Now that Marilyn had introduced everyone to their airship, they had to decide the roles they would take on board the ship.
As second in command and also having been on the ship for longer, Riley introduced the ongoing arrangements to Stacy.
“So far, Naz is already the ship’s engineer and driver and mechanic. It’s plenty of work, so Naz also may ask for help from the other members if she needs anything.”
Everyone nodded as if to acknowledge that they would help Naz when requested.
Riley continued: “I am electrically trained. I maintain the ship’s electronics, the computers and satellite links, and assist Naz in electrical or IT matters.”
Stacy nodded. It was perfectly logical.
“Then there is me,” Marilyn spoke up. “I was the first person the Benefactors rescued. So I was the first person to operate the MMM’s steering and communications systems. Everyone can read the manuals if they so want. But by default, I am the communications officer, pilot and navigator. I have received military and intelligence training, so I’ll do most of the map reading and navigating.”
Naz made a gesture. “Marilyn has to monitor the ship most of the time, so we will work together. But I will avoid asking her for help since there are other things that require her attention.”
Angel gave a crooked smile. “As a chemical engineer, I am not really needed to do most of the ship’s most skilled maintenance tasks. And I’m mentally prepared to do the stinkiest jobs anyway. So it was agreed that I would do the cleaning duties. I guess you can call me the ship’s janitor and cleaning lady.”
“Who’s also on call to me, by the way,” Naz said with a grin. “Sometimes I need somebody strong to help me with machinery or other engineering tasks.”
“So now we have to determine what I should be doing,” Stacy said.
Stacy noticed everyone was looking at her intently. This was an important moment for the team, even though Stacy didn’t know it at that time. She had never been faced with this particular kind of labor allocation problem, after all.
Riley was watching Stacy with the keenest interest. Thus far the division of labor had been fairly logical and everyone had accepted their role. It was extremely good that Angel was humble and agreeable enough to do the cleaning work, since she did recognize that she was not trained in navigation and maps and was unable to contribute a lot towards the mechanical engineering and electrical work.
But the problem was, now there was Stacy. Who had been allocated a leadership role by their Benefactors. And Stacy was economics-trained, so she didn’t really have skills necessary to keep the ship operating. She could learn, of course, but that also meant that ZIL’s leader had to be others’ assistants in their individual specializations.
Leadership culture in the ex-Soviet Union usually meant that the leader bossed others around without doing any real work on her own. After all duties were allocated, the leader could live in comfort and just take care of her own wants, without taking responsibility for anything else. If the subordinate failed to live up to the leader’s expectations, the leader could punish the subordinate. It wasn’t a reciprocal relationship.
Riley didn’t want to say anything, but she didn’t think much of Russian leaders. Who did not experience what their subordinates were doing, and had little understanding of real working or operating conditions. Riley was half expecting ZIL’s new leader to smile, say that all duties were allocated, and sit down regally to watch TV or enjoy some recreation.
Stacy’s eyes flickered towards the kitchen. “We don’t have a cook, do we?”
“Nobody has been allocated to cook,” Marilyn said. “We have been taking turns.”
“None of us are good at that,” Angel said with disarming frankness.
“Actually, I think you’re the least good among a bunch of incompetent cooks,” Naz said with even more frankness.
“Everything has been exactly the same so far,” Marilyn grinned with obvious mischief. “Boil, boil, boil big chunks of meat in a pot. The Kazakh nomad’s stock in trade.”
Angel made a face, but couldn’t retaliate. As the lamb plov had shown, Marilyn was obviously a far better cook than her. The only reason for including Marilyn among the bunch of incompetent cooks, was because Marilyn had a limited repertoire.
“Maybe we have authenticity,” Riley offered mildly.
“Thanks to Soviet coercion, my parents were not even nomads,” Angel quashed that. And wound up looking even more pathetic as a result.
“Hey, Riley’s right,” Marilyn grinned. “Even if your parents weren’t nomads, you are one now, Angel. Our dear home is an airship and we’ll be on the move.”
Naz decided to rub it in. “So you’re making authentic Kazakh nomad food. Thumbs up for potboilers!”
Angel looked as though she couldn’t figure out how to respond. Stacy decided to stop the messing around.
“All right, I’ll be our ship’s cook for two meals a day,” Stacy said. “Zavtrak or Breakfast at 7, Obyed or dinner at 1. And everyone else can have their turn for Uzhin or supper at 7pm. This means that every four days, you can have an opportunity to cook food the way you like it.”
