*
Base-morning came all too soon. Bandicut awoke to a chirruping alarm-clock sound and rolled over, remembering with a shiver the dreams, and then the presence of the quarx in his mind; and for a moment, he wanted to ask, do all of your hosts die in terrible catastrophes, but before he could form the words, he fell asleep again.
The next time he awoke, it was to a brash bugle call in his head, blatting a musical reveille.
/// GOOD MAWWWNIN’, TRITONNNN! ///
He groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow. “What the kr’deekin’ hell?” And then he realized the source, and his vision turned red, even in the darkness of the bunk. /Charlie, what are you—/
/// It’s from an old movie!
Just trying to help you start the day right! ///
/Well, DON’T!/ He practically screamed the words out loud.
/// Sorry . . . I guess I didn’t— ///
/No, you didn’t. I do not like to be awakened that way. Ever. I do not have a sense of humor in the morning./ Bandicut sank back and ran his hand through his hair, blinking in an effort to come fully awake.
/// I really didn’t mean to— ///
/Never mind. Just let me wake up, okay? God, were those your memories I was dreaming?/ The dream images clung to him like cobwebs, vague but troubling.
/// Probably.
I was . . . dreaming . . . myself.
Was it . . . the Fffff’tink? ///
The quarx’s voice was muted, and seemed sad.
He sighed, nodding, and rolled back up on one elbow. /Hell of an autobiography you could write, man./ He was answered by silence, which was perhaps just as well. For a little while, he thought, he would like to hear just one voice in his head. He yanked his privacy-curtain aside and slid down from his bunk. He made no effort to greet the others who were emerging from their cubbies, but went straight into the shower with his wash kit. By the time he came out, somewhat more awake, he saw that Krackey was up. He greeted his friend with a grunt.
“Mining ops today?” Krackey murmured sympathetically.
He nodded and shrugged on his jumpsuit. Krackey seemed to recognize his need for quiet this morning, for which he was grateful.
Not everyone else was so respectful. “Bandicoot!” called Mick Eddison, a tall, whiplike, moodily dispositioned man who worked in the deep mines. “I hear you’re coming down to join us in some real hands-on work today. You going to be one of the guys for a change?”
Bandicut sighed, realizing that there was no hope of avoiding this sort of needling. “Well, Eddie—since you asked—I heard you guys weren’t doing too well down there. Not enough brains, is the way Cole Jackson put it to me. So I offered to come help you out.”
Eddison glared at him, but several of the others guffawed at Eddison’s expense and snapped their towels at him until he shouted, “Keep that up, and I’m gonna put someone’s kreekin’ head through that wall!” That brought some thumping from the opposite side of the wall. Bandicut left to go to breakfast, shaking his head in amused exasperation.
/// Are they always so . . . crude? ///
Charlie wondered on the way to the cafeteria.
/Hah! Charlie, my friend, this is the working man’s world,/ Bandicut answered. /We don’t exactly run what you would call a highbrow operation here./
/// Apparently not.
May I ask: why do they call you Bandicoot? ///
Bandicut took his place in the food service line. /It’s just a dumb nickname they gave me. It’s an animal—either a rat, or a marsupial, depending on whether you’re talking India or Australia. I looked it up. They’re both pretty ugly critters./
/// Oh. I think I see.
Would you like me to call you Bandicoot also? ///
/Try it and you’ll be one dead mokin’ goak,/ Bandicut threatened cheerfully. /Bad enough I have to put up with it from these cretins. From you I expect respect./
Charlie hesitated.
/// Oh. Now I think I see. ///
Bandicut slid a plate of cultured eggs onto his tray, along with some toast and a cup of roastamoke, and looked for a quiet place to sit. He knew he wouldn’t get through breakfast without more ribbing from his coworkers, but most of it turned out to be good natured. He was finally starting to feel almost good—except for a busrobot that was chittering annoyingly at him as he dumped his own breakfast tray—when Eddison walked in and asked loudly, “So whose team are they putting you on, Bandicoot? Whose equipment gets fried today?”
Bandicut handed his empty tray to the robot to shut it up. “Well, now I guess that’s up to Herb, isn’t it?” he said mildly. “If we’re both lucky, it won’t be yours.”
/// Who’s Herb? ///
Charlie asked, preventing him from hearing Eddison’s reply over the muttering of laughter, which was probably just as well.
/Herb Massengale. The mining supervisor./
/// You don’t sound happy. ///
Bandicut followed the general movement of workers down the corridor. /I think, if I had a choice, I’d rather work with Lonnie Stelnik,/ he said.
/// My.
Are all of your supervisors so unpleasant? ///
Bandicut chuckled. /Well, now, haven’t you just put your finger on it. Lemme put it this way. Lonnie Stelnik’s self-centered and ambitious, but at least he’s no dummy. Cole Jackson’s different—he’s a cowardly rule-worshiper—but give him his due, he’s not dumb, either. But Herb Massengale? Well, you’ll see./
Charlie seemed thoughtful.
/Why so quiet, suddenly? Are you wondering why you aliens ever bothered listing humanity on the roll call of sentient species?/ he asked. When there was no answer, he added, /We are on the rolls, aren’t we? Of sentient species?/
/// Mmm. ///
/What the hell does that mean? Oh, I get it—that was a joke, right?/
Charlie seemed to clear his quarxian throat.
/// Sort of.
But the truth is,
I’m wondering about the people in authority here.
Their character . . . well, we must take it into account,
when we make our plans. ///
/Ah./ Bandicut grunted. /I wish I could offer you more encouragement on that score./ He followed a group of men toward the ready room, but paused when he heard Gordon Kracking’s voice behind him in the corridor.
“Bandie—didn’t you look at the postings this morning?”
He turned around. “No, I looked last night. Why?”
Krackey caught up with him. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be upstairs for a hearing on your accident.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. I work on the system board, don’t I?”
Bandicut grinned. “Reprieve! Thanks, Krackey.” He turned and started back the other way, heading for the pole up.