by S. H. Jucha
Alex’s heart swelled in his chest. An advanced, technological starship was at his fingertips, and he was the Captain. The thought that he was also responsible for the safety and lives of everyone aboard doused his elation with cold water.
Employing the ship’s thrusters, Julien slowly spun the Rêveur to come about to their new course.
As the bow swung past the orbital’s viewing platform, Alex enlarged the central screen and spotted hundreds of workers and citizens standing and waving through the station’s viewing windows.
As they cleared the orbital complex, Julien relayed a vid to the port view screen. “Captain, I have intercepted a vid transmission to a New Terran news station.” In the vid, the sleek silhouette of the Rêveur, barely visible in the Joaquin’s exterior lights, suddenly blazed with streams of color traveling in waves across the hull. The reporter’s voice-over said, “The Rêveur signaled her exit from the Joaquin station this morning in a dazzling show of Méridien technology. It was a wonderful salute to the hundreds of workers and civilians who had turned out to watch the launch of the starship.”
Alex kept everyone in confined conditions until their sub-light and inertia compensation tests were completed and Julien was satisfied. After these systems checked out, FTL engine power-up sequences were successfully run as they orbited New Terra.
Alex announced to the crew that all the system tests had been successful, and they were released to move about. Julien relayed to him the cheering that broke out throughout the ship.
After several more orbits, the Rêveur was stationed, once again, beside the Joaquin. Engineers manned the starboard landing bay, ushering in one of the ship’s repaired shuttles.
* * *
Tatia, as First Mate, had responsibility for department requirements and day-to-day issues, one of which was the question of fraternization. Knowing full well she was putting herself and Alain in jeopardy, she broached the subject with Alex.
From behind his desk, Alex smiled up at her, knowing the effort it took her to ask the question. “Tatia, we aren’t a military ship. We aren’t even a company ship. We are an invention, the first in over 700 years in this corner of the galaxy. The rule book is ours to invent. So if it’s broken, we will fix it; if it isn’t broken…”
Tatia gave him a soft salute and a smile as she acknowledged his decision. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, whirling about and barely containing herself as she exited the cabin.
Another of her responsibilities was monitoring the implant progress list. Both she and Renée noticed when Alex’s score changed from 99 to 102. They retired to Renée’s suite and linked with Julien so they could explain their concerns. Alex’s score rising above 100… how was that possible? Alex holding a conversation with multiple people and manipulating vids on screen simultaneously… how was that possible?
If the two women were amazed by this news, Julien’s next words astonished them even more.
Tatia laughed with abandon. When she finally stopped, she said,
And Renée, as astonished as Tatia, added,
-33-
Alex sent Tatia, Terese, and the twins to Barren Island to recruit the pilots and flight crew. Tatia chose not to reinvent the wheel and had Julien edit Alex’s original speech to the first batch of recruits.
The Commander’s candidates, minus those that hadn’t been recommended, were assembled in the Mess Hall. Tatia sent a comm to Julien, who played the edited vid over the hall’s screen.
When it was over, she opened the floor for questions. The candidates asked about their destination, about the implants, the cell-gen injections, and how long they’d be gone, the latter of which had no answer. Then she and the Méridiens waited. Slowly, first one and then a few others got up and left the room. Their names were pulled from consideration, and Tatia was pleased to note she had more than enough volunteers to fill her crew list.
One bright individual, Lt. Andrea Bonnard, seated up front, had noticed Tatia’s momentary unfocused look. “What did you just do, Major—I mean, First Mate Tachenko—just then as the crew members left?” she asked.
Tatia repeated the question to the group in her command voice, adopting the parade rest position she often used in front of her troopers, and explained her manipulation of the recruitment list. Someone at the back voiced a comment about a computer in her head, and it was easily heard in the quiet of the room.
“Exactly people!” she agreed, warming to her subject, “Imagine you’re in an emergency situation. The Captain orders the landing bay evacuated, but you have a stuck airlock hatch. You comm the Chief Engineer or Julien, and you receive a vid of how to manually override the hatch controls. You play the vid and replay it, if necessary, in your head until you are able to clear the airlock. Then you signal the Captain that you’re out, and you’re back in action.”
“And that’s possible with these implants, First Mate?” Lt. Bonnard asked.
“That and much more, Lieutenant.”
Tatia got her crew; everyone they wanted. But there would be a twist on the pilot hierarchy. While the recruits lined up at Base Medical for their implants and cell-gen injections, Tatia met privately with Lt. Bonnard.
