The mess hall was on the right hand side of the passage, about halfway down as they had been told. It was a rectangular lounge, not unlike the one that Dan had been briefed in the day before. The kitchenette area had been converted to a full kitchen and a small team of people were serving behind a long table. Three longer tables had been set up in the main part of the room and already over a dozen people were eating, a mix of Consortium and Earthsiders.
Plates and utensils to one side were similar enough to identify, but different enough for them to inspect and talk about. The spoons were longer handled, with shovel-like bowls. The forks had three prongs and indeed the sign above them had been mistranslated as "food trident."
They found plates and lined up. The main dish was a stir fry of some sort, with beans, an oval grain that might have been rice but was thicker, and numerous vegetables mixed in. Next to it was a plate of round pale yellow balls of what turned out to be, when Kleppie tentatively took a bite, some sort of potato. Each ball was filled with a vegetable mix, covered in a hash brown consistency potato and fried. There were biscuits, tea, coffee and juice to one side.
Dan followed Fox and found a place at the table. Across from him was a stocky man with olive complected skin. He was wearing a blue shirt and pants, and Dan recognized him as the man he saw across the decontamination chamber yesterday. Dan could place the man now, James Runningbear or something like that. He was an ensign, on his first tour of duty. Fox seemed to know him well and greeted him warmly. "Runningbear, what's up?"
Runningbear scowled.
Was he always this cheerful? Dan thought.
Runningbear wiped his brow. "Not sure about these guys," he muttered, glancing around.
"These guys," Fox said, "saved your ass yesterday, in case you forgot."
"Still," Runningbear said. He leaned in. "In the line I saw a holo projection of some of their crew. They wanted their breakfast brought to them, so they didn't have to come down and be around us."
"We were just enemies a few weeks ago," Dan said, "I know a lot of Americans don't trust their goodwill."
"You can say that again," Runningbear agreed.
"Maybe some of them don't trust us, either," Dan finished quickly.
"Not trust us?" Runningbear spat. "We aren't the ones that attacked them without provocation." Down the table several heads nodded in agreement.
"This stuff's not bad," Dan commented, gesturing at his stir fry. He mostly wanted to change the subject. Whatever they thought of their saviors, it wouldn't do for the men to be nursing old wounds. They were at the Consortium's mercy until they were better, regardless of how they felt about it.
"Ain't breakfast food," Runningbear muttered, unappeased.
"No, but it's not bad," Fox said. He dropped half a spoonful back on the plate, "if I could get used to eating with my left hand, that is."
Their breakfast was interrupted by a ship wide announcement from the Consortium captain that meals would only be served in the two designated mess halls on the upper level of the crew quarters on either side. A map flashed across a nearby view screen to show the locations. Only designated personnel were able to order meals to go, and only under the captain's orders. She reminded them that support crew was spread thin.
After her announcement, Captain Lannister came on and announced a debriefing for their crew, in the front medical bay, where they had entered the ship.
"Fox?" Sutton's voice interrupted the men as they left breakfast.
Fox turned, "Chief Sutton, Sir." He snapped to attention and then froze. Which was worse, to not salute or to salute left handed? Both were breaches in protocol. Sutton was his immediate superior and not one to take any breach lightly.
Sutton gave him a long look, letting Fox squirm and then nodded. "I wanted to talk to you a moment, Fox," he said. "Please join me in my quarters."
Fox nodded and followed Sutton down the hall. The officers had been quartered in a mid hallway. Sutton's room was little more than a rectangular efficiency at the end of the hall but it was a single room, compared to Fox and the others bunking up four to a room.
"I am working on my report for the captain," Sutton began, indicating a low stool for Fox to sit on. Sutton perched on the edge of his bunk, watching Fox closely.
Fox bit back a snort. He looked around the barren room.
"Yes," Sutton said. "I've no log books here. I must ask them for something, surely they have paper?"
"I don't know, sir," Fox replied. "They use those tablet, slate things. Maybe all their records are digital."
"Anyway," Sutton went on, tapping the side of his head. "I am working on my report here for now. Everything that happened yesterday and now, today."
"Okay, sir."
"There is one important discrepancy as far as I can tell, to the emergency procedures yesterday."
Fox stiffened. He knew Sutton. His chief wasn't referring to the obvious things, like a nuclear blast or the appearance of an alien spaceship to rescue them. "Yes, sir?"
"Where were you supposed to be when the general alert was called?"
"I know, sir. I was... exploring a lead. I didn't realize the alert was not a drill and I didn't think I would have another opportunity."
"And?" Sutton leaned forward, a light in his eyes.
He wants another arrest, another feather in his cap or mark on his record, whatever will get him promoted to a better job than ship's master of arms.
Fox thought. In his mind he could see the pill bottle in his hand, his right hand. The nuclear blast had shoved the whole ship and sent him sprawling against the wall. Dizzy he had managed to get back to his feet, had one second to think the pill bottle was still in his grasp, before the munitions locker went.
"Sir, I am still investigating. I have nothing new to report at this time."
"You're sure?"
I am not covering for him, Fox swore, but I owe him a chance to explain, especially before I destroy his career.
"Yes, sir. I am sure."
"Fine then, I understand." After a pause. "How long do you think you will be off duty with this?"
Having my right arm blown off? "Sir, I have no idea," Fox said.
"Very well then, you are dismissed."
A sixteen year old Fox sat on the narrow bed in their home in Window Rock, the capital of the Navaho Nation. He'd heard his father come in and talk to his mom, but he knew better than to go out to him. Dad would come to him in his own time.
The door opened. Fox stared at the ground, unable to meet his father's eye.
"Fighting at school," Dad swore. "At your age! You know this suspension could go on your record?"
"Dad, there's an..."
"An explanation?" Dad interrupted. "I should hope so, and I hope it's a good one, because if you still plan on going into the military or the police force, they will be wanting it, ten years from now, twenty. Don't you realize how something like this can follow you forever?"
"Dad, it was James Runningbear. He was saying stuff about you."
"Runningbear? I thought you two got along. Oh yeah, I busted his cousin a couple of weeks ago. I can guess what he was saying."
"She's probably going to lose her kids," Fox mumbled, his cheeks flushing as he said it. Dad had pulled Lily Prancingdeer over for a traffic stop. She had drug paraphernalia in her car, in plain view. Dad didn't have a choice, but now protective services was considering taking her children.
Dad sighed, a deep heavy sigh. "Yeah, she probably is. And I supposed Runningbear thinks I'm a white man's indian, a race traitor, for busting her.
Fox nodded.
"Maybe he's right," Dad said. Fox looked up, startled.
"I've heard it my whole life, son. Hell, my grandpa, he was a race traitor. Took a deal with the white man, and here we are on the reservation now, instead of running free."
"He did what he had to do," Fox defended.
"Of course he did. We all do. But no matter what you do, it's going to be wrong, according to some people. Do have any idea how often I am asked to bend the rules for some Dine, for a brother. If I don't, I'm a race traitor. Or how many times I am asked to bend the rules for someone at the office, because it might make their job easier?"
His father pulled out the chair from behind Fox's desk and sat down, facing him. "You want to grow and be a cop someday? Get used to it. Everyone has their own idea of right and wrong and they'll want you to bend this way and that to accommodate them."
"What do you?" Fox asked.
"You have got to figure out right and wrong for yourself and stick to that. Don't ever let anyone to persuade you accept their truth, find your own."