Homeward: The Ship Series // Book Three

by Jerry Aubin

  Zax paused for a deep breath before speaking. He did that a lot, and Kalare never quite understood what was behind it.

  “No, I’m not going back to Waste Systems. Like you predicted, the Boss rewarded me for everything I did to keep him out of the hands of the civilians. I’ll be in Flight Ops once they finish getting it up and running again. I’m also entering the Pilot Academy.”

  Zax was downplaying the news for some reason, but his excitement was obvious to Kalare. It was excitement she genuinely shared.

  “Wow, Zax, that’s awesome! I’m so happy for you. You totally deserve this. I’m thrilled we’ll be working together again. I’m even more excited we’ll be in the Academy at the same time! The way they do the training we’ll still see each other a lot even with me a year ahead. Maybe I’ll even get to do some of your instruction!”

  “Thanks. It would be great if you did some of my training. I’m really excited about us spending a lot more time together as well.”

  Zax punctuated his last statement with an odd smile. Kalare was at a loss as to what the expression might mean, but for some reason it made her slightly uncomfortable. She stood to leave.

  “I’ve got to get going. I told Captain Clueless I’d visit him in medbay after I had a chance to catch up with you. I can’t believe he isn’t up and about yet. We both got shot in the belly, and yet here I am all fine. He keeps whining about how his spine got nicked, but I think he’s just malingering so he doesn’t have to help with the cleanup around the Ship.”

  The mention of Aleron changed the expression on Zax’s face. The odd smile was replaced with a tight grimace.

  “When did you two become such buddies?”

  “With all of the wounded, they doubled us up during our recovery. We didn’t have anything else to do, so we got to chatting. I’m not trying to diminish how much he’s tormented you, Zax, but he doesn’t really seem like that bad of a guy. Maybe picking on you was all just the influence of that idiot mentor of his.”

  Zax’s grimace transformed into a tight smile, but once again Kalare wasn’t convinced he was being genuine. His flat tone served to reinforce her suspicions, even if his actual words tried to suggest otherwise.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’m glad you two are getting along so well. I should get going too. I don’t have much time to prepare for my first day at the Academy.”

  “Prepare? I just showed up on my first day and jumped right in.”

  Zax smiled, genuinely this time, as he shook his head and stood up.

  “There’s that fantastic Kalare approach to her career that never ceases to boggle my mind. I’m so happy you’re alive. I don’t know what I would have done without you around.”

  “Me too! I’ll see you later, Zax. The Boss has me running around like crazy today, but let’s meet here again tomorrow morning.”

  3

  You led a Revolution, you won, and now you're in charge.

  The small meeting room was jammed to bursting with both key civilians and senior members of the Crew. Imair had intentionally picked a room that was too small for the group she had called together. Forcing people into close proximity was a good way to accelerate the team-building process, which she knew would be critical to their ultimate success. She was not foolish enough to believe the Crew would truly accept their new civilian co-workers as teammates only six days after their world had been upended, but she had to start breaking down barriers as fast as possible to maintain the fragile peace on the Ship.

  Madam President. Imair rolled the title around in her head. The Ship had been under military command for 5,000 years, so the notion of a civilian president with final authority would take significant time for everyone to accept. It wasn’t without precedent in human history, however. Imair had devoured the Ship’s history texts and learned that many nations of ancient Earth were organized such that an elected civilian was the Commander-in-Chief of their military forces.

  Imair’s position, though, did not come from the will of the people through any form of election. Her claim to power was based upon a pile of explosives that now ringed the Ship’s Faster-Than-Light drive. The badge on her chest was actually a detonator that would allow her, or any of her most trusted lieutenants who wore similar devices, to initiate the destruction of the most irreplaceable piece of equipment on the Ship. Without a functional FTL drive, they would be effectively stranded for all eternity. Yes, the Ship was still capable of travel at near-light speed, but they would run out of fuel and other critical resources long before they reached a habitable planet.

  Imair had pulled the Flight Boss aside yesterday, demonstrated how the badges worked, and explained how they had been distributed among the senior civilians. The man had blanched at the notion of any single person having the power to maroon the Ship—either intentionally or accidentally. Imair had ensured proper safeguards were in place to prevent any unauthorized or accidental initiation of the destruction sequence, but she didn’t bother to share this fact with the Boss. A little fear and uncertainty would likely prove useful in keeping the Omega in line.

  The Boss sat off to the side and stared at Imair as he waited for her to start the meeting. The impassive demeanor he tried to exude was betrayed by the tightness of his jaw muscles as he chewed one of his ever-present cigars. If by some miracle they worked together long enough to trust one another, Imair would have to inform the man of this behavioral “tell” to help him do a better job keeping his thoughts and emotions hidden.

  The attendees were almost perfectly split between civilians and Crew. Imair had hoped there might be some amount of accidental integration, but that hadn’t happened. The room was bisected with Crew on the right and civilians on the left. Multiple people on both sides had even chosen to stand rather than occupy the lone empty chair that divided the two factions.

