by CJ Birch
“I give it a couple years before the whole thing collapses into chaos.”
This from a young master corporal at the next table. I recognize him from the bridge. Alexi Vasa. He’s in charge of comms. What is it about communications? I swear every comms officer I’ve ever served with was named Alexi.
“What is it with you and your anarchy, Vasa?” The captain turns around in her seat. There’s a slight upturn at the corner of her mouth.
“I’m only saying humans have a bad track record with communal governments. Greed and materialism win out every time.” He shrugs as if to apologize for human nature. “Eventually one sect is going to want more and find a way to get it.”
“Give it a chance before you tear it down. Our resilience might surprise you,” I say.
He points his fork at me. “You know what happens to optimists, don’t you?” He mashes the fork into a pile of tofu loaf, spreading it flat around his plate. “They’re the first crushed under the boots of realists.”
The captain snorts next to me. “I think you mean cynics. No one would ever mistake you for a realist, Vasa.” She stands, picking up her tray.
“Well, Vasa, if it’s more you want, I’ll be the first to offer you the rest of my lunch.” I push my tray toward him.
Hartley, the captain, and some others laugh.
The captain rests her other hand on my shoulder and whispers, “Don’t waste away on me, Lieutenant,” before leaving. I feel the pressure from her hand, a reminder of her presence long after she’s gone.
Chapter Five
I reach out and turn off the water in the communal showers above the running track. The silence that follows is eerie. At this hour, I have the place to myself, just another reminder of my isolation. I squeeze the water out of my hair and towel off as I enter the change room. It’s not a very large room, but then, we aren’t a very large crew. I’ve never seen anyone else in here. Most of the crew is asleep at three in the morning.
It’s better this way. It gives me a chance to unwind without having to watch my back. It’s been a week since Hartley told me of my un-fan club. What I initially assumed was a harmless lark to make me aware of their dislike has proved something more. The crew has shown more dedication in their task to unnerve me than in their actual assignments.
I pull on my spare track pants and throw on a shirt before heading up to my cabin. I could shower there, but the communal showers are nicer, and this way I don’t have to stalk through the ship, dripping sweat everywhere.
Six decks up and I don’t encounter a single person. Sometimes I envy the night crew. There’s something peaceful about the silence. When I was first on night watch, during my first assignment on a frigate assigned to patrol inside the belt, I used to climb into one of the forward compartments tucked into the bow and just listen to the hum of the ship. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something comforting about cruising through space wrapped in the certainty that you’re sometimes only inches from the utter stillness of space.
With a swish of my hand I open my cabin doors and stop, my mouth agape, mute in my rage. The place has been trashed. My bed sheets sliced down the middle, parted to reveal the mutilated mattress below, like an autopsy only halfway done. What little I’ve unpacked has been thrown about the room and my duffel contents dumped on the floor.
I pick up a torn book from my desk. It was one of the last things my mother gave me, an old collection of poems by S.T. Coleridge. On the front, written in ink, is a date: 16 May 45, and a place: Haverford West, Pem, Wales. It was never about the poems, but the connection to a time and place on Earth. This book was printed and purchased in a city in Wales, a name my imagination has turned into a paradise with lush trees dipping their leaves into rushing rivers. The only thing better than seeing an ocean spread before me would be to feel the power of water rushing through my fingers as it swept past.
I place the broken book back on my desk and survey the rest of my room. There are very few things in life I value. Most of the trinkets I’ve collected over the years were burned when the Europa station was attacked, but the few I do have, I treasure.
I spend the next day in a funk. Keeping to myself. I don’t visit the mess or the track. Instead, I hole up on the bridge, hunched over one of the consoles, looking through security footage and the entry log to my cabin. As expected, there’s no record of anyone but myself entering since I arrived on board. I know immediately the record has been altered because there is one entrance that should be there and isn’t. The corporal who dropped off my duffel on my first day.
That evening, I’m still piecing together my cabin. It’s mostly a losing battle, since my mattress still looks like it had a threesome with a Swiss Army knife and a machete. I have a sickening feeling it will take several days to get a new one. I’ve piled all my ripped uniforms and civilian clothes in the middle of the room. All I have left is the uniform on my back, which was thankfully in the laundry when they slaughtered my closet, and the sweats I was wearing last night. They even tore my underwear drawer to shreds.
There’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s Hartley, I don’t bother to cover the mess. He’d find out soon enough anyway. But when the doors part, and it’s the captain standing on the other side, I wish I had at least shoved the slashed panties and bras in my closet.
Her eyes go wide as her gaze focuses on the mess behind me. “Oh, Ash, what happened?” Her hair is loose, and her uniform jacket is unbuttoned like she’s come from off duty. Her appearance matches her tone, soft and feminine.