“Have a seat Lieutenant,” she said casually. “You’re presently flying Dagger-2, as wing for Lt. Willard, correct.”
“That’s correct, First Mate.”
Tatia had intended to just announce the decision, but she took a different tack, one influenced by Alex’s style of leadership. “I’d like your opinion on the best organization of the Daggers.”
“How does the Captain intend to deploy them?” she asked.
Tatia was pleased by the strategic question. She explained the Captain’s intention to pair the Daggers and use one pair at a time.
Andrea considered her response, not bothered by keeping her superior officer waiting. “It seems to me,” she said finally, “that the first Dagger out the gate needs to be the best flyer. It’s critical the first fighter tag the target to start the ball rolling. That would be our squadron ego, Lt. Willard, but I’d prefer to keep that comment private.”
Tatia responded with a conspiratorial grin, and Andrea continued, “And although I’ve been Dagger-1’s wing, I think Dagger-3, Lt. Dorian, should be his wing.
“And you, Lt. Bonnard?”
“I’d take the lead for Flight-2.”
“Please explain yourself, Lieutenant.”
“The strategy is a two-shot offense. Each pair of fighters represents a single shot, and each shot has the task of sticking the goo on the enemy, receiving the findings,
updating the second payload, hitting the target with updated goo to dig a hole, and finally punching through the hull with a warhead.”
Tatia nodded her agreement, smiling inwardly at the Lieutenant’s representation of the Méridiens’ sophisticated nanites as goo.
“Since the pairs are operating independently,” Andrea continued, “you need the best two pilots in the lead positions of each flight, Jase as lead for Flight-1 and me as lead for Flight-2.”
Tatia sat back and reflected on Andrea’s analysis. She had described the strengths of her fellow pilots and herself accurately, but more importantly, honestly. The Captain’s faith in his Méridiens appeared to be quite well placed.
“Thank you for your evaluation,” Tatia said, standing up behind her desk, “Squadron Leader Bonnard. You’re receiving our pilot and crew lists on your reader now. Coordinate with Commander Jameson to have our flight crews and missile loads shuttled to the Rêveur tomorrow morning at 12.50 hours. All Daggers are to be flown to the Rêveur the following day to arrive at 10 hours. Julien will control any shuttles or fighters within 10K km of the ship, managing all landings, until otherwise ordered. Congratulations, Squadron Leader!”
Andrea was still processing her promotion while attempting to retain her orders and gave a quick thought to the value of an implant. Then, she snapped to attention, delivered a sharp salute, and a firm, “Thank you for the promotion, First Mate. Orders received!”
“Report to Medical for your cell-gen injection and implant, Squadron Leader. Dismissed,” Tatia responded and smiled as Andrea flew out of the office.
-34-
“Captain, I have control of the Daggers,” Julien reported.
The flight service crews had arrived the day before and spent the day moving into their cabin berths and becoming familiar with the ship’s layout. They knew the landing bays intimately. Commander Jameson had built mock-ups of the bays, per Julien’s specifications, for flight crew training.
In addition to the flight crews, the shuttles had delivered the missile silos. Aboard the last shuttle was an auxiliary crew, who flew the Rêveur’s remaining shuttle to Barren Island to make room for the fighters.
“Holding all Daggers at 500 meters, Captain, ready for landing.”
“Starboard bay, stand by to receive Dagger-1,” ordered Alex over the flight crew’s ear comms since the bay personnel were not trained on their newly embedded implants.
“Bay-1 standing by,” replied Chief Roth.
Sensors relayed to Julien the moment Dagger-1 touched down on the deck, but he allowed the Crew Chief to reply.
“Dagger-1 down and locked,” the Chief called out.
Alex walked the crews through the rest of the landings, satisfied with the steadiness of the new Crew Chiefs and their comm protocols. When the Chiefs reported the bays secured, Alex left the bridge watch to Tatia and retired to his cabin.
Renée sent him an urgent message, moments later.
Alex took a seat behind his desk and picked up his reader. He knew who was coming. When the loud knock came at his cabin door, he waited before signaling it open and calling out, “Enter.”
Lt. Willard stalked through the door and demanded to know why he wasn’t Squadron Leader. No salute. No decorum.
“Lt. Willard, we meet again,” Alex said quietly.
Before the pilot could reply, Alex held up his hand. “One moment.”
