Meriweather and Henroid, Or...

A Star Spawn Short Story by
Thomas Nevin Huber ©1992

    They marched her right past me down to the detention area they had set up. She got what she deserved, and I got what I wanted. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
    It all started when I was assigned to Waken. You could get lost in a ship this big. You even might think that ships like this would afford all sorts of opportunities for somebody like me. When I saw my orders for the deep-space warship, that’s what I thought, too.
    I remember coming out of deep sleep on board the shuttle Blazer and seeing Waken for the first time. Or, rather, trying to see it. The ship was big and flat black. It filled the sky, obliterating the view of the stars. The monitors showed us heading between three huge maws I knew had to be the open ends of the star drive nacelles.
    We debarked through the transfer tubes and I found myself on a cargo deck that was large enough to hold a dozen troop carriers. This was the biggest ship I had ever seen!
    They herded us off to one side of the cargo deck and someone started calling out our names and giving us numbers. Two people stood to one side, each of them holding one of the numbered signs. When your name is called, you quickly trot over to the person holding your number.
    They worked their way down the list toward me, giving everybody number one. When they called out my name, I pulled number two. Just as well, because I didn’t like many of the people that had come out with me.
    The woman holding the sign greeted me and told me to follow her, even though there were still people waiting to be given a number.
    “We go to room two,” the woman said, pointing the way. “I’m Thompson, your engineering chief. You’ll get to meet Commander Walker later. He’s the shift commander.”
    “I’m the only one?”
    “Yup. We’re a fixed crew, more or less. Days rotates people on a regular basis, but mids and we don’t.”
    “So, we are the swing shift?”
    “Very good, uh, how do you say your name?”
    “Henroid.”
    “Thought so, but I wasn’t sure.”
    I know my name isn’t the greatest in the universe. In fact, I’m not the greatest, either. But neither was my family. How we got a moniker like Henroid is anybody’s guess. And why I didn’t have it changed is another story.
    Anyway, Thompson directed me into the big room. “Sit up front, Lieutenant Henroid. Uh,” she hesitated as I worked my way through the seats to the front.
    I paused and looked at her. “Yes?”
    “Do you ever get kidded about your name?”
    Do I ever get kidded? “Yes, sir. I do.”
    “Well, it won’t happen on this ship. I’ll see to that.”
    Hah! That would be the day! I’ve heard that line before! “Yes, sir,” I replied sharply, even though I didn’t believe her. No one had been able to keep that promise. It would be a calm day on Ragnoruk before nobody kidded me about my name. And I’d probably be dead.
    The briefing went like most others. Thompson explained that though Waken was a big ship, the crews were small – not many more than about a hundred per shift. The support crew, like food services and security, added another fifty or so to the staff. We rattled around the warship like a bunch of tiny pebbles in a big, empty can. The ship was designed to carry thousands of troops and had enough shuttles to launch a small planetary assault, all by itself. But not right now.
    There weren’t any conflicts going on, so the ship was consigned to sentry duty. Boring duty for some of the crew, but not us, Thompson assured me. We had plenty to do to keep the ship running in top shape. Even if it wasn’t being used.
    She explained that I was lucky because I was going to have a short tour of duty. Instead of the usual ten months and then being rotated to planetside duty, I was permanently assigned to her crew. We would rotate off together in another six months and then stay together as long as I remained in the service. Big deal.
    I went through the usual: a medical check (ugh), a computer record review (for pay rating and that sort of stuff), a psyche review (the ship’s shrink was an old fart who thought he knew everything), and a “religion” review. Except there wasn’t any chaplain. Thompson explained there wasn’t enough crew for one. Plus, those that had religion didn’t like military religion. Me? I don’t care.
    When I got to my tiny cabin, I was surprised to find I wasn’t sharing it with someone else. I suppose most of you might find that okay. For me, it meant I had to look elsewhere for amusement.
    Besides the junk in my travel gear, the ship supplied some additional military-type goodies – like the additional uniforms in the small closet. I pulled one out. It wasn’t much, just isolation shoes for safety, and a pair of Coceedn struhfla – we call them beltbreeches. Seeing them in my cabin meant that some of our work was going to be under hot, sweaty conditions. Good! I smiled to myself as I looked over the pair.
    Stripping down, I tried them on. The pocketless shorts fit snugly and really didn’t need the utility-like belt to hold them on my hips. I may be small, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a decent shape. If I were taller... but then, I might not be the way I am and I don’t know if I would like that.
    Everything fit, so I hurriedly changed back into my Drac standard duty uniform because I was cold. The sleeveless top left me rubbing my arms, trying to get warm, when a knock came on my door.