  Imair cleared her throat loudly. After a couple of secs the various discussions around the compartment ceased, and all eyes fell on her. She’d already been involved in smaller group conversations with almost everyone present, but this was her first time to address the new leadership “team” in its entirety.

  “Good morning. It’s great to see everyone together at last. Even better to see the degree of unity exhibited in how the two groups have arranged yourselves around the room.”

  There were a few tentative smiles and a couple of nervous titters in response to Imair’s attempt at dispelling some of the tension in the room with sarcasm. Only Rege broke into prolonged laughter, and his manic tone was such that it was putting everyone else on edge rather than easing any apprehension. Imair needed to keep a close eye on him. All of the civilians came to this fight with well-earned anger over how they had been treated their entire lives, but she feared that Rege had the potential to cross over the thin boundary that separates freedom fighter from sociopath. He was too valuable a resource and had established too many deep relationships throughout the ranks of the Revolution to try to marginalize him right away. Nonetheless, she needed to monitor him and consider how to safely remove him from the equation.

  “My apologies for leading off with a bad joke in these trying times. I know there has been a lot of change to digest. I also know that all of us lost friends and colleagues during the recent events.” A smirk formed around the cigar in the Boss’s mouth. Imair paused for a moment. “Is there something you would like to say, Boss?”

  “Excuse me, Madam President, but I was reacting to your use of the phrase ‘the recent events.’ The victors get to write the history, so I’m sure some civilian years in the future will soften how he describes what happened here. I would respectfully suggest, however, that you own your actions and call them what they were. Revolution. You led a Revolution, you won, and now you’re in charge. Calling a thing by its proper name isn’t going to make us in the Crew feel any worse about it, but trying to dance around it with euphemisms most certainly will. Ma’am.”

  Everyone on both sides held their breath while they waited for Imair’s response.


  “Thank you, Boss. I deeply appreciate and value that direct feedback.” Imair turned her gaze around the room and made eye contact with everyone in it while she delivered her next point. “Each of you should feel empowered to provide the type of constructive input the Boss just did. It’s going to be a long time before everyone in this room can truly trust each other, but the only way we’re going to keep this Ship safe going forward is if we get to that point sooner rather than later. Being able to speak our minds without fear of repercussions is a critical part of how that will happen. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The affirmative response wasn’t universal and didn’t convey nearly the enthusiasm Imair would have liked, but it was sufficient for this first meeting. She pushed ahead.

  “The days since the Revolution have been filled with the most urgent tasks to help our wounded, mourn our dead, and triage the damage to the Ship. Everyone here has pulled double-shifts and operated on limited sleep to make this happen. You’ve all done amazing work, and I want to offer my heartfelt thanks.

  “We must now enter a new phase. I ask each of you to work even harder in the weeks ahead. You’ve done admirably well at cleaning up after the Revolution, but now we have to build for what comes next. The future of this Ship is to return to its past—we’re going to retrace our steps and visit the colonies we’ve established to search for the other humans we know are traveling the stars. This shouldn’t be a random journey but instead one that has been thought out and designed to provide the best odds of crossing paths with our fellow travelers.”

  The civilians gave the impression of being uniformly excited while the Crew were almost uniformly dubious—the Boss being the only one who reacted like he was buying into her plan. Imair didn’t have time to concern herself right now with whether his reaction was legitimate or an act, but it bore careful observation going forwards. She finished up her words for the group.

  “It should be clear for each of you what needs to be done to prepare for what’s next. If it isn’t, please find me and let’s discuss. We’ll convene again in this room in exactly two weeks to discuss the plan in detail and ensure we all agree about how we’re moving forward. You’re all dismissed with the exception of the Boss and Rege.”

  After everyone filed out, Imair turned to the Boss.

  “I meant it when I said I appreciated your candor earlier, Boss. Please keep it up. I trust you’ll be a great role model in helping others understand this is not a dictatorship where I want to hear nothing but ‘yes’ all of the time. If we can’t work together to come to the best possible solutions, then we have zero chance of success. Thank you.”

  The Boss kept his expression neutral but nodded his head in acknowledgement. Imair continued.

  “There is one final loose end we need to take care of. I’d like the three of us to head over to the brig.”

  The Boss stood before he spoke. “With all due respect, Madam President, I will take care of this on my own. I don’t think either of you have anything worthwhile to add to the process. Permission to be dismissed?”

  Imair stared at the Boss for a dozen secs, but his expression remained impassive. She turned to Rege, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, and then back to the Boss.

  “Dismissed, with the understanding Rege and I will instead be watching via the observation cameras.”

  The Boss nodded. “By all means.”

  4

  This doesn't feel right, Boss.

  The Boss entered the brig and located the cell he wanted. He dismissed the guard with instructions he was not to be disturbed. As he sat down at the observation station outside the cell, an icon blinked to signify that video and sound were being transmitted elsewhere. The Boss couldn’t care less if Imair and her stooges observed remotely, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them be present.

