Redshirts Read Free

Duvall asked.
    “Self-impregnation, for one,” Dahl said.
    “A small but highly relevant detail,” Duvall said.
    “And here you were all concerned about celibacy,” Dahl said, and swigged from his drink.
    “If you were never going to become a priest, why did you go to the seminary?” Duvall asked.
    “I found the Forshan religion very restful,” Dahl said. “When I was younger that appealed to me. My parents died when I was young and I had a small inheritance, so I took it, paid tutors to learn the language and then traveled to Forshan and found a seminary that would take me. I planned to stay forever.”
    “But you didn’t,” Duvall said. “I mean, obviously.”
    Dahl smiled. “Well. I found the Forshan religion restful. I found the Forshan religious war less so.”
    “Ah,” Duvall said. “But how does one get from Forshan seminary student to Academy graduate?”
    “When the Dub U came to mediate between the religious factions on Forshan, they needed an interpreter, and I was on planet,” Dahl said. “There aren’t a lot of humans who speak more than one dialect of Forshan. I know all four of the major ones.”
    “Impressive,” Duvall said.
    “I’m good with my tongue,” Dahl said.
    “Now who’s being forward?” Duvall asked.
    “After the Dub U mission failed, it advised that all non-natives leave the planet,” Dahl said. “The head Dub U negotiator said that the Space Fleet had need of linguists and scientists and recommended me for a slot at the Academy. By that time my seminary had been burned to the ground and I had nowhere to go, or any money to get there even if I had. The Academy seemed like the best exit strategy. Spent four years there studying xenobiology and linguistics. And here I am.”
    “That’s a good story,” Duvall said, and tipped her bottle toward Dahl.
    He clinked it with his own. “Thanks,” he said. “What about yours?”
    “Far less interesting,” Duvall said.
    “I doubt that,” Dahl said.
    “No Academy for me,” Duvall said. “I enlisted as a grunt for the Dub U peacekeepers. Did that for a couple of years and then transferred over to Space Fleet three years ago. Was on the Nantes up until this transfer.”
    “Promotion?” Dahl said.
    Duvall smirked. “Not exactly,” she said. “It’s best to call it a transfer due to personnel conflicts.”
    Before Dahl could dig further his phone buzzed. He took it out and read the text on it. “Goof,” he said, smiling.
    “What is it?” Duvall asked.
    “Hold on a second,” Dahl said, and turned in his seat to wave at a young man standing in the middle of the station walkway. “We’re over here, Jimmy,” Dahl said. The young man grinned, waved back and headed over.
    “The friend you’re waiting on, I presume,” Duvall said.
    “That would be him,” Dahl said. “Jimmy Hanson.”
    “Jimmy Hanson?” Duvall said. “Not related to James Hanson, CEO and chairman of Hanson Industries, surely.”
    “James Albert Hanson the Fourth,” Dahl said. “His son.”
    “Must be nice,” Duvall said.
    “He could buy this space station with his allowance,” Dahl said. “But he’s not like that.”
    “What do you mean?” Duvall said.
    “Hey, guys,” Hanson said, finally making his way to the table. He looked at Duvall, and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jimmy.”
    “Maia,” Duvall said, extending her hand. They shook.
    “So, you’re a friend of Andy’s, right?” Hanson said.
    “I am,” Duvall said. “He and I go way back. All of a half hour.”
    “Great,” Hanson said, and smiled. “He and I go back slightly farther.”
    “I would hope so,” Duvall said.
    “I’m going to get myself something to drink,” Hanson said. “You guys want anything? Want me to get you another round?”
    “I’m fine,” Dahl said.
    “I could go for another,” Duvall said, waggling her nearly empty bottle.
    “One of the same?” Hanson asked.
    “Sure,” Duvall said.
    “Great,” Hanson said, and clapped his