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White Cross
Erlin walked up the steps to the Berelgan manor house, rubbing his head as he went. Definitely less itchy this time. Either I’m toughening up or it’s getting better at Communing. He made his way through the maze of corridors to Halsy’s lab and found his deputy perched on a lab stool in front of a large monitor.
“Morning boss. How’s the Kerm doing?”
Erlin peered over Halsy’s shoulder at the chromatograms on his screen. “Still working on the amoebae?”
“Yup. I think we nailed it with that last attractant set. One more run and we’ll have enough for a paper. The cross-checks from Lowig’s lab look pretty good.” Halsy pushed his stool back. “And you’re dodging my question.”
Erlin sighed. “It’s doing fine as far as I can tell. Have you got time for a coffee?”
“Sure.”
Halsy maintained a tactful silence on the way to Erlin’s office. Frowning, he watched the Berelgan director flip the privacy sign on his door to Do Not Disturb, before pouring two coffees. “One sugar?”
Halsy raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Come on, boss - what’s eating you?” His eyes widened as Erlin unlocked the glass fronted cabinet on the wall next to his desk and removed an antique brass key. “Uhhh, boss?”
“There’s a traditional speech I’m supposed to give,” said Erlin. “But I haven’t really had time to learn it, and to be perfectly honest, you’ve been running the place for long enough now that you don’t need any overblown words from me. So here’s the short version.” He held out the key. “I, Erlin Kermol, Director of the Berelgan Research Institute do hereby resign my post and responsibilities. I offer the key to the original Archives of Kerbin to my deputy, Halsy Kermol, in the earnest hope that he will accept them in my place.” Erlin made a face. “And that’s the short version.”
Halsy gave him an uncertain grin. “Good one, boss. That Kerm’s…” He stopped at the expression on Erlin’s face.
“I’m going to call in Obrett - from the Accident Investigation Department - to Commune with our grown-from-frozen Kerm. I’m no Keeper, Halsy. It seems fine to me but I don’t have anything to compare it with. Apart from Elton of course but he’s quite different.” Erlin rubbed his jaw. “I’ll be calling in Gusemy too. He’s a good friend - and he knows Obrett of course, which will help I think.”
“Boss. If you’ll excuse the expression, what the Kerm are you talking about?”
Erlin’s expression was unreadable. “A plan. And if the Director of the Berelgan would extend me a favour, I’d very much like to run through it with him.”
——————
Jeb drained his glass, pushed back his chair and walked over to the bar. Helping himself to a handful of crispy greenleaf stems from one of Jorfurt's well-stocked snack trays, he perched himself on a stool and waited to catch the landlords's eye. Further along the bar a group of kerbals were calling orders for food and drinks. Jeb winced at one request for a creva chilli with extra firewhisker in the rice, before a call for a round of RT5 caught his attention. He looked over at the group, noting their dark green jackets emblazoned with the logo of a prominent local haulage firm. Nodding in satisfaction, he dipped a greenleaf stem into the spice bowl and took a bite.
"What'll it be, Jeb? Same again, or can I interest you in something a bit different?"
Jeb glanced at the group of hauliers but they either hadn’t heard the landlord or were too busy with their food to notice. “Something different but not too strong if you don’t mind, Jorfurt.”
“Not too strong, hmmm? Well, since you boys haven’t been building any new engines lately, I figured I’d start a new Rockomax line.” Jorfurt gestured over his shoulder at a row of barrels. “Doesn’t sound like you want a mug of 1P or 2M then.” He reached under the bar for a coffee cup and filled it half full of a foaming ruby ale from the first, much larger, barrel in the row. “Give the 1G a try. The first couple of brews were nothing to much to write home about but I think we’re about there with this batch. Just a hint of blackberry to balance out the sunfruit and a slightly darker malt to give it a bit more body.”
Jeb sniffed at the foam. “Mmmm, you notice the blackberry.” He sipped the beer, rolling it around his mouth before emptying the cup with a happy smile and wiping his mouth. “I don’t have Genie’s palette but I reckon you’ve got a winner there! A mug of 1G it is please.”
The bar began to fill up. Jeb ordered a bowl of djan chips and sat nursing his drink, chatting with a steady stream of kerbals who came over to greet him, whilst keeping half an ear on the other conversations filling the room. He took another sip of beer and was somewhat surprised to find an empty mug in his hand. As he set it down on the bar, Jorfurt materialised in front of him.
“Mug of LV-1 to finish the evening, Jeb?”
