I have finished my meal and am cleaning up when I am surprised to receive a com call in my quarters. It even takes me a moment to realize what the noise is, I am so unused to receiving such calls here.
My personal com unit is currently switched off and charging, because I did not wish to be disturbed.
I reach over to the panel and answer the call.
“Olarte.”
“Oh, thank the Quazi’i you’re back! This is La’loorn. We have a problem during today’s afternoon shift!”
One thing I have learned in my time working on this space station is that creatures of various intelligent species share certain mannerisms which transcend language and physiological differences.
Closing one’s eyes and sighing is usually a sign of resignation. I know I am doing it right now as my second-in-command prepares to detail a crisis that I am already reasonably sure is not one.
Especially since it is likely one of his own creation.
This is far from the first time a similar situation has occurred. I am truly beginning to believe the Shalfin is manufacturing or embellishing the severity of critical situations just to have me come on duty sooner and to relieve him of having to make command decisions.
This is also something I will remember when it is time to perform La’loorn’s performance review.
In fact, at that time, I will likely be demoting him and promoting Fullstein, one of the Onyx. Fullstein has been doing exemplary work and deserves the chance to succeed and advance his career. But when I was promoted two years ago, I inherited an older crew from my previous supervisor, who retired. Since then, three more reached retirement age, requiring me to fill those positions.
This Shalfin is one of those. Except he transferred in from another sector, and his accumulated time working in the berthing department put him automatically in line to be my second-in-command when the vacancies and his transfer occurred.
I interrupt La’loorn’s rambling. “I have just returned from Pfahrn and have barely settled my body. Is thisreallysomething you are unable to deal with on your own?”
La’loorn hesitates. I have never approached an issue with him in this manner before. Except today, I am tired, and perhaps feeling a little lonely and heartsick as well.
“Well, protocol dictates I defer to my superior. Thatisyou.”
I do not care for his attitude, or his sarcasm. “If I appear there shortly, perhaps you will wish I had not. I will ask you once more if this istrulya situation warranting my personal attention at this time.”
“Y-yes. It is.”
I close my eyes and rub my forehead. “I shall come, deal with this, and then leave. I amnotclocking in for a shift at this time, and you willnotcutyourshift short, either. I still have two days of leave remaining. You and Iwillbe discussing this next week, however. I amnotpleased that this has happenedagain.”
I punch the disconnect button before La’loorn can reply.
That action is rude in nearly any culture, I know, but now I perhaps understand more clearly why a supposedly experienced worker was so readily offered to me for one of my crew.
The Shalfin is, as some humans would say, a major pain in my green ass.
* * * *
All I really wish to do is go to sleep, not traverse the space station’s corridors and haul myself to the other end of the facility.
As a restricted personnel lift whisks me from the large central hub level up toward the mining berths, I lean against the wall, the metal feeling pleasantly cool against my bare shoulders. I rarely wear tunics when I am off-duty, unless I am cold. I prefer defaulting to wearing only mybrahkhenwhen not on duty, as many Pfahrn do. This one is fashioned from the same grey material our sector’s uniforms are made of. I have heard humans refer to them as “kilts,” because apparently it is similar to one of their traditional garments.
I defaulted to keeping only one “civvie” brahkhen in my belongings here on the space station, to help conserve precious space. Therefore, I am usually wearing a uniform brahkhen, even when off-duty. When I am officially on duty, I also wear a light uniform tunic that carries several patches which quickly identify me and my sector and department. Right now I am bare-chested and have my ID badge hanging on a lanyard around my neck.
I expect this confrontation will not be pleasant for any of the parties involved.
Most especially not for La’loorn.
The farther I travel and the closer I draw to my destination, the angrier I feel.
Anger is not an emotion I often experience, but there it simmers, right below the surface of my mind.
Anger, and resentment. The only times I can remember feeling truly angry in recent years have occurred over the past several months, and are usually directly due to La’loorn’s actions.