Then looking over her team, Stacy added, “being the ship’s cook for five people two meals a day also takes less time than our other tasks, especially since I intend to make simple breakfasts. I won’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to handle some problem with the engine or some electrical system. I won’t have to keep steering the ship or monitoring the comms. This means I have more free time. And at crucial moments, I would be well rested, so I could relieve another member if she is exhausted from spending too much time on her normal task.
So I’ll also be everybody’s backup. I’ll start by being an understudy and help out any of our members when they have a task for which they need assistance. For example, I don’t need a cook’s assistant, but I can play the role of assistant when the four of you are cooking. Ditto for the other ship maintenance and cleaning tasks. Is that all right?”
There was a visible change in atmosphere among the other ZIL members. Naz seemed happy. Marilyn started smiling from cheek to cheek. Angel was beaming also.
Stacy didn’t know why her teammates were reacting this way. To Stacy, it was entirely logical that every team member should contribute something within their abilities and to fill a legitimate need. Moreover, this was a logic that everyone present – born during Soviet times – should know. It bore some resemblance to communist ideology – but with some adjustments, it was also the logic of a free market economist. Concepts like comparative advantage, division of labor, filling market niches, meeting demand for this or that…
Riley reached out and took Stacy’s hand. “You will help any of us whenever we ask for your help?”
“Of course,” Stacy said without hesitation. “We’re a team. A team leader should have everybody’s back.”
Stacy looked over her team. “Thank you all for agreeing to form a team with me. I acknowledge that we all have our areas of training and specializations. As your leader, I humbly ask that everybody be forthright and does not hold back. Let me know if I’m making a mistake. Teach me your work area so I can help and support you better.”
This had been a simple, brief exchange. But it made another big step towards establishing ZIL’s teamwork culture for the missions to come.
…
Marilyn nodded to herself. As the first person aboard the MMM and the person who gave the ship its name, Marilyn was also the first person to operate the ship. So Marilyn felt that the MMM was tied to her identity in some way.
On a big ship, the pilot and navigator is not the captain. The captain is the leader who must make decisions. And Marilyn felt that with her mischievous, irreverent and prankish nature, she was not the ideal captain. But she wanted a real leader like the kinds of Khans who had ruled Turkic peoples. These Khans were also the ideal military officers, who shared their men’s experiences.
A khan was not necessarily the best shot. Or the strongest man. Or the best swordsman. Or the best horseman. But he was good enough at all these that he understood each role in his army, and could lead appropriately.
And that was also what modern soldiers looked for in their officers. An officer didn’t need to be the best signalman or scout or sniper or driver. He just needed to share and understand his men so he could lead with the right decisions.
These idealized leadership roles were sorely lacking in the culture of the Soviet Union and its successor republics. Leadership in many countries comprised of rulers living in luxury and isolation and ignorance while their underlings toiled. Military officers hid at the back with pistols and forced the rank and file to fight in the front.
“I’ve had enough of bad leadership,” Marilyn thought to herself. “Let’s hope our Benefactors are right and Stacy will lead us well. A leader who makes herself part of all our efforts is the best possible start.”
…
Marilyn suddenly became aware of what appeared to be an argument taking place.
Her new leader was exhibiting some unusual characteristics, and Naz wasn’t accepting them.
Stacy had suggested leaving the Rolls Royce behind when ZIL embarked on its journey!
This leads to a Discussion: ZIL Vote 002 A Phantom Question. If you’d like to read more about how they decided to bring the Rolls Royce along, click here. If not, just read on.
After loading everything including the Rolls Royce and Marilyn’s Lada into the airship Mir Mriya Mir, it was now time to go. The MMM’s interior was already completed and all necessary equipment was installed. Supplies were fully loaded on board. The ZIL members were about to board their airship, when suddenly they heard some sounds. A car and two motorcycles were coming!
Stacy looked in the direction of the sounds. To her surprise, the Motorcycle Mechanics’ Mentors were back!
“Hello,” the Manager greeted the three men and two women. “Time to give you all a formal introduction.”
“The… the Motorcycle Mechanics’ Mentors are our Mentors?” Now Angel was feeling embarassed. Despite her straightforward and sometimes even vulgar talk, Angel had a Kazakh sense of hierarchy. If these were her social seniors, she had to be polite. And not make-up mocking monikers like Moscow Mutual Masturbators!
