Page 53 of Carousel

The combined sounds of the pens, typewriters and faint voices filtering through each headband make my skull itch. I don’t know how Riss can stand to be in here with her own more sensitive hearing.

“It’s pretty simple,” Riss states, at a normal volume, as if the noise doesn’t bother her at all. “Put on your radio. Tune into your frequency – I’ll allocate you one – probably one we refer to as red vine, because that’s one of our Hevallan pilot frequencies, so you shouldn’t hear anything too confidential. I’ll be able to hear the same messages you can anyway, with these annoying things.” She taps her ears. “Write down everything that you hear, even if it seems irrelevant. Write or type, you choose. And if anything seems to be a code – crack it.”

Pretty simple? How in the name of the Sisters am I going to crack codes? I’ve never done anything like that. I didn’t even know I could speak and understand other languages until yesterday.

If I really was a traitor to Hevalla, wouldn’t this be rather like throwing in a fox among the chickens?

But I suppose that doesn’t matter, does it? In under a week, I’ll either be loyal to Hevalla, or I’ll be dead. So, who would care if I’d been exposed to some sensitive knowledge about the war effort?

There don’t seem to be any choices I can make here for myself, my country – or anyone, or anything else – and it makes me feel hollow, like my insides have been scooped out from me.

“Oh,” Riss calls. “If you really wanted to impress us on your first day, you could give that a stab. It came in yesterday. We haven’t cracked it yet.”

I look to where she’s pointing. A chalkboard has been marked with a message. If the guests are ready, I am happy to serve dinner. Signed, Mother.

I read the sentence once, then again, while she hands me a headband and fits her own.

“Any ideas?”

“Was it spoken in Hevallan or Rhavnan?”

“Hevallan,” she replies. “From a Rhavnan frequency, though.”

“Serve dinner… Could that just mean, drop bombs?”

Riss plops down at the largest desk in the room. I realise for the first time that she’s the most senior person here, among these mostly older men, which is impressive.

She stretches her long neck. “We did consider that. Seems a little too obvious, though. And doesn’t explain why Rhavna would be waiting for ‘guests’ before it can drop them. We don’t know of any hostage exchanges due to be taking place, or anything like that.”

I frown. “Have there been other messages like this?”

“Yes. And they’ve been increasing the last few weeks. It’s like…” Her lip curls.

“Like what?”

“Like we’re being mocked.” She sniffs. “We don’t like it.”

“Is there a record anywhere of all those messages?”

“Of course,” Riss says, before she adds, “But the answer I’m going to give you if you ask to see that record is no way in Cosmos. You know that, right?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Ask me again when you’ve FI’d. Okay?” She beams. “I like the enthusiasm, though. I’ll add that to your report. You’re off to a great start!”

She flicks through my Integration book. While scribbling something into it, she gestures with her head towards a stack of typewritten pages on her desk.

“Oh, and you can spend some time reading that, if there’s nothing coming in on your frequency. It’s The Assembly’s Accords for Soldiers. We all need to know them inside out. And you might get tested on them.”

Listening in to conversations on my frequency goes from being mildly interesting – like when two Hevallan soldiers spend a while ranking the scrambled-together meals on the ship – to being mind-numbingly dull. Two hours go by without anything coming in on my frequency at all, and I can only sit in silence, as intelligence analysts aren’t permitted to speak to each other in case they miss a message.

But it does mean I can concentrate on reading The Accords. They’re full of over-long sentences, acronyms and terms I don’t yet know. The rules are never-ending, split into whole chapters and then separated by articles.

I learn Captain’s orders are apparently final, and must be obeyed by all they are issued to.

I learn some offences are minor and would only lead to a ‘strike’ or stint in the brig, like disobeying orders from authority, which the Accords refer to as Obstruction to Instruction (OTI).

But I also learn many would get you a Trial on Deck as a punishment – with Execution By Airlock if a guilty verdict is found. Execution for Self-Saviour (IES) can even be carried out without the privilege of a trial in what the Accords call exceptional circumstances of poor conduct.