Murder on a Moon Trek

Chapter 24: Following Orders

I couldn't let Neptune know what I'd figured out. I used the excuse of removing my bubble helmet and placing it on the bench behind me to buy enough time to collect myself. The doors to the uniform ward opened, and Captain Swift came in. His bright red hair was reflected in the gold trim on his uniform.

"Lt. Stryker," he addressed me. "Good to see you at your station."

"It's my job to follow orders, Captain."

He nodded as if he agreed, but his expression looked conflicted. After a beat of silence, he turned to Neptune. "You're assisting Lt. Stryker in her duties?"

"I wanted to make sure she showed up to her post. Until she officially resumes management of the uniform ward, she's my responsibility."

Captain turned toward me. "Lt. Stryker, we all appreciate your dedication to the ship. When we turn you over to M-13, I'll give you a commendation. It might make your transition easier."

I didn't know if the proper response to his offer was thank you or a different expression I'd heard from the language library that cataloged curse words from Earth. I chose to nod my head once in acknowledgment of his offer. He stared at me for a few seconds as if expecting more. When I said nothing, he turned back to Neptune.

"There's a problem with the hull."

"Engineering fixed that on day one."

Captain Swift looked at me. I pretended to be busy with the uniforms. The two of them stepped a few feet away so I couldn't hear. Well, shoot.

I continued to work while the captain and Neptune conversed. A problem with the hull? Again? I was rapidly losing faith in the Moon Unit 5 assembly crew. Or was "problem with the hull" a code phrase, like "the dog barks at midnight?" Were they just making an excuse to move out of earshot and talk about me?

I was a second lieutenant and should have been all but invisible on this whole journey, yet five days in I had two high-ranking officers in my ward and a tracking chip in the base of my skull. I continued pretending to sort uniforms. It didn't matter if I kept them organized or not. I could fix whatever I did after the two men left. Right now, my attention was on them.

I opened the closet door wider and looked in the mirror on the inside. Neptune and Captain Swift's reflections were visible. Neptune was facing me, and the captain had his back to me. Neptune caught my eye and said something to the captain. They turned around and left.

Until I was dumped off on M-13, it was clear that my role in the room was to act as the uniform lieutenant, so that's what I did. I collected the soiled uniforms from the laundry chute. The uniform manager wasn't the most glamorous post on the ship, but for now, it was mine.

Each Moon Unit was equipped with a wall of dry cleaning devices. I pulled a garment screen out of its slot, attached the uniform to the screen by clips at the shoulder, cuff, and hem, and slid the screen into the narrow slot. Once I had all ten of the screens filled with uniforms, I sent a channel of sanitizing steam through the machines. I repeated the process two times, and then one by one removed the panels, unclipped the uniforms, and returned them to the inventory closet.

When the soiled uniforms were clean, I attacked the pile of uniforms that I'd dropped in the hallway. I sorted by size and color and then folded the uniforms neatly. A few had wrinkled badly while sitting in disarray, so I set them aside for pressing. I would not be responsible for Yeoman D'Nar catching anyone else on the ship in a wardrobe violation for improper uniform condition. If this was to be my station on the ship, then I was going to be the best darn uniform lieutenant they'd ever had. They would rue the day they questioned my commitment to my assignment.

The task was calming. For the first time since departure, I was doing work I could do in my sleep. I took my set of keys from the cabinet where I'd kept the BOP and unlocked the cage in the corner. The uniform press folded out, away from the wall. I inserted an energy charge into the base of it and switched it on. Seconds later the upper and lower panels of the press glowed neon orange. I slipped the first uniform onto the press and lowered the panels so they met, much like the press I'd rigged on Plunia to toast two sides of a sandwich at the same time. A thin stream of smoke trickled out and I opened it back up. The fabric of our uniforms was heat resistant. Some unexpected particle must have transferred onto a uniform, and I didn't want to ruin the press the first time I used it.

The uniform on the press was magenta like mine. I ran my fingertips across the surface, identifying a rough patch.

"Stryker." Neptune's voice tore my attention from the uniform. "You're to finish out your shift and then retire to your quarters. I'll have dinner brought to you. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning."

"Aren't you going to tell me what that was about?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"Why not? Because I'm a prisoner?"

"You're not a prisoner. You're a crew member."

"Yeah, right." I pulled the uniform off the press and tossed it onto the bench. "So, this is my life now. Sorting uniforms and keeping them wrinkle-free, at least until we land and then who knows? I guess when we're done I could get a job at a space laundromat. What with all of the sorting and pressing skills I will have perfected while on Moon Unit 5."

Neptune pressed his lips together like he wanted to say something but didn't. He left. I burned off a little of my anger by walking to the far end of the uniform ward and then back three times. The inactive alert on the uniform press beeped. I picked up the next wrinkled garment on my pile and fitted it onto the device. I repeated the process on autopilot for the rest of the uniforms on the wrinkled pile, ending with a neat stack of folded uniforms organized by size and color. The only one that sat by itself was the first one I'd pressed that had caused the press to sizzle.

I looked at the fabric more closely. Again, I had to run my fingertips over the surface of the uniform to identify the rough patch. The surface had cooled considerably, and the blob had hardened, making it easier to find. It was just above the insignia. I pulled an identification scanner out of the cabinet and positioned it on top of the hard spot, and then pressed my eye up against the lens and looked closely at the now-magnified section of fabric. With the ultraviolet light of the scanner illuminating the section in question, I made out a faint transfer of pearly blue now fused into the tight weave of the magenta heat resistant fabric.

I knew that pearly blue. It was the shade of nail polish worn by Yeoman D'Nar.

Yeoman D'Nar was a first officer. She'd been among the crew who'd boarded before I'd gotten clearance. She could have come to the uniform ward because it was part of her responsibility, but I had to wonder if she'd had a different reason to be in there before departure? Like killing the second navigation officer and sabotaging engineering herself?