“Bob might take you up on that but I think I’ll pass on the root beer right now thanks.” Jeb smacked his lips. “I think I could go another half mug of 1G before curfew, without losing my wits. That blackberry finish really works.”
“Sounds good to me. Make that two half mugs please, Jorfurt.” Bob slid onto the stool next to him. “Gene’s on his way, Jeb, assuming he can extract himself from his group of grumpy farmers.”
Jeb cocked an eyebrow at him. “Over-inspected and under-staffed farmers?”
Bob took a djan from Jeb’s bowl. “Yep. One kermol swore he’d never be growing redfruit again if the blithering idiot - or words to that effect - inspectors were going to make him empty out his entire truck one fruit at a time.”
Jeb looked thoughtful. “Patbro said something similar about his white bean crop but then he had the bright idea of unloading them through a fencing wire sieve. You could probably do something similar with grains and such like.”
“So we’re going for the fruit and veg growers then.” Bob took a pull of beer. “Mmm, you were right about that finish.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Yeah, fruit and veg growers, or anyone hauling anything much larger than a breadfruit.”
“That should cover tubers then. Fine - we can work on the cereal guys later, once we’ve been out there for a bit. Evening, Genie.”
“Evening. Mug of RT5 for me, Jeb, next time you catch Jorfurt’s eye.”
Jeb grinned. “Rough time with the kermol?” He slid his drink over to Geneney. “Try before you buy?”
Geneney took a cautious sip from the proffered mug. “Mmmm, that’s not bad.” He took a larger sip. “That’ll do nicely in fact. Blackberry and redfruit?”
“Yep. One of Jorfurt’s latest.” Jeb affected a mock indignant look. “From his Rockomax line no less. This is the 1G - apparently the 1P and 2M are a bit more substantial.” Jeb spotted Jorfurt bustling past and held up a coin before pointing at the first barrel in the row. “So it looks like there’s a market for our little plan then?”
Geneney nodded. “I would say so.” He was interrupted by a large, green-jacketed kerbal weaving his way towards them.
“Heeyyyyy - its the interplanetary boys! Jeb, my kerb - how are ya?!” The newcomer attempted to clap Jeb on the shoulder but only succeeded in stumbling sideways into Geneney and narrowly missing Bob’s mug with one flailing arm. Geneney offered the stranger a steadying hand whilst Bob removed his drink to a more prudent distance.
“Ahh, thank you my friend!” The newcomer peered at Geneney, brow knotted in concentration. “Say - aren’t you that Geneneneneny fellow? I’ve seen ya on the TV, sitting behind that fancy desk with all the shiny buttons on.”
“Hoy, Len! Quit bothering those folks and get this mug of water into you before you make a bigger fool of yourself.” Another green-jacketed kerbal strode towards them, coming to a sudden halt as he caught sight of Bob. “Great Kerm above - haven’t seen you boys in here for an age. Thought you were all busy getting us set for flying out to Duna?”
Bob made a face. “Wish we were. Need to build something to fly first and getting all the parts for that with transport the way it is right now…?” He shrugged and reached for the snack tray.
“You getting caught up in that grolnisch too?” The other’s face darkened. “We’ve got produce rotting in the trailers one way and goods backed up back to the blighted port the other way. Trucks are needing extra maintenance, they’ve been taken apart that often.”
“I hear that,” Geneney put in sourly. “Close the door too hard these days and half my car falls apart. Kerm knows what’ll happen if I hit a decent pothole.”
“What are the haulers doing about it?” asked Jeb.
“Not much to do. More hands would be a start; quicker the inspections get done, quicker the goods get moving. Can’t hire them for love or money though, seems they’re either joining up or heading for the hills.”
“How about volunteers?” asked Bob, through a mouthful of jerky. He was answered with a snort.
“That would be right. Who the hell volunteers to sort through rotting cabbages by hand, looking for Kerm seeds?”
“Good point.” Bob inspected the bottom of his mug.
“Anyway - we’d better be getting this one back home before he starts tripping over his own feet. Good to see you folks.”
“You too,” said Geneney. He clapped Len on the shoulder. “Take it easy, friend.”
