The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [42]
Hoshi tried to think of a topic of conversation, and at last noticed that all the soldiers’ plates were heaped high with food. They’d apparently just sat down, and were getting ready to dig in. She lifted her fork—and immediately the MACOs began shoveling in lunch with a speed and efficiency that was astonishing.
She nodded at Romero’s plate. “Looks like you’ve all gotten your space legs.”
Kemper, a ruddy-faced blond, grinned and shared an amused look with Romero. Spacesickness had definitely been an issue for them, and some kind of running joke. He finished chewing the huge mouthful of food he’d taken and swallowed. “Some of us are still visiting Dr. Phlox every morning.”
Romero rolled his eyes at the memory of more unpleasant moments. “Wonders of modern medicine.”
Hoshi was pleased; the conversational ball was rolling. She turned to the blond MACO. “What do you think of our doctor, Sergeant? I imagine you don’t run into many Denobulans in Canton, Ohio.”
The soldiers all reacted with surprise; at first, Hoshi didn’t understand why. She had such an ear for dialect that she hadn’t even realized she’d mentioned Canton. She wasn’t trying to show off—it was just that she’d written a dissertation on the Midwestern “o”—long and round, with its Scandinavian influence.
“Actually, I’m stationed outside of Atlanta,” Kemper said. He was a little taken aback. “No Denobulans, but we have our fair share of alien visitors.” He paused, forkful of food hovering an inch from his mouth, then said, “You must’ve gone pretty deep into our records. I haven’t lived in Ohio since junior high school.”
Great, Hoshi thought, now they think I’ve been prying. She smiled again and explained, “You may have left Canton, but you’ve still got plenty of Canton left in your inflections.”
Kemper frowned, puzzled. “Excuse me?”
Inflections—not a common term, except for someone in her profession. Hoshi tried to think of an alternative word, and was stumped.
Fortunately, Major Hayes saved the day. Bemused, he paused in his voracious eating long enough to say, “Ensign Sato’s a linguist, Kemper. Give her enough time, she could probably tell you what street you grew up on.”
Kemper’s guarded expression turned into one of respect.
Corporal Chang, slender and brown-skinned, with delicate features that no doubt belied his physical strength, asked softly, “Do you have any idea where we’re headed, Ensign?”
Hoshi was now at a true loss. As an ensign, it was not her place to give out such information unless she was ordered to do so. In her best effort at tact, she said, “I’m sure Captain Archer will let us know when he has reason to.”
Major Hayes suddenly became all business. “Let’s hope it’s soon,” he said, his tone flinty. “The quicker you folks find these Xindi, the quicker we can get to work.”
He rose abruptly; Hoshi glanced down and saw, to her astonishment, that his plate was completely empty.
The others rose a mere half-second after their commander—once again, in unison.
“Ma’am,” Hayes said.
The four of them moved swiftly to the door.
Hoshi watched them go with a sense of disappointment: this was not going to be as easy as she anticipated. They were suffering, just like every Enterprise crew member, from a sense of frustration because of the waiting. Even more disturbing, they seemed to think that they were the real ones in charge of the mission; the Enterprise was simply providing the ride.
Hoshi sighed and began to eat her curry—extra hot, the way she liked it. Captain Archer—and Lieutenant Reed, especially—weren’t going to appreciate the MACOs’ attitude. She sensed trouble brewing, but had no idea how to stop it.
* * *
In one of the lower level corridors, Trip Tucker and Captain Archer were on the move.
Trip forced himself to try to attain his usual sense of alertness, of focus on the task at hand. It was impossible, but he did a fairly good job of going through the motions.
He loved his job, he told himself. Loved being in space. Now that the stakes had