  The cell was intentionally barren with its only contents being a titanium bunk affixed to the deck and a toilet made of the same material with a lid that sealed tight when not in use. As the Boss sat down, the Captain rose from her bunk and leaned against the bulkhead nearest the toilet. Her expression was blank as she stared at him through the transparent titanium. Finally, she spoke.

  “Saw your little performance on the newsvid. Someone did a great makeup job to get you looking all tortured up like that. But look at you now—not a mark on you. You couldn’t be bothered to keep up the charade and sport some fake bruises for a few more days? You don’t seriously trust the civilians to keep the truth to themselves, do you?”

  “What does it matter, ma’am? It’s not like anyone from the Crew pays attention to anything the civilians say. I can’t fault you for being upset about the situation we’re in, but do you honestly believe you’d be doing anything different if our positions were reversed?”

  “I don’t know, Boss, I just don’t know. Perhaps you can help me understand your decision a little better to make it easier for me to empathize with you. From where I sit, I was about to enact the contingency plan that numerous other captains have triggered in the past. An action that all of us Omegas understand may be required of us to protect the Mission. Venting the Ship is clearly an option of last resort, and I was doing it only upon tremendous deliberation. If you think you wouldn’t make that choice yourself to prevent the civilians from taking over, then when the hell else would you?”

  The Captain knew how this conversation would end. She wasn’t arguing and there was no malice in her eyes as she spoke. She was genuinely curious. The Boss didn’t want to drag the ordeal out any longer than he had to, but he owed her at least some measure of closure.

  “I understand, Captain. I really do. If I had been in your position on the Bridge, I would have issued that order as well. All of us Omegas would have. That’s why Alpha took action and recommended that I enact Order Sixty-Six. A captain last vented the Ship a thousand years ago, and a lot has changed since then. You know as well as I do that we’re approaching the point of collapse. We barely keep ahead of the critical maintenance that sustains operational readiness. Alpha projected that the shock of a venting plus the effort involved in the subsequent repopulation would have finally destroyed our ability to continue the Mission. I agreed.”

  The Captain listened intently and nodded along, but suddenly she stopped short and her eyes went wide.

  “Wait—did you say that Alpha instigated Order Sixty-Six?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The Captain remained silent for a few long beats. She slowly shook her head when she spoke.

  “This doesn’t feel right, Boss. For obvious reasons the usage of Order Sixty-Six is something that all captains study to be sure we avoid those same mistakes. There are no records of the order ever being instigated by Alpha. Every single instance in history began with an Omega or group of Omegas who approached Alpha and argued the case for a captain’s removal. Doesn’t that strike you as odd that Alpha would act differently now?”

  The Boss was only partially paying attention to the Captain’s words. She had earned closure, but not the right to tie him up all day. While she spoke he maintained eye contact out of politeness but keyed the necessary authorization codes into the console. A red button lit up in response and slowly flashed next to his right hand. He casually moved that hand toward the button and hovered his index finger over it. When the Captain ended her observations with a question, it forced him to focus and mentally replay the conversation.

  The Boss hesitated once he processed and understood the potential impact of her words. The icon continued to blink, and he considered the civilians who were watching his every move. The Captain’s fate was sealed. Engaging in any further discussion would only risk information coming to light that he might regret Imair learning. The time for talking was past. It was time for action.

  “This would have been an interesting philosophical conversation over drinks, ma’am, but we both know that can never happen now. I’m sorry.”

  Unlike most prisoners who wound up
in this cell, the Captain was well familiar with its design and knew what was coming next. Before the final words left the Boss’s mouth she dropped to the deck and threw her arms around the base of the toilet. Her right hand clutched her left wrist as the Boss’s finger came down and the button stopped flashing and lit solid amber.

  What appeared to be a solid bulkhead opposite the observation station was instead an exterior hatch that flew open and exposed the Captain to the vacuum of space. Even though the decompression was swift and violent, the cell contained a limited amount of atmosphere and the venting lasted for only a sec or two. The Captain’s muscles and veins bulged mightily during that short time, but her grip held and her arms eventually went slack once the pressure was equalized.

  The Boss swore under his breath once it became clear what the Captain had accomplished. Of course the ultimate outcome wouldn’t be any different, but she was drawing the process out as long as possible. He met her gaze as she slowly expelled the air in her lungs. It was counterintuitive to discard precious oxygen if you found yourself exposed to a vacuum, but all Crew knew the risk of having your lungs rupture if you didn’t release some of their relatively high pressure contents. The Boss refused to look away. The time in which the Captain would stay lucid was measured in secs, and she would be denied the satisfaction of seeing his frustration at her final stunt.

  The Captain remained impressively stoic even as blood vessels burst in the whites of her eyes and a spurt of blood escaped her nose and instantly froze. Though her eyes remained open throughout, within a min they had become vacant and she was clearly no longer conscious. Had he any reason to do so, the Boss could seal the compartment and the Captain could be revived and suffer no lingering effects. That was not going to happen. Instead, he stared into her increasingly lifeless eyes until the cell’s biomonitors chimed and signaled she was dead.