Quoted By:
“…no, but thanks for asking.” Case in point, you sling the duffle bag on across your shoulder, and bend down to lift the sea chest. “I’ll follow your lead.”
The officers’ berths are situated just beneath the pilot house. Nameplates on doors denote both rank, and whether or not said rank allocated an independent or shared space. Beyond the captain and his XO, you spot nameplates for deck chiefs, marine sergeants, DC officers, among other similarly high-ranking officials. Each department, you notice, seems to have their own shared, private space as to prevent cross-contamination.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the quarters for pilots are aftward, towards the stern of the <span class="mu-i">Calypso</span>. That makes enough sense given the placement of the PUEXO hangars. That’s the direction that Gully takes you towards, all the while attracting a few odd stares from stray and passing crewmembers.
“Your berth’s here,” she says with a disinterested wave. “Feel free to let the quartermaster know if you need any amenities. Showers are timed; you get three minutes of hot water before the tap shuts off. Head cleaning duty is rotated between us every week, but you’re responsible for cleaning up your own messes.”
Not too different from the Duck. You never needed the full five minutes anyway.
The space in question is about as large as you’d expect. Cozy and snug, but not cramped or otherwise claustrophobic. Certainly, you’d seen and <span class="mu-i">slept</span> in worse. You still have PTSD about the coffin racks, and the ungodly, awful smell of unwashed roughneck. Of all the things that Babylonia brought back from the Old World, the mass production of shampoo ranks up there. Hopefully the next big thing they reinvent is Febreze for your PUEXO cockpit.
But you digress. There are two bunks, two closets, a working desk, and a sofa(!). Far more space than what you actually have stuff for. Dust hasn’t had the opportunity to settle either, so there shouldn’t be too much to clean.
“Spacious, isn’t it?” drawls Gully. “But before you ask, no, we aren’t berthing together. Much as it’d be prudent to save space. I’m in the room opposite yours.”
That…was never a question in your mind. Maybe you’re just so used to pilots sharing a desegregated living space. But given who she is, it makes sense for her to get a room that isn’t occupied by another man. Fair as he might be, Elishani probably wouldn’t trust anyone, let alone a fresh male transfer, near his daughter.
Still...four pilots for a ship that can only house two PUEXOs? Seems like overkill.
She checks her watch, sighing. “Look, I’ve got…stuff to do, and you gotta unpack and settle in. Nothing personal, Unami, but I can’t stick around.”
“Of course,” you say with an understanding nod. What else could you really say? She isn't wrong, and the last thing you want to do is step on anyone's toes.
(cont.)