The Lieutenant was forced to stand there, his control wavering, until another knock came at the door, followed by, “Captain, reporting as requested.”
“Come in Squadron Leader Bonnard. I was about to answer Lt. Willard’s question as to why he doesn’t have your position.”
The two pilots exchanged hard stares as Andrea took a stance beside the Captain’s desk.
“I chose the best strategist and tactician for Squadron Leader, and that’s not you. Now, Lieutenant, I have a simple question for you. Can you or can you not operate under this command organization?” He watched Jase fume. The pilot wanted to argue. That was clear.
Jase had hoped to receive some signal that the Captain might waiver in his decision when challenged, but the other man just sat there staring at him, his expression fixed in stone.
“I’m waiting for your answer, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Sir, I can accept the position,” Jase said, deciding a retreat was in order.
“I see. Let’s test this, Lieutenant.” Alex pitched his voice deep and authoritative, copying the tone Tatia used with her troops. “Please exit my cabin and approach again as it should have been done.” When Jase hesitated, Alex added, “This will determine whether you serve with us, pilot,” hitting hard on the common term, no title offered. Alex watched the Lieutenant’s eyes flick between him and Andrea. Then, apparently having made up his mind, he saluted and strode out the door. With an about face, he knocked quietly on the door.
Alex glanced at Andrea.
She took up the cue. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I request permission to speak to the Captain, Squadron Leader.”
“What is the subject of your request, Lieutenant?”
“The Lieutenant owes the Captain an apology, Sir.”
“Captain, Lieutenant Willard wishes to address you.”
“Admit him.”
“Step forward, Lieutenant.”
Lt. Willard stepped to Alex’s desk and saluted, holding his arm locked to his brow.
Alex continued to examine his reader. Finally, he looked up and didn’t have to pretend the cold anger he felt. He snapped a quick salute. “What is it, pilot?”
“Sir, I wish to apologize for my behavior. My question was out of line. I believe I’m a good pilot, Sir, and would like the opportunity to prove it.”
Alex eyed the Lieutenant, who kept his eyes trained on the bulkhead. “Your piloting skills were never in question, Lieutenant. It’s your judgment that is suspect. Squadron Leader Bonnard, you’ve heard the pilot’s apology. Do you wish to retain him in your squadron? If not, he can be on the shuttle that’s docking in two hours. It’s your choice.”
“Sir,” she said turning to face Alex, “Lt. Willard might be a pain in the ass, but he’s also our best pilot. If he says he can conduct himself properly, I’m willing to give him one more chance.” Then she turned and stared hard at Jase, “But just one more chance.”
“You heard your Squadron Leader, Lieutenant. You have one more chance. If I were you, I’d be careful. Once we set course for Méridien, another insubordinate act on your part and you’ll have one fine long walk back to New Terra. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, Captain.” Jase saluted him. “Thank you, Squadron Leader,” he said, nodding to Andrea as he exited the cabin.
Andrea turned to look at Alex, a little unsure of what to say or do next.
“Is there anything else, Squadron Leader?” Alex enquired of her, which galvanized her to snap to attention. “No, Sir,” she said, and when dismissed, left almost as quickly as Jase had done.
Afterwards, two stories circulated among the crew, one from Jase and another from Andrea, but the messages were similar. Don’t cross the Captain or you will be walking back to New Terra.
-35-
Since it was third watch, Edouard was on the bridge when Alex joined him. They were still in a geo-synchronous orbit around New Terra, holding position next to the Joaquin station.
but he was anticipatory.
* * *
The following days marked the delivery of the Rêveur’s final supplies. Two shuttles arrived requiring off-loading via their rear ramps. Tatia coordinated with Andrea, and Flight-1 cleared the starboard bay for a short training run. Once the shuttles were safely down, their ramps were dropped and their precious cargoes of GEN-2 and GEN-3 machines were offloaded and stored amidships. The shuttles also brought ship supplies, personal items for the crew, and Julien’s alternate site materials.
Alex was surprised to receive a gift from his parents. It was a small, wooden carving of a New Terran tree-dweller seen frequently in the woods outside his parent’s home. It was carved from a fragrant wood, and holding the little carving close, he could smell the forest.
In the midst of midday meal, Alex nearly choked on a bite of food. While he understood the concepts of Méridien food stocks, nanites, and a controller to fabricate recipes, he’d never before wondered about the available food supply and immediately queried Julien.