——————
Jeb stood in the doorway scuffing at the already-worn floor covering with the toe of his boot and watching a familiar truck pull up in the car park outside. Two kerbals jumped out and began unloading the long, flat packages lashed to the back. The grumbling wheeze of tailgate hydraulics reached his ears and he smiled despite himself, remembering a much younger Calzer and Tomcas unloading kegs for a long ago beach party. He leaned against the door frame for support, eyes losing their focus as the rest of the evening came back in a rush: Ornie gesticulating at distant kerbals, explaining the rules of shepherdball, Ornie squatting by the barbecue pit, trickling spicy sauce over meatcakes. Bob’s singing, a blurry image of the bottom of a beer mug, bitter reminiscences with Ornie’s the voice of reason.
Jeb wiped the corner of his eyes, forcing a cheerful grin onto his face as the two kerbals staggered past, lugging a slab of cardboard packaging between them. “Wait up - I’ll get the doors!” He squeezed past into the bare reception area and swung open the double doors leading into the main building, kicking a door wedge under each. The cloying smell of new paint mingled with the sharp, resinous odour of fresh sawdust enveloped them all amidst a clamour of sawing and hammering. A radio played a raucous tune in the background.
Angle brackets dotted the concrete floor, marking out a central corridor with office spaces to either side and a larger, communal area at the far end of the room. Jeb skirted around a group of kerbals squatting by a junction box set into the floor and past a larger team of kerbals busy assembling the partition walls. He saw Camrie standing by a window, scribbling notes on a large whiteboard and walked over to join her. “How’s it going?”
Camrie frowned at a list of names on the whiteboard before underlining a handful of them. “Good. Be better when we can move a couple of filing cabinets across and I’ve got a desk to work at, but so far, so good.”
“Volunteers still coming in?”
“Oh Kerm yes. We could use a few more with cars and I’m not convinced that some of them know what they’re signing up for, but we’re not going to be short when we open for business.”
Jeb studied the whiteboard. “Sorting through rotting cabbages by hand apparently. Which reminds me - have you got half an hour this afternoon to brainstorm a couple of morale boosters?”
“Already on it but sure. Once we’re properly up and running, I’ve primed the logistics teams over at the VABs to send us a two-weekly breakdown of any imported components and whatever hardware they’ve gone into. As soon as we’ve got a marketing team put together, I’m planning to have them to work up some cardboard cutouts of the major parts - engines, tanks, capsules, stuff like that.” Camrie gestured at the far end of the room. “I figure we’ll have ourselves a trophy wall in the communal area.”
“Of everything they’ve helped to build?” Jeb nodded. “Good plan. I was thinking back to those RT-5 tables we built for Jorfurt back in the early days and wondering if we could do something similar here but it didn’t seem to fit somehow. I like your idea better.”
Camrie tossed her marker pen into a box on the floor. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves though. First thing we need to do is sort out the paperwork and get this company incorporated. Which reminds me - have you had any bright ideas for names.”
“Nothing that you’d want to paint on a sign.” Jeb scowled at the floor then looked up with a sudden sparkle in his eye. “Have you got a waste paper basket around here?”
“Probably. Why?”
Jeb grinned. “I’m thinking we’ll do this the KIS way. Get everyone to scribble down a name on a slip of paper and pull one out of the basket.”
Camrie rolled her eyes. “Sure. Just as long as we don’t end up calling ourselves the Kolus Kabbage Kompany or some other wild inspiration.”
“Point. Management reserves the right to draw three names and pick the best. Okay, you find a basket and I’ll go speak to the troops.”
Jeb walked over to the radio and switched it off. “Morning folks!” The general hubbub died away as everyone turned to face him. “Good to see so many faces here - takes me right back to the old days. And just like then, what we need to start this company off, is a good name!” Jeb watched Camrie passing out pens and slips of paper to a group of quizzical looking builders. “Which, I have to confess, I’m needing a bit of help with. So - have a think over lunch and if anything comes to mind, scribble it down, and hand it back to Camrie or me. We’ll draw three names, Camrie’ll pick the one she likes best and that’s what we’ll go with!”
Jeb spotted a raised hand. “Yes?”
A serious looking kerbal stepped forward. “I’ve been thinking some about names myself, Jeb, and I was wondering if you had a minute to hear it? It’s my cousin gave me the idea see, so I can’t properly write it down as mine - that would seem wrong.”
Jeb blinked. “Uhh, sure.”
The other nodded in thanks. “Appreciate that. Now my cousin Halby - he’s a lumberkerb down in Veidd and he tells me one of his jobs is cleaning up after a storm. He takes a walk through the forest and checks all the fallen trees - anything dead or rotted, he marks with a red cross but anything sound gets a white cross. Seems to me, that’s what we’re doing here; cleaning up after the storm, sorting out the rotted goods, helping folks ship what’s sound. So I was thinking that the White Cross Company would be as good a name as any for us.”
