
“Yes, why what’s she done?”
“Nothing yet. It’s what we’re going to ask her to do.”
“Oh?” Richard raised an eyebrow.
“Lena,” said the captain, “How would you like to be a proper member of this crew? Proper rank, uniform and everything.”
“Why?” said Lena.
“Smartest one here,” said Betty.
“Because you’re not allowed to be in executive meetings like this one where sensitive matters are discussed without some formalities being gone through first.”
“Okay.” Lena cocked her head to one side.
Jenny came back in with coffee and pastries, “With the cook’s compliments.”
“Lena,” the captain continued, “Do you know what the Official Secrets Act is?”
