465 465 Crew Orientation
Max gave the infantry a few hours to get settled in while he went to check up on the other workers, who were currently in the middle of orientation with their section managers. So far, they all seemed eager to get started, and there weren’t any major issues that the managers hadn’t managed to solve, but Max was sure that there would be at least one or two.
Many of the workers were bound to have strong personalities, and some would be convinced that they would be much better managers than the one that they were under, which was guaranteed to lead to conflicts in the future, but that was an essential part of any Reaver ship.
Weak minds wouldn’t hold up to the stress, but strong ones were bound to have conflicts.
The first incident that he came across was with a particularly snobbish woman who was completely convinced that she deserved to be the hospitality manager for the cruise ship, in charge of setting all schedules and the individual requests of the VIP clients.
They only had a few of them right now, and they hadn’t chosen to leave their soil-filled room since they arrived, though Max had seen that they had toured the entire ship with the virtual simulation, letting the cameras show them everything available, but without taking their roots out of the soil.
“Do you not know who my father is? I was born to lead, not work a schedule set by a peasant like yourself.” The woman was demanding, and Max looked over to see who their manager was.
It turned out to be a slender Reaver woman in a Terminus Hospitality Staff uniform vest with no shirt underneath, wearing the mark of the Tarith Family burned into her arm as a brand.
It was a mark of devotion that many of the adopted members would choose to prove their lifelong devotion, as the scars couldn’t be easily covered as a tattoo could, and no Reaver surgeon would be willing to remove it for them.
“Your father is a middle manager under the backwater planetary governor of a nation that no longer exists. Mine is the Commander of the Destroyer Class Reaver vessel Memories of War. Now, sit down and shut up before I put you on latrine duty so long that you will space yourself just to get rid of the smell.” The manager replied in an even voice, making Max laugh.
That caught the attention of the group, and the new hire’s attitude immediately changed, and a sultry look came to her face as she adopted a provocative pose, thrusting her chest out to accent the prodigious but clearly artificial size. “Commander Keres, surely you understand. A Noble Lady shouldn’t be exposed to such demeaning roles.”
“Imperial Lady Tarith Rage, the heir to the Kepler Terminus branch of the Tarith Family and second in command of the Terminus Trading Company, is currently in the Mecha Maintenace bays, rebuilding the hydraulic cylinders on an experimental unit that our development team is working on. Perhaps you would prefer to join her if the tasks of a Hostess are too demeaning for a Debutante of your background?” Max asked.
The thought of an Imperial Lady ever getting her hands dirty, much less one with the status of Second In Command, was enough to shock not only the snobbish noble into silence but most of the room as well.
The only exception was the adopted daughter of the Tarith family, which was managing this group.
“Yes, I agree. I think that a few weeks of orientation as Miss Rage’s lady’s maid would do a world of good as a remedial class on the proper decorum of a Reaver noble.”
Assuming that she survived, it would certainly be an eye-opener.
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“Unfortunately, she is quite busy, and doesn’t have time to train a new assistant, so we will have to work with the assignments as they are. Service and customer satisfaction are key to the reputation of the Terminus Trade Company as a family and organization. Since it was missed during your debutante training, I am reassigning you for the next two-week rotation, Miss Lala.
You will work as the floor manager for the Broken Blaster Lounge until the end of the rotation. Your reviews from the bar manager and customers will determine the progress of your training and your future assignments.”
She looked somewhat mollified at the word Floor Manager, but the Broken Blaster was a rough-and-tumble sort of Reaver bar in the crew area, not the cruise ship, where the majority of the non-training room-related injuries aboard the ship began.
If there wasn’t a bar fight there on any given night, it was usually because the entire ship was on standby, and the Reavers were all at combat positions.
If she could survive two weeks on the floor there, in a short pleated uniform skirt, dealing with drunken crew members, she could handle almost any other hostess position.
Max expected that she would beg to be reassigned within a few days, and by the end of the first week, she wouldn’t care what position she was moved to.
“You, with the auto mop. Juan, isn’t it? Would you kindly take the lovely Lala to her new duty station at the Broken Blaster? The evening shift change is coming, and she needs to get into uniform and get oriented before the staff starts arriving.” Max called out to one of the maintenance staff.
“You’re sure? The crew will eat her alive, and maybe not just in the good ways.” The old Reaver laughed, then stowed the cleaning device in his cart and extended a cleaner sanitized hand to the buxom young noble and ducked his head in apology.
“My apologies for questioning your orders, Commander. Right this way, please, Lady Lala. I am certain that the crew will treat you very well as the new Floor Manager.”
The fact that the other senior staff managed not to laugh until she was out of earshot was a minor miracle.