    It was Thompson, the chief. “Everything okay?”
    I told her it was cold in my cabin and she told me that was my first duty assignment – to fix my heat unit. I told her thanks and went with her to locate the equipment. Along the way, she explained the ship’s layout and why they had so much to do. Equipment tended to get stale when it wasn’t used. Something in the technology (I know all this, of course) didn’t like being inactive. Someday, Thompson said, they’d figure out what was wrong and be able to build equipment that would keep on working and working . . . Yeah, right. Not if the contractors and suppliers had anything to say about it. All the contracts ever said (I looked at one, once) was that once working, the equipment had to keep working. It said nothing about being turned off and then on again. Well, on a big ship like this one, and with most of the decks unoccupied, there was a lot of gear turned off... after it had been on and working.
    She explained that they periodically moved the shifts from one deck to another and our shift had taken over an empty deck. My cabin hadn’t been occupied in a long time, so... you can figure out the rest. Nothing worked very well. Especially the heat unit.
    So I fixed the stuff in my own room – one of the light panels (it was flaky), the audio inducer (it didn’t sound right), and maybe a dozen other things that didn’t work. I fixed them all.
    And that’s when I met Meriweather.
    She was a big girl. She pushed open my door as I was unlocking the flaky light panel from its fittings and said, “Hi. Whatcha doin’?”
    She wasn’t very bright or she would have seen what I was doing. I told her she wasn’t very bright and then went on to explain what I was doing. All in very great detail. Well, she wanted to know.
    She let me ramble on, then told me that I had to do this and that and the room probably would never work just right. Just whack what didn’t work good, and that would fix it, she told me. I laughed at her and she turned red and left.
    That’s when I decided she was my target.
    I watched her over the next couple of days. She was always brusque and stupid with people. Why they let people like her into the ADF – that’s the Allied Defense Force – I’ll never know. Obviously, she didn’t have much of an education. Her size gave her one advantage, though. She could handle stuff that us little people had trouble lifting.
    She had come on board two months previously and she didn’t work without supervision. That, and her size helped team me up with her. My technical superiority was a complement for her lack of brains and her strength made up for . . . let’s just say, it made up for my size.
    It wasn’t long after that, that I saw her in the shower of our common room. For you folks that don’t know much about the ADF, we have common facilities where we all do our thing – together – in front of everyone else. Some of the folks from Barzados and one or two other places don’t seem to appreciate the conditions, but that’s their problem. Anyway, I noticed that my dear partner Meriweather was a little on the heavy side. Not enough to get her into trouble with the ADF duty docs, but the extra bulk she carried certainly wasn’t muscle. She was perfect.
    During the next couple of weeks I started working on her. A little word here, another there. A friendly slap on the back at an inopportune moment and then . . . I told her what I thought.
    “You know, Miss Meriwahller . . .” She didn’t like me calling her that – I wonder why? “You know, you really should loosen up. I give you a pretty hard time.”
    We were alone in another cabin, trying to get everything to work. “Yeah,” she said begrudgingly. “So?”
    “You need to hand out some of the same.”
    “What do you mean?”
    I smiled at her. “Look at me,” I suggested. “What do you see?”
    “A girl.”
    For a moment I thought this might be tougher than it looked. “What kind of girl? Be honest. What do you see?”
    “A little girl.”
    “A fat girl?”
    “A skinny girl.”
    “Like a runt?”
    “Yeah, like a runt.”
    “So, when I call you a fatso, why don’t you call me something?”
    “Like...” she paused. That pause was okay, because I could see her brains trying to work. They worked about as well as some of the equipment in the room. Like the security pickups.
    “Go on,” I urged her.
    She grinned. “You’re a runt,” she said.
    “Very good. Now, about your name.”
    “My name’s Meriweather, not Meriwaller.”
    “I know that. So, what does that make me?”
    “A pain in the ass.”
    “What is a pain in the ass?”
    “You.”
    “No. Haven’t you ever had piles?”
    “Huh?”
    “Raggie! Don’t you know anything?”
    She looked crestfallen. The girl was stupid. “Think. What’s another name for piles?”
    A wicked smile crossed her big face. Then she frowned. “What did you call me?”
    “Meriwahller,” I replied.
    “Well, Hemroid...”
    I was elated. She had made the connection. “We’ve got work to do, Meriwahller.”
    “Yes, we do, Hemroid.”
    It didn’t take long for her to start handing out compliments like that in public. I did my thing in return by saying nothing... in public.
    I kept quiet for the next several weeks. Pretty soon, people got used to Meriweather calling me names like Hemroid and runt.
