Free Downtime by Cynthia Felice

scrolled plats. “I’ve taken the liberty of
recommending the required corrective actions. If you agree, you can just
initial them.”
    “Correctives?”
Jason said, snapping open the first plat. “What sort of discrepancies did you
find?” Before the chief could answer, Jason read the first item and shook his
head. “These pipes weren’t in the specifications.”
    “They
are now, sir. Commander Calla ordered them this morning.”
    “You’re
not going to show them as spec discrepancies,” Jason said, crumpling the plat
between his fingers. “Write a formal spec change, get Calla Commander Calla to
approve it, give my people sufficient time to respond, and then we’ll talk
about discrepancies.”
    “The
spec change authorization is in her comm-queue. She left orders not to be
disturbed. She will sign it, of course, since she ordered it. I had hoped to
save time with corrective action orders, which you can sign.”
    Jason
frowned, less because of what the chief was saying than the odor he was
emanating — esters. The smell was beginning to fill the comm-room. The
Praetorian comm-tech had started edging away from him, as if she were curious
about the communication console. “Chief, how did you manage to acquire the
stink of esters?”
    “Sorry,
sir,” Marmion said, his big face growing red. “It’s the danae.”
    “I
know where it comes from. I asked how you acquired it.”
    “An
accident. I guess I startled them, and . . .”
    “Accident?
Were you armed?”
    “No,
sir. I was on an inspection tour with Commander Calla, and . . .”
    Jason
waved off further explanation; he knew what happened when danae were startled.
So did the ranger comm-tech, who was grinning. Jason smiled, too. As long as
the danae weren’t hurt, he, too, could see the humor in the situation. “You’ve
probably fouled the shuttle’s waste collector. You used sonics to wash off the
shit, right?”
    “Yes,
sir. It seems not to come off easily.”
    “Blowers
on full,” Jason said to the room-tender. Jelly beans brightened in the nitrogen
tank as the overhead vents started to pour in fresh air. The Praetorian’s face
reddened even more. “Relax, Marmion. I’ll take you back to my quarters and give
you some lye soap and the use of my shower. That will take it off. Sonics aren’t
good enough.”
    “Lye?”
Marmion said, his eyes widening.
    “Door
open,” Jason said to the room-tender. He gestured for Marmion to follow him.
The chief glanced back at his comm-tech as if he wanted to say something. “It’s
all standard gear. She’ll figure it out.”
    “Yes,
sir,” Marmion said, and followed Jason out the door. The comm-room was on the
terrace with the offices and private quarters to make shorter wire-runs from
hardwired equipment to surface structures. Jason’s room was only a few doors
away.
    “Open,”
Jason said. “Admit two.” His room-tender made no assumptions on how many might
enter or exit as did the tenders in general duty rooms. He put the inspection
reports on his desk, went into the bathroom and pulled a rough-cut bar of lye
soap from the cabinet. He went back into the main room, handed Marmion the
soap, and pointed toward the bathroom. “I’ll look over the other inspection
reports while you clean up. There’s a clean set of fatigues on the shelf; they’ll
suffice until you get back to Red Rocks.”
    “Thank
you, sir,” Marmion said, but he seemed terribly embarrassed.
    “Don’t
worry about it,” Jason said. “Almost all of us have had similar experiences.
There’s lye soap in almost every ranger’s bath. Just remember to keep your eyes
closed while using it. You’ll find out why if you forget.”
    “Yes,
sir,” Marmion said with a wary glance at the soap.
    He
disappeared into the bathroom, and Jason went to read the reports.
    There
were a few real discrepancies, some troughs not quite correctly inclined and
wall thickness outside the tolerances. All appeared to be correctable