Free The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) by Christopher Nuttall Page B

side of the sector, he noted; Amstar was in the rough centre, surrounded by a number of other multiracial worlds.  There was surprisingly little data on all of the worlds, save for charts showing gravity points and pre-war trade routes.  God alone knew what half of them looked like now.  The squadron had collected a great deal of intelligence, but most of it was contradictory.  It was impossible to tell what might be waiting for them at Amstar.
     
    The hatch opened.  He turned and straightened in his seat as the Senior Chief entered, then rose.  Technically, as a commissioned officer, he was Siskin’s superior, but only a complete idiot of an ensign would take that for granted.  The Senior Chief, like the XO, dated back all the way to the pre-Contact wet navy.  He had more practical experience than all of Thomas’s graduating class put together.
     
    “Ensign,” Siskin said.
     
    “Chief,” Thomas said.  He hesitated, unsure if he should ask for help or not, then took the plunge.  “I can't draw anything else useful from these files.”
     
    Siskin gave him a considering look.  “You can't get into them or there’s nothing important in them?”
     
    “There's very little important in them,” Thomas said.  “I thought the Tokomak had a fetish for recording everything.”
     
    “They do,” Siskin said.  “Natural bureaucrats, the lot of them.  Everything must be signed and dated in triplicate before they’ll get off their butts and do something.  But that doesn't mean they’ll share everything they know with the peons.  Can't have the peons knowing too much about how the universe works, can we?”
     
    “No, sir,” Thomas said.
     
    “Wrong answer,” Siskin said.  He smiled, rather dryly.  “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.”
     
    “I don’t know where to look,” Thomas confessed.  He rubbed his eyes, tiredly.  “I’m not even sure why the XO gave me this job.”
     
    “To see what you did with it,” Siskin said.  “If you needed to know something, Ensign, how would you find it out?”
     
    Thomas frowned.  “Look it up online,” he said.  “The naval database has lots of data.”
     
    “So it does,” Siskin agreed.  “And what would you do if the database doesn’t include information you need?  Like, perhaps, how to slot a missile launcher into a modified casing?”
     
    “Oh,” Thomas said, remembering.  It had been one of the tests for young officers, back when he’d boarded the ship and he had a feeling he’d failed it, although no one had given him a definite answer.  There had been nothing in the files, but when he’d asked the Senior Chief in despair he’d been told that the launcher needed to be adjusted manually when it was halfway into the casing.  “I’d ask someone with more experience.”
     
    He looked down at the deck for a long moment.  “But who on this ship has ... oh.”
     
    “Oh, indeed,” Siskin said.  “Why don't you ask Captain Ryman?”
     
    Thomas looked back at the files on his screen.  “I thought I was meant to find out what the files said ...”
     
    “You were told to learn what you can about the Druavroks,” Siskin corrected.  “Did the XO specifically tell you not to ask Captain Ryman or his crew?  They have something no one else on the ship has, Ensign: direct personal contact with our potential enemies.  You should ask them before we reach Amstar.”
     
    Thomas glanced at the wall-mounted display.  They’d spent four days in transit, with three more to go before they arrived at their destination.  He’d hoped he’d find something useful in the files, something that would make the XO notice him as more than just another wet behind the ears ensign, but nothing had appeared.  Indeed, the ship’s intelligence staff had probably already come to the same conclusion.
     
    “I’ll ask the doctor if I can speak to Captain Ryman,” he said.  “Thank you, chief.”
     
    “Make sure you don't