“Break an arm,” Salomen said.
Lhyn’s breath caught. “A leg,” she managed, choking back laughter.
Salomen watched with a grin as she crossed the short distance to the stage and took the four steps in two strides.
“You knew that,” Andira said.
“Of course I did.”
At the podium, Lhyn shook Ambassador Solvassen’s hand and turned to the crowd. “Many Fleet traditions date back to the days when ships sailed in water, not space,” she said. “We still use them despite their having no practical application, because traditions matter. They make up the rich tapestry of our culture. At a time when Alsea is building new traditions, I’m privileged to narrate some of ours. Admiral Tsao, Captain Serrado, please come to the front of the stage.”
The two women rose from their chairs and stood facing each other.
“Chief Warrant Officer Roris,” Ekatya said, never taking her eyes off the admiral. “Report to the stage with the sword of command.”
Applause swept through the tiered seats as Roris’s friends celebrated the first official use of her new rank and her position of honor in the ceremony.
Roris marched down the center aisle of the floor seating, her white-gloved hands gripping a short sword in vertical orientation.
“Look at that,” Andira marveled as they watched her pass. “A pre-collapsible sword!”
She executed a sharp right turn at the front, then a sharp left at the stairs before smartly stepping up and moving to a point at midstage. Once behind Ekatya and the admiral, she stopped and turned with precise footwork.
“Swords are not a part of modern Fleet weaponry,” Lhyn said. “But they were indispensable during the early days of sailing on seas. A working sword was typically short and narrow, making it easy to carry and less likely to catch on rigging or other obstacles in the close quarters of a sailing ship. It had a plain, unadorned grip for the same reason, bearing only a simple guard for protection. It was lightweight and practical. Ceremonial swords were longer, fancier, and impractical, but it is not the ceremonial sword that survives today.”
“Chief Warrant Officer Roris, present the sword of command,” Ekatya said.
Roris stepped forward and held out the sword. Ekatya turned to her and nodded in acknowledgment as she accepted it with both hands.
“This sword belongs not to Captain Serrado but to the Ship of the Protectorate Fleet Phoenix,” Lhyn said. “It represents the commanding officer’s responsibility to her ship and crew, to protect them, guide them, and lead with integrity. Captain Serrado will now inspect the sword.”
Turning toward the audience, Ekatya bent slightly and tilted the sword, its grip pointing downward. With a swift motion, she pulled the blade, leaving only its tip in the scabbard.
“A command sword must be returned in perfect condition,” Lhyn said as Ekatya faced Admiral Tsao, rotated the sword, and bent a second time to inspect the opposite face of the blade.
“This symbolizes her care of both crew and ship, and the fulfilment of her duty.”
Ekatya straightened with the sword held vertically once more.
“Captain Serrado will now close the sword as her last official act as captain and commanding officer of the SPF Phoenix.”
Salomen heard the snap as the sword slid back into its scabbard. She did not expect the sound to have such an emotional impact, but found herself blinking back tears.
“The passing of the sword from Captain Serrado to Admiral Tsao represents her relinquishment of the duties and responsibilities of her command of the SPF Phoenix.”
Ekatya took a single step forward, offering but not releasing the sword.
Admiral Tsao gripped it with both hands. “Captain Serrado, do you stand ready to be relieved of command?”
“Admiral Tsao, I stand ready to be relieved.”
“Captain Serrado, I relieve you.”
Ekatya let go and stepped back, her hands empty.
In her peripheral vision, Salomen saw Andira surreptitiously swipe a finger beneath one eye. She understood the emotion in their link. Even knowing that Ekatya was moving to a better place, the finality of this was difficult to watch.
“Admiral Tsao will now return the sword of command to Chief Warrant Officer Roris, maintaining the continuity of the sword’s presence with its ship and crew. Normally, it would be taken to the captain’s office to await its next holder. Since there will be no other Fleet commander of this ship, the sword of command will return to Tashar as a historical artifact.”
