It was a sad shower, and timed. There were carefully worded instructions hanging posted on the wall under the showerhead;
Read First: To adjust the temperature, turn the knob; clockwise hotter, counter-clockwise colder. Any time you push the knob before the water stops, it will stop the timer.
1. Push the knob. You will have a minute of water flow to get wet;
2. Soap up and scrub;
3. Push the knob again. You will have three minutes of water flow to wash;
4. Push the knob a last time. You will have four minutes of water flow to rinse.
But I was still invigorated, having had a wash. I gathered up my stuff and headed back to my room, feeling like a human again.
There was a guard standing by my door when I returned.
He wasn't armed, but he did have that air of guards everywhere who hang out, hands clasped behind their back, waiting to detain you, or possibly give you bad news.
He was in a solid white uniform, short-sleeved, and wore a bus-driver style cap. His nametag said Sorenson.
"Are you Translator Third Class Heywood?" He spoke with some sort of European accent, though I couldn't tell which.
I admitted I was and he told me the Captain wanted to see me. He was very much ill at ease, for some reason.
"Okay," I told him. "You can chill out here."
I didn't want him in my room while I dressed.
Not that I had anything to dress in. All my clothes were dirty and my uniforms stained.
"Thank you. Look, I need to get some laundry done and get myself oriented before I could possibly be ready to see her. Did she say when my appointment was?"
"No," he replied, aghast for some reason. "He would like to see you at your earliest convenience."
"Good," I smiled and unlocked the door. "I'll come by in the morning. Where did you say her office was?"
"His stateroom is on L26, Sector A. I would be happy to take you there as soon as you're ready."
"I thought Cannesmore was a woman."
"The Commodore is, indeed, a woman, but she is not in command of the Station. Fleet Captain Vickers is her Flag, and your commanding officer, present. He wishes to see you for a social call whenever you have the time."
"I already told you, I don't have time right now. I've no clean uniforms and haven't eaten since I don't know when."
"In the Service, young lady, we take orders very seriously. Your problems are irrelevant to the requirements of your duties. You are clearly from the States. What branch are you in?"
"I am in the Peace Corps," I told him, "but I think I'm detached somehow to the I.S.A., or possibly the US Space Force. I'm not terribly sure, but I am sure I'm not in the military."
"Everyone is subject to the orders of the Skipper. He is the despot we must all obey.
"And right now, he wants your scrawny little civilian ass to get dressed, I'm sure he won't care in what, and go see him for a social call that you will pretend, with striking efficacy, is spontaneous and whimsical."
"But I don't have a thing to wear, and that's not remotely hyperbolic."
"I do not believe," he pointed out, "that word means what you think it does. Don't you have anything to wear?"
"This bathrobe."
"That won't do. You say you have uniforms, but they need to be laundered?"
"Yes."
"Retrieve them, and come with me."
"In my bathrobe?"
"Unless you want to go naked."
I went inside and put all my clothing in the laundry bag, being careful not to get ink on it.
It reeked, a fact not missed by my escort. He wrinkled his nose.
"Sorry," I told him, not really meaning it. "I had a guy vomit on me on the way up."
I knew from the brochure that there was a drycleaners on Level 93, but I didn't think we had time for that.
We went back to Elevator E, and he pushed the down button.
"Go to Level 97, and wait for me there. I will be right behind you."
I did as I was told, but regretted it before too long. The vapors from my laundry bag were lung-searing.
I got out of the elevator and looked around. This floor was much more perfunctory than L95 and smelled of oil and heavy machinery.
Sorenson emerged from the elevator before I could wander off and we walked past two more elevators. We stopped in Sector B, and he knocked on a metal hatch marked 'B-44 Maintenance'.
It opened a crack and a blond guy in his late teens poked his head out. He was in blue dungarees, with no nametag or any sort of insignia.
His hair was cut short and so yellow it looked dyed.
"Hey Tig," he nodded to Sorenson. "What can I do you for?"
"This is T3C Heywood. She has a little problem."
He looked me up and down and turned back to Sorensen.
"Sorry, I can't help her. She's a bit too young, if you ask me."
He closed the door but Sorensen banged on it again.
It opened back up, this time fully.
"Guss, Miss Heywood has just arrived on station; somebody puked on her on the trip up. She needs her laundry done post haste."
"Why the big hurry?"
"Because the Old Man wants to see her."
"Why didn't you say so?" He grabbed me by the hand and dragged me inside.
The room was about as wide as mine, but much longer. There was a bench along one wall and a bank of complicated machinery on the other.
I gave him the laundry bad and he took it, like he was receiving a dead rat.
He took it and dumped the contents into a sink. He started running the water and added a small measure of thick blue liquid.
It didn't foam, like soap, but the filth all came off the clothes. He didn't even have to agitate it. He took the pieces out one by one and rinsed them, then wrung them out and set them aside. When he was done, he poured a handful of pink crystals into the water and it turned clear again. All the particles from the washing settled into a filter in the drain.
He took everything, still wet but not dripping, and put them into a chamber that looked remarkably like an autoclave. He dogged the door down and pushed a button on a nearby console. There was a whirring sound, and then a hiss. He opened it back up and my clothes were dry, but badly wrinkled.
"Thanks Guss," I told him. "I'm Dani. It's nice to meet you."
He gave me a funny look and nodded.
"Do you have an iron?"
He shook his head. He appeared uncomfortable, like the conversation we'd just had was pushing the limits of his social skills. I sensed it was time to leave.
We headed back up to my room, where I changed into my Peace Corps fatigues, they being permanent press, unlike the cotton jumpsuit.
I met Sorensen outside and we went back to the elevator.
"I'm going to send you to Level 26. The Skipper's is Suite A-1. Knock, and wait for the Steward to answer. Try not to embarrass yourself."
He entered the elevator and put his key in the restricted lock. Then he pushed L26. A light on the panel blinked.
"In you go. Push the button again to start. If anything goes wrong, return to this floor. You can't go to any other floor in the hub without a key, so don't attempt to go anywhere else."
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