    As weeks rolled on, I started retorting to her actions in public, which made most people think I was just standing up for my rights. She didn’t think much of it, because I had been calling her things all along. Just never when anybody was around. Or whenever I thought the security records would be erased. Like while we were in the common room. They review those records only once, then erase them.
    Then I bumped her on purpose. It was in a room where we had to replace a faulty security pickup. Of course, it hadn’t been faulty before then, and neither had the dozen or so others that seemed to go out about the same time. Thompson had complained about the problem. I didn’t know anything about them going out all at once. Really!
    When I bumped her, she banged into the wall pretty hard. She wasn’t very well coordinated. Some people might call her a clumsy oaf. As for me, I called her Gracie after that. She didn’t like that very much, either. I had a name for her and she didn’t have one for me. It took her a while, but she started calling me Prissy. Being a woman, it didn’t bother me. If I had been a man, then it would have been something else. But she didn’t have the smarts to know the difference.
    Where did she get the idea, you ask? Well, I didn’t realize it, but I always looked at myself in any mirror that I passed. I’m always a little worried about how I look, so she must have seen me primping at my hair. I don’t keep it real short, like a lot of the gals in the ADF, but I don’t let it run down my back, either. It’s just right – for me.
    As I said, I’m always fussing at it. Trying to keep loose strands in place and that sort of thing. And keeping it poofed just a bit so that it looks fuller than it is. Boy, when I step out of a shower, I really look skinny. The poof I put in my hair helps to offset that. Believe me, it really helps.
    After our initial accident, I gave her several other discrete opportunities to be graceful. It took her a while, but she eventually got the idea that bumping into me was okay, too.
    One day, her bumping into me was so obvious and in front of so many people that I just naturally pushed back. “I’m tired of that,” I told her.
    “Oh, yeah?” she said and pushed me back – hard. I bounced off some equipment which immediately did something screwy and got the attention of Thompson, along with the people that had to maintain it. It wasn’t anything serious, but still, Thompson wasn’t happy.
    She put both of us on report. That drew my first official interview with Commander Walker. He was okay and understood where I stood. After all, I was only doing my job, when Meriweather decided to have some fun. He noted it in his journal or whatever it was and that ended that.
    Meriweather later told me that she was sorry, but that shouldn’t end our friendship. She almost got to me with that apology and I almost quit doing what I was doing. For a moment I sympathized with her. Only for a moment. “That’s all right, Meriwahller,” I replied. She nodded and smiled in return. And then she promptly called me Hemroid in the dining area after the shift. Like I said, she wasn’t too bright.
    Things continued to deteriorate, both inside the ship and outside.
    One evening we learned in a hurry why we were issued the Coceedn struhfla. They had fired up the star drive in the big ship to try and get out of the way of something. I don’t know what it was, except that everything went crazy that night.
    I was assigned to the engine room and with the big star drive going, it got real hot in a hurry. Knowing about the struhfla didn’t prepare me for seeing the crew strip off their tops. Men doing it didn’t bother me, but to see the women do it still surprised me.
    Now, I’m no follower of that idiot preacher Barzados and his colonists, but I wasn’t raised in a warm climate, either. So clothing that covers me up is natural. Except for that night. It was too damned hot, so I did what the rest of the crew did.
    It was too hot for our duty slacks, too. Thompson had us go in small groups back to our cabins and change into struhfla. Nice. But, not as protective as they should have been.
    I bounced into Meriweather again when no one was looking. She was all sweaty and not very good on her feet. She came up mad as a Ragnorukian dust devil. The heat must have been getting to her, because she called me a lot of things that I didn’t know she knew. Being a lot smaller, I didn’t know what she would do, so I naturally shrank from her verbal attack. And of course, a lot of people were watching.
    Something must have clicked, because suddenly, she looked around and shut up. But whatever it was, didn’t keep her from giving me nasty looks the rest of the night.
    One night the gravity system started acting up and Thompson made a command decision. She ordered it partially shut down. I was on the control system, along with Meriweather. As we were setting up the new parameters, I said something that must have distracted her, because she missed a setting on her board and it shut down the whole system.
    The ship was accelerating hard when the gravity compensators went out. I slammed into Meriweather, who was holding on to something. I grabbed her, dug in and held on. She didn’t know what to do, so I reached over her and hit the control that she should have hit. That put the systems back on line, canceled the effects of the heavy acceleration, and we all floated around in free fall.
    Thompson saw what happened and put Meriweather on report. She credited me with saving their lives. It was nothing. Really!
    Pardon me for laughing, but I got lucky with Meriweather. When I grabbed her, I got her with my fingernails and left some pretty deep marks on her side. She didn’t like that at all. She told me later that she didn’t like me and she was going to get me sometime. Of course, she said all that in front of some of the crew. Dumb girl.