A murmur of voices rippled across the room. Jeb caught Camrie’s eye and received a discreet thumbs-up in reply. He beckoned her over to join him before taking a place on the floor. Camrie cleared her throat. “Well that just saved us some time. I think we’ve got a winner there, people.” The murmur become a rumble of approval. “Moving right on, the next thing we need is a proper logo to go with the name.” She pointed at Jeb. “Everyone remembers the tilted rocket, even if they couldn’t tell you anything about the Spaceship Parts Company other than the kerbal who started it. The White Cross Company needs something memorable too.”
One of the electricians climbed to his feet. “I’m figuring that my cousin might be able to help out there. She does signs and that sort of thing.” He looked at Camrie. “I’ll ask her to drop by, boss, see what she can do for us.”
“Thank you,” Camrie made a mental note to speak to him later. “In the meantime, if anyone’s got any ideas, I’m all ears. Doesn’t have to be much - quick sketch will be fine so we can tell what we’re looking at. Now if you’ll excuse me, good kerbals, I’ve got some articles of incorporation to fill out.
——————
“Hoy! Wrong lane, ya…” The trucker leaned on his horn and wound down his window. “You blind or something?! Road freight only in this lane - says so on that big sign back there ya fardling…”
Another, equally irate voice came back at him from the truck in front. “And yourself, mate! Quit bothering the hired help, get your thumb off the horn and shove it back up where it belongs!”
“These are with you, Len?”
“Yeah they are. So back off and let them work!” Len rolled his truck into the inspection bay and set the parking brake. He picked his manifest off the passenger seat and scrambled out of his cab, as the white car pulled up behind him. Handing the documents to a stony-faced inspector, Lem set about undoing the long row of buckles holding the side curtain of his trailer closed. He hauled the curtain open and secured it. With a rumbling whine, a forklift truck slid forward and began unloading the pallets of fruit crates from the back of his trailer.
Five boiler-suited kerbals hopped out of the white car and formed an orderly queue at the nearest wash stand. One at a time, they scrubbed up, four of them pulling on blue rubber gloves before waiting by the nearest inspection table.
No sooner had the the first crate had been unloaded, than the fifth kerbal had helped Len heave it onto the inspection table. Under the watchful eyes of the inspectors, the other four rapidly emptied the crate of redfruit, held it up for inspection and began re-packing it. One of them retrieved a roll of tape from his pocket, tore off two strips and stuck them over a corner of the crate. Spotting the frown from one of the inspectors, he held up his hands. “It’ll come off. I’m just marking the finished lots, so we don’t get them mixed up.” The inspector stepped forward and peeled up the tape. He shook his head and stuck it back down before rejoining his colleagues.
By the time a fraught-looking official inspection team arrived from across the bay, the forklift operator was loading the first pallet back onto Len’s trailer, each of the crates stacked atop it marked with a white cross. They watched one of the boiler-suited kerbals dig her fists into the small of her back and stretch, before turning her attention back to the redfruit. Len spotted their confused looks and walked over to join them.
“There’s another table over there if you’re looking for something to do?”
The eldest worker yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. “Long shift - ‘scuse me. Are we even supposed to be here? Looks like you’re covered for this load.”
Len shook his head. “Nope - I’m due a stint from you yet. Besides, the faster I get through here, the happier the boss is going to be.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And the happier those boys out there are going to be.”
“But who are those folks at the table?”
Len shrugged. “Blighted if I know. Hired help is all the boss said and I ain’t complaining. They don’t say a lot but they’re shifting the freight quick enough and that’s good enough for me.”
The other eyed the white car parked behind Len’s truck. On the door, a stylised hand clutched a dripping paintbrush which had apparently just been used to paint a white cross on a tree stump. “Got themselves some fancy paintwork, whoever they are.” He shrugged. “Whatever. I was told to get over here and you reckon you’re still due a stint?” The worker turned to his companions. “Right you lot! I want to see that spare table set up and I want to see crates off pallets if it’s not too much trouble!”
With three full inspection tables working flat-out, the checked redfruit crates quickly began to pile up and, after a brief altercation with the fork-lift operator, Len decided his time would be better spent stacking pallets and supervising the loading, rather than sorting fruit. He tapped one of the jump-suited kerbals on the shoulder and explained. The other nodded and flashed him a quick smile, blue-gloved hands busy unloading yet another crate. Len glanced at his watch, eyes widening in pleased surprise, and went back to work.