Riley
Riley was the first to apologize, but her Mentor waved it off.
“We didn’t introduce ourselves because we wanted to see how you reacted to an adverse situation,” the woman explained.
“I’m afraid we were too quick to issue a challenge, and too quick to start shooting. It’s my fault,” Riley bowed.”
“Nobody got hurt; that was important,” the Mentor replied. “But what did you learn?”
“Don’t pull a gun too quickly.”
“Exactly. This is a common problem with people who are armed with taser guns. Because they know the weapons are not lethal, they are much more trigger happy as a result. But this also increases the likelihood of a lethal encounter. For instance, if you taser somebody in a petrol station, it may cause an explosion because the electricity ignites the petroleum vapors in the air.”
Riley continued listening to her Mentor, chastised.
Angel
“No offence taken, no need to apologize,” Angel’s Mentor waved off any attempt by Angel to apologize. “We’re actually just the Mentors, by the way. Don’t add Motorcycle Mechanics in front. That was just a joke.”
Angel stood in front of her Mentor with an ashamed look on her face. In Kazakh custom, older and more senior people deserve respect. Now Angel didn’t know how to respond.
“Relax, Melek,” the Mentor said. “Was that the best you could do?”
Angel had to admit that she was trying her best just now.
“Your report did say that you have no known martial arts skills. That sounds right?”
“Yes. Anything I tried, was from being a spectator at sports events.”
“I’ve gotten some idea about your skills. Now I need to work out a training regimen for you. In the meantime, the other Mentors need to test out your teammates before you embark on your journey.”
…
Angel now stood to the side with her arms folded.
The whole scene reminded her of something. But what?
She seemed to have seen this before. A fight at an aircraft hanger, with people cheering as a tall blond man with a buzz cut fought other people.
She could even insert the thought in big letters across the screen: FIGHT!
…
Ah!
Now Angel remembered! She had seen this in one of the recreational facilities of a petrochemicals complex before. A game called Streetfighter!
Naz
Naz faced off a fairly good sized man. He was a Mentor from earlier. Not the thin wiry one or the one with Strength who had almost defeated Angel.
“Go ahead,” the Mentor waved.
“I’m carrying metal tools.”
“I’m aware of that. So try to hit me with them.”
…
“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” Naz panted as she tried to land hits on her opponent. She chased him around in a circle, and never even got close to landing a hit.
“You’re too slow,” the Mentor said and called a halt to the fight.
Naz stood with legs akimbo, holding her weapons.
“Have to train to get faster. But no matter how fast you become, you still aren’t cut out to be primarily fast,” the Mentor observed. “If you’re not fast, you can’t really go on the offensive. You can’t strike out quickly.”
“So I have to defend all the time?”
“I can see that you have a sense of movements. So you should focus on improving your judgment and battle sense, if you want to attack. So instead of making lots of quick attacks, you should wait for the right opportunity.”
…
“Staying on the defense means you need to move less. That’s not just good for preserving stamina; it also respects the fact that you are likely to be wielding heavy, slow weapons,” the Mentor said. “To put this in gaming terminology, don’t rush your opponent. Counter instead.”
“So I have to let them hit me or attack me first?”
“You’re not a fencer. And your big, heavy metal tools are fantasic for defending yourself.”
…
“What other feedback?”
“I’ll have to devise a training program. But I notice that you wielded quickly.”
“Just now you said I was slow.”
“Quickly, refers to the way you handled your weapons relative to other people who have no combat experience. My info on you said no martial arts, no military or security experience, no known self defense classes.”
Naz lowered her tools. “I’m amazed. But totally right.”
“But what we didn’t know, is how adept you are at your tools. Now I can see that you are not randomly lashing out with metal stuff. You don’t just use them as tools; you play with them.”
“Yes I do. Practically all my tools, I play with them at some point. Toss, spin, manipulate, whatever.”
Naz started spinning a spanner over one arm, then she tossed and spun a socket wrench in her other hand. She seemingly was not even looking; she could manipulate them in midair effectively.
“That was missing from my info packet. But it’s extremely good,” the Mentor beamed. “For somebody who never had any formal fighting training, you move in a practiced manner. You clearly can deploy your tools without hesitation or stumbling. And that is the Quickly I was talking about.”