Tsao offered the sword to Roris, who took it carefully in her gloved hands. “Chief Warrant Officer Roris, I entrust this sword to you for safekeeping. Return it to my quarters, where I will see it safely to its next destination.”
“Aye aye, Admiral.” Roris bowed her head, turned smartly to the left, and marched off the stage. As she moved through the crowd, Ekatya retook her seat and Admiral Tsao stepped to the podium.
“With command of the SPF Phoenix now resting in Admiral Tsao’s capable hands, we turn to the third part of today’s ceremony,” Lhyn said. “Admiral?”
“Thank you, Dr. Rivers.” Tsao shook Lhyn’s hand and watched her depart from the stage before announcing, “Captain Serrado will not be accepting new orders from Fleet. She is retiring today, but before I allow that, there is a small matter of record keeping.”
Lhyn reached her seat and raised her eyebrows in a silent query for Andira, who shrugged.
“I don’t know either,” Salomen said as Lhyn sat down.
“Captain, evidence received by Command Dome has proven that the suspension of your command after last month’s battle was an egregious abuse of power in the service of a personal agenda. That suspension has been struck from your record. In its place is a formal letter of apology from the Admiralty. As its chief representative here today, I would like to reiterate our regret for the injustice perpetrated in our name and in the name of Fleet.”
“Oh my fucking stars,” Lhyn whispered.
Clearly shocked, Ekatya could only manage a nod.
Admiral Tsao turned to the audience. “Fleet is a very large entity, encompassing individuals from planets all over the Protectorate. We have a saying, which I’m not sure will translate into High Alsean: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
“It translates,” Lhyn called, setting off a wave of nods among the Alsean attendees.
“Good. We strive to elevate only our best, but as with any large organization, the ideal and the reality don’t always match. Injustices do occur. They do not represent our ideals or our hopes. Captain Serrado, you do represent our ideals. Your retirement is a great loss to Fleet and a great gain for Alsea. I wish you the brightest of futures.” She smiled at Ekatya before turning back to Ambassador Solvassen. “Ambassador, shall we begin the fun part?”
The fun part, it turned out, was a parade of speakers telling short stories about their experience working with Ekatya. Each of the eleven section chiefs spoke, as well as Commander Lokomorra and First Pilot Candini. Chief Warrant Officer Roris was also featured, along with a commodore and two admirals Salomen didn’t know.
She noted an interesting trend: those who had not known Ekatya outside of her command persona told straightforward stories full of respect and admiration. Those who knew her better went for humor. She didn’t think it was a coincidence that the stories grew funnier as time went on.
Ekatya returned to the podium for a few humorous stories of her own, exacting revenge in two cases for the tales that had been told on her. Then she delivered a speech aimed at younger members of Fleet, offering advice gleaned from a lifetime of service.
“In physical training, they tell you that if it’s easy, you’re not doing it right,” she said at the end. “I’ve found that applies to most of life. Challenge yourself. Hold yourself to the highest standards, even if others around you don’t. You can make it easy on yourself, or you can make a difference.”
She paused, her gaze going to
Lhyn.
“I chose to make a difference. And now, with the greatest respect for Fleet and the opportunities it gave me, I’m leaving. I’ve been asked to make a difference on Alsea, and I think . . .” A bright smile lit her face. “It’s time for a new adventure. Farewell and good hunting.”
The shuttle bay rang with shouts, whistles, and applause as every attendee rose to their feet.
Clapping madly, Andira leaned over and spoke in Salomen’s ear. “I think she just received some much-needed closure.”
Salomen nodded. “I think she feels better about Fleet now than she has in the past cycle.”
“Admiral Tsao was astute. She turned a black mark against Fleet into a recruitment opportunity, all with a simple apology.”
“Do you think that’s why she did it?”
“Does it matter?”
The standing ovation lasted nearly five ticks, during which Ekatya descended from the stage to shake hands with and sometimes give warmrons to each of her former section chiefs. She ended in what appeared to be a heartfelt warmron with Commander Lokomorra, saying something to him that could not be heard over the continuing noise.
