The owners of the Zheng He obviously had a thing about ancient China. There was plastic bamboo even in the landing bay. Joe handed the big red box to a loading clerk and shuffled off with his kit bag to find a cabin.
The entrance foyer was about four floors high. Lower down the walls were covered with ink on silk calligraphy. Translations alongside explained the story of Zheng He. It was him on the murals overhead. He was apparently an early taikonaut. Except the pictures showed Chinese sailing junks. Joe was too tired to sort it out. Maybe he’d come back after a nights sleep.
The inevitable Pretty Petty Officer at the reception desk said “Standing orders Sir. Keep your suit on whenever you’re on duty. It came out right after The Dauntless was attacked. It seems more people would have lived if they had their suits on. Most of us have our helmets at our waist. Off duty wear what you like but be advised we are in a war zone and could lose air at short notice. At the moment we are on Zulu Time and three eight hour shifts. Meals are normally three a day with snacks whenever. If necessary we will double up on two twelve-hour shifts. There should be no sexual relations between crew members.” She smiled at that. “As an officer you get your own cabin, but that could alter if we take more troops aboard.
Now Sir I need to put this comms unit in your ear. If you could lean towards me. It’s just a small injection. It will put the chip just under your skin. Oooh. You have one already. Is that from The Vengeance? Well now you have two. There. Now one more thing. This wise old man with the wisdom of the ages will show you the way to your room. I’m not kidding Sir.”
She programmed a small “ivory” carving of an old man in a big straw hat that was sitting cross-legged on the counter. The carving stood up. Floated above the counter, bowed and said. “Diu lay lo mo hail gwai. Follow me Sir”. It flew off. Joe followed.
The ship was “Chinese” everywhere. The grav shafts had gold and red dragons on their walls. The corridors gave the impression you were inside a Guan Daosheng landscape painting. The ivory statue floated on through corridors and lobbies to “The Corridor of Ten Thousand Bamboo Poles in a Cloudy Mist.” The wise old carving stopped at a screen door with 22142 written in a script that resembled coiled dragons. It slid open and the carving said “Your room Sir” before flying away.
The walls were lined with basketwork. The furniture was black lacquer. Controls to media, entertainment and food were shaped like netski. This was luxury. It even had a bathroom. There was real water pouring from the mouths of gold dragons. A bath made from “Ming” china. All synthetic, but Joe wasn’t complaining. He soaked and soaked. Then put in more water till his fingers wrinkled and he woke to find he was almost drowning.
He got out. The towel was covered in Wen Zhengming reproductions. The bed cover was a large version of “Early Spring” by Guo Xi.
Joe found the box in his suit and got out the Mirconian Carving. It was real. It was better than all the fakery on this ship. All the reproductions and copies. This was real. He put it on a shelf by the bed. He should send a message to Alicia.
But he slept.
“Leng gwai. It is time to rise Sir. Tset ha, tset ha. The morning pleasures await your company.”
“What?” Joe raised his head from the pillow. It was a girl in ancient Chinese dress. Except it was a hologram. “Oh. Right.” He put his suit back on. He must ask what all this Chinese meant. If it was Chinese.
The first thing was to post the crystal carving back to Earth. He would try to get it in the official mail to a mate in the Colonial Office. Then he could pick it up when back on Earth. He would see Alicia’s face when he gave it to her.
But first food. The grand dining hall of some Emperors Palace was serving Navy food. On Navy benches and tables. Hundreds of people queuing up for beef sausages in ketchup. Groundnut stew with real goat. Martian ox slices. Chicken in lime chutney. And a thousand flavours of slug. Great.
“Come on there Big Man. All the scran yer bagie can take eh?” said a cook. “Kyel fer ye? Pot pie? Hows about black pudin? Pease pudin? Finan hadie? Harrins? Flaps ay dumplins?”
“Ah Dumplings please and, ah…”
“Sir? Are you the Comms Officer from Vengeance?” said someone.
“Yes,” said Joe.
“Sir. Its time to report in Sir” said the Leading Rating. “If you could follow me Sir”
“Hey big man. Hers yer scranchum in baps, afor ye go, eh?”
“Thanks.” Joe ate the pork sandwich as he went
The comms centre was
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