——————
“Mug of djeng for the road, mate?”
Len cinched up the last buckle on his trailer, wiped his hands on a rag and turned to face the worker. “Don’t mind if I do.” He took the mug and drained half of its lukewarm, stewed contents in a single gulp. “Thanks.” He glanced at the last of the jump-suited kerbals standing, clipboard in hand, beside their car and sighed. “Best get the paperwork sorted then.” Mug in hand, he walked over to him. “What am I signing?”
The other looked up at him. “Just our order confirmation and tracking form, sir. Twenty-four pallets of redfruit to Barkton depot, nine of them packed and marked by us.” He checked his watch and carefully wrote down the time. “Could you sign here please, by your company name?”
Len read over the form, nodded and scrawled his signature on the indicated line.
“Thank you, sir. Speaking for the White Cross Company, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Oh - and if you could possibly keep the crates marked during storage, we’d be grateful.”
Len looked at him askance. “Mind telling me why?”
“Quality control, sir. Your boss has us contracted to help move the same pallets out to Kallahat. It sounds a bit corny, I know but once a crate is marked with a white cross, well we feel responsible for it. And if any other bunch of seffleks…” Len’s eyebrows shot up at the unexpected vulgarity, “…starts painting a white cross on their crates and then doing a slipshod inspection job - well we want to know about that too.”
Len stared. “You aiming to shop them to the Inspectorate?”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that but yes, if necessary.” A blue gloved finger pointed at the inspectors. “If we do our job right, maybe those good kerbals in the uniforms will start letting folks like you get away with a single inspection.” The finger flipped over to point at the queue of trucks still waiting to get into the inspection bay. “Which is about the only way we’re going to knock those queues down to size.”
“And put you out of business.” Len received a crooked smile in reply.
“Maybe one day. Right now, if you could put the word around that we’re looking for customers, we’d be grateful.”
Len shrugged. “Sure. You do good work even if my old grandad would tell you that you’re crazier than a gronnek with its paw in a trap.”
——————
Obrett waited for the young leaves to lift clear of her scalp before easing out from underneath them and climbing carefully to her feet. She straightened the bedcovers and turned to her companions, a rare smile tugging at her lips. Erlin blew out his cheeks in relief. “It’s all right?”
“Very much so,” Obrett answered. “It didn’t recognise me as its Keeper - which is a good sign all by itself - but once it got used to me it started chattering away, talking about ‘things gone’ and ‘happy kerbals’. I recognised the shape of your test plots too, in all the babble.” Obrett’s smile turned faintly wistful. “It’s been a long time since my Kerm was that young.”
Halsy leaned forward, hands on his knees. “So you’d say it was healthy?”
“Yes I would. A normal, healthy young Kerm, grown from a frozen seed.”
“Elton will be pleased at the success of his last experiment.” Halsy exchanged a look with Erlin, sitting opposite him.
“We’ll need to tell the Council too, boss.”
“You’ll need to tell the Council,” Erlin corrected. Halsy looked at him unhappily.
“I guess. Now that its healthy and all.” He shook his head. “This wasn’t a promotion I was looking for.”
Gusemy coughed. “I’m not sure I’m following this conversation,” he said.
Erlin patted the Kerm trunk by his side, as if for reassurance. “It’s quite simple,” he said. “Now that we know that a frozen seed can produce a healthy Kerm, there’s only one more step to take.”
The smile fell from Obrett’s face. Gusemy sat bolt upright in shock. “You must be joking!”
“On the contrary,” said Erlin, “I’ve never been more serious in my life. Halsy and I have discussed this at length and he’s kindly agreed to take over responsibility for the Berelgan in the interim.” He raised his hands. “Please don’t go to the trouble of trying to dissuade me, dear friends - my mind is quite made up. Its a necessary step and one that we already know is possible. Unlike Jonton, I will not be taking a leap into the dark.” Erlin’s tone softened. “Halsy will make an excellent Director and the Berelgan, agriculturally speaking, is effectively isolated from the outside world. If anything should happen - to the Kerm or myself - we’re in a rare place where we will not harm anyone else.”
Gusemy buried his head in his hands. Obrett opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again at the expression on Erlin’s face. “You are going to speak to Enely and Jonton first.”
Erlin nodded. “Of course. Neither did I intend to do this alone.” The question hung in the air.
“You will need a Keeper.” Obrett steeled herself. “I will need to return to my Grove first…and put everything in order before we plant the thirty-eighth cutting.”
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