Salomen nudged Lhyn. “I know Gaians are free with warmrons, but it surprises me to see them at a military function.”
Lhyn beamed at her. “She’s not military. She just retired.”
“What about them?”
“I think this falls in the cracks between ceremonies. It’s not an official function right now. Besides, are they going to say no to her?”
Commander Lokomorra was laughing when he finally let go of Ekatya. She laughed with him, the past cycle’s cares and burdens having vanished without a trace, and patted his shoulder affectionately before turning for the stage.
No, Salomen thought, there wasn’t a person in this shuttle bay who would say no to her right now.
Ambassador Solvassen returned to the podium as the applause finally slowed and the attendees retook their seats.
“We now begin the fourth part of our program,” he said. “The decommissioning ceremony.”
The last shreds of applause died, leaving a heavy sense of solemnity.
“Such ceremonies normally involve speeches and long stories of the ship’s history. But the SPF Phoenix is a young ship, entering service just two cycles ago.”
Beneath the translation coming through her earcuff, Salomen heard two Common words she understood. In Protectorate timekeeping, it had been three years.
“The history of this ship is inextricably tied with the history of Captain Serrado’s command. When Admiral Tsao recounted Captain Serrado’s career during the award ceremony, she fulfilled that function of the decommissioning ceremony. There’s little left to do now but the final acts. Distinguished guests, members of Fleet, I now present Vice Admiral Torokuok, Chief of Fleet Operations.”
A white-haired man dripping with medals walked to the podium. “Thank you, Ambassador Solvassen. I’m grateful to be here on this momentous occasion. As the Protectorate Fleet transfers ownership of the SPF Phoenix to the Alsean Defense Force, we bid farewell to a ship that has served faithfully. It is both a pleasure and a comfort to know that this fine ship will continue to serve the same cause for her new owners: that of freedom and defense against those who would threaten it. This transfer cements the ties of friendship between Alsea and the Protectorate, and strengthens our shared determination to stand together in protection of those who need us.”
He turned to face the cluster of Alsean dignitaries. “Prime Warrior Ehron, as you represent the Alsean Defense Force and the future crew of this ship, I wish you much success and offer our traditional good luck wish for any departing ship: Farewell, and good hunting.” He paused for polite applause before adding, “This tradition dates back three generations, to the beginning of our war with the Voloth Empire. I sincerely hope that war has ended.”
This time, the applause was longer.
Looking up to the raised seating along the walls, he said, “To you, the current members of this crew, I’m grateful for the smooth transfer of the SPF Phoenix and wish each of you continued success in your new assignments.”
“We’re staying!” someone shouted. In the same area, another crew member whooped.
“That was Roris’s team,” Lhyn said with a chuckle. “They were the first to request to stay on.”
A few other voices popped up, some declaring “Me too!” while others cried “Wish I could!”
Torokuok waited for them to settle. “And now it is time. I hereby place the SPF Phoenix out of commission.”
In the dead silence that followed, he stepped away and took his seat at the left side of the stage.
Ambassador Solvassen stood up. “Will Admiral Tsao and Dr. Rivers please return to the podium?”
“Part two,” Lhyn murmured. She bounced back up the stairs, this time to stand side by side with Fleet’s highest-ranking admiral. “In keeping with naval tradition,” she said, “Fleet ships display the Protectorate flag and their commissioning pennant in the shuttle bay, the first place crew and visitors see when they board. These two items are the first to be raised when a ship is commissioned, and the last to be lowered at the end of its service.”
Salomen turned toward the enormous flag hung above the shuttle bay office, directly across from the exit tunnel, and saw it with new understanding. Beside it, a colorful pennant spanned the same height but only a fraction of the width.
“Will the guests please rise?” Lhyn asked.
With a rumble, the audience stood.
“Officer of the deck,” Admiral Tsao said. “Strike the commissioning pennant.”
