Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [38]
“Arrk-arn ksh sawrron.”
Teela chuckled. She’d understood that well enough. “Yes, yes, I’ll put it in writing.”
These old metal benders and rivet pounders always thought they knew better than the architect when it came down to the actual construction. Sometimes they did, which was fine. But no matter what, they’d stick to the approved plan like a preprogrammed droid with permabond on its wheels to make sure they didn’t get scalded by the sector work boss.
She couldn’t blame the Wook for wanting it in writing. Early in her career Teela had taken verbal orders from a designer. No big deal, just some interior frame spec on a resiplex he thought was silly, so he’d told her to use a different grade of durasteel and, when she’d seemed uncertain, had assured her it was plenty strong enough to handle the job and a lot cheaper, so what was the problem? She’d shrugged and done what he’d asked. When the inspectors came around and refused to approve the building, the designer had been very quick to point out that his assistant must have made that decision all on her own, because the plans—and he—had specifically called for 9095-T8511 grade on that scaffold frame, and if his assistant had used 9093-T7511? Well, it didn’t matter that the alloy and heat-treat could easily take the load if the plans called for the higher grade, now, did it?
He had hung her out to twist in the breeze. Later, when Teela had stormed into the designer’s office to give him a piece of her mind, he had laughed at her. She needed to learn how to play in the real galaxy, he’d told her. If you got caught, you passed the blame along. What she should have done, he’d said, was laid it onto the obviously blind and stupid construction crew chief who had selected the wrong alloy. He could read a plan, couldn’t he?
Teela couldn’t prove anything and she wasn’t stupid. After that, she made certain to get any deviations from the plans appended to the work order in writing. So she knew exactly what the old Wookiee was thinking.
“Don’t worry about it now,” she said. “You have to get the heat exchangers into the barracks before you’d start on piddly stuff like ports, anyhow.”
“Arrrrnn rowwlnnn.” Well, yes, Hahrynyar allowed, that was the way a smart builder would do things.
“Go, then. Somebody has mislaid my shipment of triaxial fiber-optic cable and I’ve got to run it down. Get the exchangers unpacked and a crew started installing them, and we’ll get back to the philosophy of exhaust ports later, okay?”
The old Wookiee nodded and headed off. Teela watched him lumber away for a second, then turned her attention to the next problem. Never a dull moment, the day was never long enough, and they sure didn’t pay her enough …
She had to smile at that. The pay might not be much, but it was better than living in a pesthole down on a planet full of murdering scum. Even cantankerous old Hahrynyar couldn’t argue with that.
GUNNERY COMMAND, ISD STEEL TALON
Tenn Graneet stuck his head into the CO’s office. “You wanted to see me, Cap?”
His commanding officer looked up from his flimsiwork. “Come in, Tenn.”
Tenn ducked slightly to pass through the hatch. Captain Hoberd’s office looked, as usual, like the local A-grav had somehow suffered a massive flux in just this room; data-chips were piled haphazardly on the floor, the two holopics on opposite walls—one was an image of Hoberd’s graduating class, the other of his wife, Linesee, and their two kids; Tenn could never remember their names—hung constantly askew, and Hoberd’s Silver Valor medal was dangling from the upper hinge of a wall cabinet. Every time Tenn entered the CO’s office, the medal was dangling from a different location—on one or the other of the family pics, from the small alumabronze sculpture on his desk, even swinging slightly in the breeze directly beneath the air vent … he couldn’t recall ever seeing it in the same place twice. Droot and some of the others reported the same experience. No one ever saw him move it, and no one knew why he did. It was just a quirk of the captain’s. Those unfamiliar with