    Things continued to get worse. Our little spats developed into nasty ones. So, from then on, I returned just about all the nice treatment I received from her.
    Outside the ship, we had other problems. It seemed that something was attracting a whole fleet of enemy ships toward us. Since they were the enemy, they might attack us once they arrived. That put all of us on the edge, especially Meriweather. She reacted to just about everything. She was turning into a real bully and there wasn’t much I could do, except to defend myself. Believe me.
    Three nights later, when one of the ships had actually arrived, Thompson wanted to see us in her office. It was a little cooler in her office, but we didn’t notice. We weren’t very cool about anything. Meriweather and I had gotten into it, again. This time, in the dining hall the stupid girl had gone and dumped her tray on me. Since I was wearing the struhfla, I got a bit upset because she had a cold desert on her plate and it wasn’t funny.
    Well, Thompson had us go into her office almost before our shift got started. Two guards were with us. We sat there, waiting for Thompson. The cooler office didn’t help Meriweather’s temperament.
    She glared at me and started to say something when a guard stepped between us. “Enough,” he ordered. “Save it for your section chief.”
    We sat in silence until Thompson arrived. She didn’t look happy at all.
    “I’m sure Commander Walker is getting tired of seeing your names on my report,” she told us. “What makes it impossible for you two to get along?”
    “She’s a bitch,” I told her. After all, she had turned into one.
    “And you’re a little twat that ought to be squashed,” Meriweather spat out, her face red.
    Now I don’t take that kind of abuse from anyone. No one does. Naturally, I reacted.
    “Sit, Henroid,” Thompson told me. She turned her attention to Meriweather. “That comment was totally uncalled for.”
    “And hers wasn’t?”
    “Not to the degree of yours. In my opinion, you have been a bitch.”
    “Hah!”
    “Look!” Thompson said, her own face turning red. “If I have one more incident, you are both going up on reg fourteen.”
    Meriweather looked at me and I smiled back. Regulation fourteen would let us at each other in an approved fight. Then, we would see who was better.
    Thompson just shook her head at us. “Dismissed. Now get back to your jobs and behave yourselves tonight, or I’ll toss both of you into detention.”
    Things went pretty smoothly for a while. The regulation fourteen thing was a mixed blessing. We could come out of it okay, or we could each end up with a court martial. I think Meriweather must have had problems in the past, because she didn’t say another word all night, even when I whispered a thing or two at her.
    But her memory must be short, because she started in again the next evening. I let her go on for a while, then retorted with a few choice words of my own.
    A couple of days later we really got into it. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I must have lost my temper because the first thing I remember about that night was that I was calling her a fat bitch. There were two people holding me back and there were four people holding Meriweather.
    “Hold it,” Thompson ordered. She looked real tired. “If I order you two let go, what’s going to happen?” she asked me.
    “If she keeps her mitts off me, I’ll be okay,” I told her. That was the truth. Of course, it wouldn’t stop me from saying a few things.
    “And you?” Thompson asked Meriweather.
    “Hah! The tw . . . uh, cu . . . “
    “That’s what I thought,” Thompson interrupted. “You two are up for reg fourteen.”
    Finally, I thought to myself.
    Meriweather was smiling. “Great,” she responded.
    I told her, “You’ve had it now, fatso.”
    I guess I was a little hot yet, because Thompson warned us both, “Save it for after the shift or you’ll be in detention waiting for a trial.”
    We behaved ourselves only because Thompson kept us on separate decks during the shift. I worked with the chief and she had Meriweather working with one of her aides. I was a good girl. I made sure of that.
    After the shift, we were escorted by the rest of the crew down to the middle recreation deck. They had us dress in the mandatory sport uniform and then made us go through some warm-up exercises. That was so we wouldn’t hurt ourselves by pulling or straining something. But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t hurt each other.
    Half-way through the warm-up exercises, Meriweather called me a twat. That drew a chorus of oohs from the crew. They were working up to this thing. I let Meriweather know what I thought about her heritage in uncomplimentary language. It didn’t take long for us to start using gutter language on each other.
    You know, it’s funny, because I didn’t teach any of those words to Meriweather. I wonder where she picked them up?
    Anyway, the big fight area was surrounded by the crew. The commander was there since he had to oversee this kind of thing. Thompson was there, too. She didn’t look happy at all. I think she thought we were a reflection of how she ran her section.
    The fight went as I thought. Meriweather started by charging right at me. But she was still big and still overweight and still flabby. And slow. I ducked under her outstretched hands and tripped her as she went by.
