Sample from ExForce19: Ground State

“Commodore, it appears we suddenly have plenty of time. Please continue the tour.”

He showed me the ship he was very proud to be master of. Then he insisted I stay for

afternoon tea precisely at 1600, and then dinner. Tea, not coffee. I drink coffee in the mornings,

for medicinal purposes. But later in the day, I do prefer tea. Tea, with milk and maple syrup.

Aboard Andromeda, I settled for a lump of sugar, that was fine. Before dinner, we had cocktails.

UN Navy ships were generally ‘dry’, no alcohol allowed. Valkyrie got an exemption because we

were often away from home port for an extended time. Andromeda was nominally a Royal Navy

ship, because that ship’s captain was British. So, we enjoyed Royal Navy traditional ‘pink gin’

before an excellent dinner. A few drops of Angostura bitters in a glass, then a slug of gin, fill the

rest of the glass with water. No ice. When dinner was done, we drank tiny glasses of sherry, to

toast the health of the King. That was interesting. My expectation was we would all stand when

toasting the King, but we remained seated. An ensign later explained that is a custom from the

days of wooden sailing ships, where low ceilings would cause the dinner guests to bang their

heads. Because it was a Monday, the Loyal Toast was followed by a toast to, “Our ships in the

darkness of space.”

The Loyal Toast caused a problem. No, me as an American citizen drinking a toast to the

British monarch was not an issue, I was just being polite. Also, as far as I knew, the King wasn’t

a dick, so good for him. The problem was Skippy called me after dinner, all excited, as I rode the

elevator down to Dniester’s spine. “Joe! Joe, Joe, Joe-”

“Jeez, Skippy,” I winced as his voice boomed in my earpiece. “Is a reactor about to

explode?”

“No. If sudden death was that imminent, I would spend the last precious moments trying

to protect my Elvis memorabilia, not by talking with you.”

“Probably not. What is it?’

“After dinner, you drank a toast to the health of the King.”

“It’s a Royal Navy tradition, Skippy, it wasn’t my idea.”

“I have an idea.”

“I hate this already.”

“Oh, shut up. Joe, after dinner aboard all UN Navy ships, the crew should drink a toast, to

honor my continued and extreme awesomeness.”

“Yeah, that is a fantastically amazing idea that is never going to happen.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his avatar appearing with tiny hands on his hips.

“You are not a king, dumbass.”

“Dumbass?” He gasped. The elevator jerked to a halt. “Let’s see if you like-”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Just, don’t. I am not in the mood for your usual

bullshit right now.”

“I am never in the mood for your bullshit, so-”

“Gerken showed me how you feel, when I dream up a simple and obvious solution to a

problem. It sucks. I actually am sorry for humiliating you, recently.”

“Um, recently? You don’t regret all the other times you humiliated me?”

“Nah. At first, it was fun to take your arrogant ass down a notch. Then, truthfully, I kept

expecting you would eventually smarten up and-”

“Huuuuuh,” he gasped. “Smarten up? ME? How dare you, I should-”

“That was my fault, sorry. You are extremely awesome the way you are. We make a great

team, the best. I dream up whacky, impractical ideas, and you make them happen.”

“True. That is all the more reason why a toast to me-”

“How about we drink a toast to you, before karaoke night?”

“Hmm. Aboard all UN Navy ships?”

“Not all ships have a karaoke night.”

“What is wrong with them?”

“They don’t have access to your incredible talent, so why bother?”

“Well, I suppose that is a very good point. OK,” he sighed. The elevator resumed moving.

“For the full effect, I have to be there for the toast anyway, so we will confine the tradition to

Valkyrie. Do not be surprised if other ships adopt the tradition.”

“If that ever does happen, my brain will explode.”

“Oh, shut up. Why do you have to ruin everything?”

“That’s just me.”

“Hmmph. Ooooh, I just had another thought.”

“Please no.”

“I need to develop an exciting new cocktail as a tribute to myself, for the toast.”

“Karaoke nights are generally dry.”

“You cannot drink a toast with water, numbskull. Hmmm, let me think. The Royal Navy

has pink gin, I need something that uniquely captures my essence.”

“How about a cocktail glass with stale beer, and a lump of overheated bullshit?”

The elevator jerked to a stop again. It was going to be a long evening.

I was wrong, again. While multiple ships were attached to a star carrier, crews usually

were invited to visit other ships, to meet old friends, to eat some food they didn’t get every week,

or just to get a change of scenery. Boyko heard about our karaoke night, and offered to host a

big, multi-ship karaoke party, in one of Dniester’s large cargo bays. That was good. Not so good

was why that bay was empty. Typically, the space truck would be crammed with extra supplies

for the crews of its attendant ships, plus spare parts and consumables to keep those ships flying

and fighting. Boyko had submitted a request for all the usual stuff, and had been told many items

simply were not available. The UN Navy was running out of critical components again, with no

prospect that the shortages would be relieved anytime soon. Earth’s industrial base was still not

capable of producing quality copies of the Maxohlx and Rindhalu tech that made our captured

warships work. Humanity was still struggling to make the machines that could be used to make

other machines, that could make shield generators, virtual jump coil projectors, even structural

frames that were impossibly strong.

Anyway, why the cargo bay was empty isn’t what I was wrong about. Karaoke night was

the day before we arrived at the wormhole near the decoy Gateway site, and the makeshift dance

hall was packed. Before the first song, while people were mingling and talking, refreshments

were served. Skippy had concocted a half dozen recipes for a ‘Skiptail’, to capture in liquid form

the essence of what makes him awesome. They were all freakin’ awful, I know because I tasted

them all, so no one else would have to suffer for my mistake. On my advice, he dropped the

champagne, which none of the ships had enough bottles of anyway. Instead of champagne, we

substituted seltzer water, despite Skippy’s grumbling. Then gin, because he had it stuck in his

head that gin was the drink of Navy personnel. Also rum, that was what pirates drink, according

to him. Add lime juice, and Grenadine syrup. Finally, a cherry because according to Skippy, all

of the best cocktails included a cherry. Pitchers of the awful Skiptail were made, and poured into

small plastic shot glasses. I led the audience in a toast to Skippy, and I did my best to sound

sincere.

The audience knew the truth. They replied with an enthusiastic “TTA” to my toast, and

that became a thing. The other ships took up the new tradition, though perhaps not in the way

Skippy intended. Before a ship’s karaoke night, or movie night, or whatever morale activity was

scheduled for that week, the crew mixed up a custom ‘shocktail’; any combination of flavors that

made an awful drink no one liked. Someone raised a glass with ‘To Skippy’, and the crew

responded with ‘TTA’. For the reply, people cupped their glass in their palms, middle finger

raised in a salute to Skippy.

When he heard about that, he was so mad.

Of course, that later encouraged the new tradition to go viral throughout the fleet.

He was especially angry with me, believing I had given people the bad idea to mock him

during the toast.

He might be right about that.

I regret nothing.