“I guess playing with them so much makes it second nature to me. I’m comfortable with using my tools to engage enemies.”
“That could be the basis of some kungfu. For instance, you have to let your opponents lash out at you. But when they get near, you could use your weapons to disarm them.”
Marilyn
Marilyn was watching Naz’s fight when the lean, wiry Mentor from earlier snuck up on her and grabbed Marilyn in a bear hug. Marilyn tossed and squirmed, but the man held her tight.
Marilyn tried to jerk her head backwards to strike his face, but completely failed. She kicked about ineffectively.
After giving Marilyn a minute, the man suddenly let go. And Marilyn tripped and fell.
“Whoa!” The man grabbed Marilyn by her upper arms and steadied Marilyn.
She fled, but turned around after a few steps and backed against some equipment. Marilyn sensed that this man was not hostile despite his bear hug earlier.
“Maryam, I am your Mentor,” the man smiled.
Marilyn was still panting and her hair was completely messed up. “That was a nice way to greet me.”
“I’m surprised. You’re remarkably unaware for a sniper.”
“I thought this is a safe zone. It’s our Benefactors’ place, after all.”
“Did you not think your Benefactors’ place might not be infiltrated by criminals or enemies some day?”
“…” Marilyn didn’t know what to say.
“We have our days off. And then there will only be a small crew at work in the facility, and a small security presence. Any determined secret agent can penetrate this facility.”
…
“You’re a sniper because it suits your physical condition,” the Mentor said. “You’re skilled but light and not strong. So you will always need to be a ranged attacker.”
“So you shouldn’t take me on at close quarters. That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” the Mentor said. “And it is my job to improve your chances. You can’t always be a sniper and engage enemies from far. Sometimes you will be without a ranged weapon, or you will be walking in a tight urban area, and your enemies want to assault you. They won’t give you time to get your gun and space to position yourself safely.”
Marilyn lowered her head. It was true that she had taken self defense classes as part of her MXX training. But she wasn’t really practiced in these. Nobody had attacked her when she was doing sniper work.
“I think we have to consider several things. Awareness, defensive reaction, skilled response,” the Mentor said.
“I could just do with the first. And run for the rest,” Marilyn suggested. After all, a sniper was normally expected to fire and flee.
“You’re not in the military or MXX anymore,” the man replied. “In these organizations, snipers serve specific roles. Others are expected to engage opponents close up on their behalf. But we must train you in basic self defense… Because sometimes, if you run, you will be abandoning the field for the enemies to focus on your team. They might even take over your vantage position and use it to snipe your team instead. And not to mention, sometimes you will be on a rooftop and your enemy has blocked the way out. So you have to train for a fight.”
Marilyn nodded soberly. Everything this Mentor said made sense. Thus far, Marilyn had been acting as though she could just fire and flee, and somebody else would be engaging the enemy up front. But now she didn’t have abundant manpower to cover her. ZIL was just a team of five. So when not sniping, she had to do some other things to keep the enemy occupied and distracted.
Stacy
While the fighting was taking place, an older woman came by and addressed Stacy.
“I’m Elvira,” she said. She was the woman who had been sitting on the car bonnet earlier.
“You’re my Mentor?” Stacy had a funny reaction to the name Elvira. After all, it was the stage name of a woman who did occult humor in the USA.
Stacy had once watched Elvira, Mistress of the Dark with dormmates in university. It was just a random relaxation session.
Stacy couldn’t relax enough to spend 2 hours watching the entire film. But she understood the basic tropes very well – mysterious, sexy spellcaster. Woman who used different kinds of magic to stimulate (literally) men.
It was campy, bawdy, silly – but also entertaining in a way. So Stacy found it amusing to be trained by a severe looking – a Russian looking – Elvira in spells.
“You could say, I’m a temporary Mentor. I’m contracted for this.”
“How much do you know about me?”
“Most of your file is redacted for me. But I understand you have many academic interests, and a broad range of knowledge. So other people will be assigned to Mentor you later. My job is just to help you develop your kungfu of Economics.”
“I studied the theory, but have never used Economics magic before.”
“You need to use magical power, mana, to power your Economics spells. But do not underestimate the importance of Economics. Even at its least powerful, knowledge of Economics can be used to change your own life. And at its most powerful, the magic of Economics can affect the entire world.”