I have an urge to pull her into the hallway, to stop her from seeing the destruction of my cabin. I don’t want her involved. I’ll track down the members of the DWA and take great pleasure in throwing each and every one in the brig. And possibly forgetting the entrance code.
“Um, I’m sorry, Captain. I probably should have told you when I signed on board, in my spare time I juggle chain saws. One of them got away from me.”
She lifts a gnarled plastic figure, a gift from my cousin, taking in the large crack cutting the word PEZ in half. “Was this the fan club Hartley was talking about at lunch yesterday? He said something about being kicked out.”
“Um, I think it’s an un-fan club when they don’t actually like you. But I can handle this issue, Captain.” I take the black-helmeted figure from her and set it back on the desk.
“Ash, this is more than a harmless club. This is destruction.” She walks farther into my cabin, spotting the bed. I hear rather than see her reaction, a sharp intake of breath. “This is…”
I take in the sight from her perspective. Seeing it for the first time, it feels worse than it looks. I feel like I did when I woke up on Alpha after the attack.
“A violation,” she finally says.
I nod. “And I intend to treat this seriously. I’m investigating the incident, and I’ll handle it appropriately.”
“You shouldn’t inquire into this yourself.”
“No. But I don’t trust anyone but myself to do it.”
Slowly, after a few seconds, she nods. I can’t risk bringing security in on this, especially after finding the security footage and logs tampered with. This needs to be handled quietly. I also can’t let them see how much this is affecting me.
“You know,” she says, strolling between the different piles of belongings. One with items I’d like to try to fix, another, the largest, bound for recycling. “You might have more luck with the crew if you got to know them, instead of hiding away, working on projects by yourself.”
Two days ago, she’d found me in the cargo bay sorting inventory for the next day’s project. A task that should’ve been assigned to a couple of crew members.
I nod but don’t say anything.
We stand there for a few seconds, lost in the utter annihilation of my belongings, when finally, I ask, “Was there something you wanted, Captain?”
She taps the tablet in her hand to her forehead. It’s actually kind of adorable. “Oh,” she say
s and passes me the tablet. “This came for you. I should warn you. It’s from your father.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to take that. It must have come through an encryption band if she has it. Does that mean I should be worried about what it says? Are they calling me back? Did they figure out that I was lying about what I remembered on Europa SS? “Did you see it?”
“Of course not.” Her face softens, and she looks at me like she’s trying to tread carefully. “I just…the last time we spoke about your father, you didn’t seem…” She sighs and wipes her hand on her pants like she’s nervous. “I guess I’m just not sure what kind of relationship you have with your father.”
“Oh.” I wave her off. “It’s fine. It’s not like that. He was upset that I wanted to go, but in the end, I made him understand.” A laugh bubbles up from within but comes out as a snort instead. “He thinks I’m a bit of a bigmouth who gets myself into trouble because I don’t like to back down. Like, ever. He’s the same, so…” I bump my fists together. “We butt heads a lot.” I set the tablet down next to the figure on my desk. “It’s probably a last good-bye or something.”
She picks up my torn book of Coleridge poems, running her finger along the jagged edge of a page. “Is this why you weren’t at lunch today?” For the past couple of days, we’ve found ourselves eating lunch at the same time.
I shake my head. “We only have another week or so until we’re at the Posterus. I want to make sure everything’s ready.”
“Did you eat dinner?” I’m about to deflect when my stomach betrays me, growling loud enough to be heard on Europa station. “Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything all day.” The way she says it, playful like, brings a smile to my lips, probably the first all day. It pulls at something buried deep. It’s been a long time since someone worried about me. Even if she’s only being polite or taking pity on me.
I sigh, knowing I can’t lie. “I probably should have, but I just didn’t feel like hanging around people today.” I shrug, a little embarrassed at the admission. “I promise I’ll eat tomorrow.”
The captain huffs at this and wraps her slender fingers around my wrist, giving it a light tug. “The last thing I need is for my first officer to waste away on me.”
Not until we’re out in the hallway do I have the sense to ask where we’re going.
“To get you something to eat.”
“But all the messes are closed.”
“For you, maybe. But being captain has its perks.” Her grin is mischievous.
As she watches me inhale my second chocolate pudding cup, her hands tighten around a mug of lemon tea, and she stretches out against the back bench like she owns the place. She doesn’t indulge in a late-night snack herself. I wonder if it’s because it would be like stealing rations from her crew. From what I’ve seen, she’s very protective of everyone, from the kitchen workers to the officers on her bridge.