    I must have been a little overconfident because I didn’t get all of me out of her way the next time she charged. She caught a piece of my top and gave it a good yank. The fabric gave me a good burn on my neck before it tore. I know it made me mad, because I gave her a vulgar sign and then kicked her in the solar plexus.
    That stopped Meriweather and Walker asked if we wanted to call it quits. Smart man. Dumb girl. Meriweather told him, “Not on your life.” That wasn’t a good thing to do. You don’t tell your commanding officer anything like that.
    My reply wasn’t much better, but it didn’t tell him anything. “Does shit stink?” I asked. Well, maybe it didn’t tell him anything.
    We locked up after that, body to body. I’m glad we weren’t in struhfla, because Meriweather sweats like a downpour on Ragnoruk. I would never have hung on to her. Her clothes were soaking up her sweat and wringing wet. Also, she was still trying to recover from my kick to her stomach.
    We managed to scratch each other up before Meriweather got me in a hug. That left my arms free and I beat on her face until she let go and grabbed my top again.
    She swung me around until the fabric gave up entirely and I flew into some of the crew. I was glad I was wearing the required undergarment because otherwise . . . I just know I would have been embarrassed.
    She blocked my next kick and grabbed my foot and pulled me forward. The gal doesn’t know much about combat, because she was off balance and I pushed her over pretty easily. She called me a name and I kicked her in the head.
    I left some pretty good marks on her. My fingernails were just the right length – Meriweather looked over her scratches as we circled.
    We exchanged a couple of blows and I got in another good scratch down her arm. Then it got nasty. Meriweather got ahold of my hair and I knew I’d had it. A couple of good yanks and something would give – like my neck. Fortunately, Walker stopped the whole thing and sent us off to detention.
    An hour later, we were in the council room facing him with security people all around. I tried to keep from smiling when I saw Meriweather. She was sporting the start of a nice shiner.
    Walker cleared his throat and looked at me. “The computer record shows that Henroid’s actions during the shift were the result of an ongoing exchange between the two antagonists. Full investigation shows that this attitude resulted from a barrage of unacceptable name-calling and berating of Henroid by Meriweather shortly after Meriweather and Henroid were assigned to their present duty stations.”
    “Therefore, Jr. Lieutenant Henroid,” he told me, “I am placing you on probation for sixty days. If your behavior is exemplary, I shall drop all charges against you at the end of that time. Otherwise, you will receive an official reprimand and a reduction in pay. You are dismissed.”
    I stood, leaving him with Meriweather. I had gotten off with what I expected. Now I would keep my nose clean and be back in good standing before we shipped off that tub.
    Later, I heard that he raked Meriweather up one side and down the other. She disagreed with his findings and went for a court martial, instead of the reprimand he handed to me.
    The trial didn’t go her way, and since everything was on computer record, I didn’t have to testify. She lost what rank she had and was sentenced to eight months on the prison planet, Ragnoruk.
    Like I said, she deserved what she got. As for me, I was happy. I got what I wanted. At our next tour of duty, I’ll find some other easy mark to torment into being a bully. Heh-heh. Who knows, maybe it’ll be you...

This story was an experiment even though it tells the story of two more Star Spawn Universe characters. Like “Bradley,” this story is not found in the novel, though the events contained herein are seen through different eyes.
    The challenge that I placed upon myself was to write a story from a woman’s point of view, as the antagonist, and all without stereotyping the storyteller as a female “bitch.”
    The story succeeded because, if you are so much like many of my other readers, you won’t like it. Why? Because you’ll recognize people that you know in this story... people you know and don’t like.
    Something that has come out over the years is that most male readers do not grasp immediately that Henroid is a woman. It is a sad note on society that many men perceive “bad” women as being bitches.
    This is the exception to the other stories, in that I have never published it. The one editor that did read it didn’t like it to the point of not wanting to publish it. He suggested a rewrite. After several attempts, I decided to leave it alone and go with it the way it is. There are two more stories tied to this one. The second is called “Cherrle’s Choice” which, as of now, is still unfinished. Some of the story line (whether it will be in the short story or not is yet to be decided) appears in the middle of the third Star Spawn saga novel. The third short story in this trio is called “The End of the Matter” and is only an idea at this point. It will take place during the Eighth novel in the Star Spawn saga.
    What makes this story difficult to sell to the science fiction world is that it is not science fiction. It may be set in a future universe, but the story itself is universal. That is, it can take place in any time period between any two people and still work.
    One final note here. When I originally wrote this story, I hadn't worked out the rank chart that I have now. As a result, the rank of both protagonists are incorrect. They were corrected in the Novel, but for now, they stand as I originally wrote them in this version of the short story.
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