“Aye aye, Admiral,” came a voice from the far side of the bay.
Accompanied by a soft drum beat, the slender pennant slipped down the wall. Before its tip could touch the deck, a crew member caught it in gloved hands and began walking backward. Three others stepped in as the pennant completed its journey, keeping its length elevated above the deck while the last man unclipped it from the line.
In sharp, practiced movements, the team folded it into a tidy triangle and presented it to a fifth crew member, who spun in place and marched to the stage.
“Admiral, the commissioning pennant has been struck.”
“Very well. Prepare to haul down the colors.”
“When a ship’s colors are hauled down,” Lhyn said, “it’s viewed as a kind of death. The ship will never again sail through space under the auspices of the Protectorate. It will not be served by the same crew. It is a loss to Fleet, and as such is mourned with the traditional lament played at Fleet memorials. The melody you are about to hear is called ‘Another Star Falling.’”
“Officer of the deck,” Admiral Tsao commanded. “Haul down the colors.”
“Aye aye, Admiral.”
The band eased into a haunting melody as the flag began to sink. Salomen watched with a tight throat, startled by her reaction to an event she had expected to view as joyful.
Andira’s hand rested on her shoulder. “It’s a surprise to me, too,” she whispered. “Fleet has some beautiful traditions.”
Salomen reached across to cover her hand, needing the contact as they watched the flag descend. Two more crew members joined the original team of four to catch and fold it. They finished in perfect time with the song, their motions stilling when the last note faded into silence.
“Admiral, the colors have been hauled down.”
“Very well. Close the log and secure the watch.”
A whistle sounded over the bay com, followed by a different voice. “Watch is secured.”
“Will the guests please be seated?” Lhyn said.
As the attendees took their seats, the two crew members holding the folded pennant and flag mounted the steps to the stage.
“Since it is now decommissioned, this ship can no longer be referred to as the SPF Phoenix. It is simply the Phoenix until commissioned and renamed by its new owners. In accepting the commissioning pennant and color
s, Admiral Tsao is performing the last act of the ship’s commanding officer.”
“Poor Ekatya,” Salomen murmured. “This should have been her.”
“It might have worked out better this way.” Andira watched Tsao acknowledge the crew members, who placed the folded cloths in her arms. “She’ll be on the other end of it next moon, on a much more joyous occasion.”
“Admiral Tsao will now present custody of the ship to Vice Admiral Torokuok,” Lhyn said.
The two admirals met in the center of the stage.
“Vice Admiral Torokuok, I hereby deliver custody of the Phoenix to you.” Tsao offered the pennant and flag.
“Very well. I accept custody of the Phoenix.” Torokuok took the cloths, spun in place, and handed them to another officer. “Retire the colors.”
“This flag and this pennant will never be flown again. They will travel to Command Dome to be preserved as two of the most important artifacts in the historical record of this ship. With the retirement of the colors, the decommissioning ceremony is concluded.” Lhyn nodded to Ambassador Solvassen, who replaced her at the podium.
“Distinguished guests, members of Fleet,” he said, “Vice Admiral Torokuok will now deliver the Phoenix to the Alsean Defense Force, represented here by Prime Warrior Ehron.”
Ehron rose from his seat and mounted the steps to the stage. In his Alsean uniform and full cape, he stood out like a moonbird on the stage full of Fleet officers.
“Prime Warrior Ehron,” Torokuok said. “Pursuant to the agreement executed between our respective governments, and as the Chief of Fleet Operations, I hereby transfer the Phoenix to the custody of the government of Alsea.”
“Thank you, Vice Admiral. I accept custody of this ship in the name of the Alsean Defense Force.” Ehron’s High Alsean needed no translation, but Salomen thought she had heard wrong when he turned and said, “First Guard Vellmar, please come to the stage.”
She shook her head. “Did he—”
Andira beamed. “She was due a promotion, don’t you think?”
Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10) Page 24