“Are you ever sorry? About the promotion to captain?” I ask. I couldn’t give a shit about being captain. I’ve never strived for it, knowing all the mahjong and poker games would be closed to me. They may invite me just to be polite, but I would never be their equal.
The captain looks at me like it’s an odd question. “Why would I be sorry about that?”
I guess it’s a stupid question. When I first came aboard, I kept expecting her to revert to form. You know the type, those commanding officers who crave power, always striving to further their career. It doesn’t matter who they have to shove out of the way. But the more I get to know her, the less she seems like she’s captain so she can be in charge. It’s more like she feels like she’s there to steer us right. Maybe I’m wrong.
I’m almost ashamed to admit why I would never want to be captain. But those dark blue eyes, so earnest, like she honestly can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to do what she does, stare at me over the table, and I want to make her understand. “It’s very isolating.”
She gazes around the mess. It feels strange, empty like this, without the sounds of regular hours. Then those eyes swing back to me. There’s an intensity behind them, and something, somewhere, clenches deep inside me.
Chapter Six
A few days later, I’m in the air dock dressing for a spacewalk with team two. We’re beginning the outside installation of the preassembled docking clamp, which will allow our ship, the Persephone, to create an airtight seal with the Posterus. Our docking assembly works for stationary docking—even stations in orbit—however, the speeds required for the Posterus to reach its destination are too great for our current clamping mechanism.
I’ve populated team two with our best. They’ll be coming up behind team one, and I want them to catch any mistakes. As a result, it’s usually a very quiet shift. Everyone is focused on their tasks, without much interaction. Most of the team have already exited, just a few stragglers and myself are left, when the captain enters. She stops in the entryway, surveying the room until her eyes land on me. I wonder what she’s thinking.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” says Cadence Ito, one of the stragglers and one of the only extroverts on the shift. “You need a hand with that?” She points to the nozzle of my air tank, which still needs to be connected to my helmet.
The captain waves her off. “I’ll help her with it, Ito, thanks.” She strides over to me, her movements precise and stiff, and pulls the airlock shut.
“Thanks, Captain.”
I bend down and strap on first my left, then my right boot, sealing them along the seam of my pants. I’ve been trying to put myself out there more. After speaking with the captain the other night, I changed my shift so I could work with the crew. Instead of being an absent figure giving orders, I became one of them, working just as hard, if not harder, alongside them. For some crew members, I could man the entire ship and it wouldn’t make a difference. But a few have become friendlier toward me.
As soon as Ito exits, the captain’s mood shifts, but she’s not the playful Jordan Kellow she was the other night. There are frown lines along her brow, and her gaze is on everything but me.
“I heard a rumor that you were working all three shifts. Is that true?” The way she says it, as if I’ve disappointed her, grabs my heart in a vise. She picks up my air tank to pre-check it for me. She swipes her hand over the digital display. It lights up, showing a full tank of air.
I shrug into the arms of my suit and fasten the clasps up the front. “Only a couple hours on each.” I wait as the last of the crew leave the air dock before continuing. “I’m just trying to follow your advice, getting to know them, letting them see me work.” I grab my gloves but don’t put them on, drawing out time. “It seems to be working.”
“Yes. But working every shift is extreme. If you’re going to risk your safety climbing around the ship, you’re going to have to pick one shift. I don’t need you burned out before we even reach the Posterus.”
My chest feels heavy as if my suit is pressing in, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “Is that an order?” I can’t believe this is the same person from the other night. The one who snuck us into the mess after hours. The one who watched me scarf down a bowl of pasta and two helpings of chocolate pudding, telling me stories about her first assignment, trying to lift my mood. For the first time, I got a glimpse of the woman behind the rank.
Now, she’s closed herself up like a flower I once saw in a vid-stream, protecting itself. It’s as if she’s folded in on herself. I’m seeing the captain, not Jordan. And it’s not just that she’s about to give me a direct order, it’s everything about her. It’s the way she stands rigid, as if she’s afraid to move and expose any flaw in her shield. It’s the way she averts her eyes, refusing to show me what she’s really feeling.
She folds her arms. “I don’t want to have to give you an order, Ash.” She rolls her eyes to the ceiling as she says it. When she finally lowers her gaze to mine, she’s not just disappointed, she’s upset. She starts to say something but stops herself. “When do you s
leep?”
“I’m getting along fine.” They only delivered a new mattress last night. Even then, as exhausted as I was, I could only close my eyes for an hour.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten this reaction. What people don’t seem to understand is that I will do almost anything to get a job done. There isn’t a rule that’s been written I’m not willing to bend, a crew member or officer I’m afraid to go around or bribe or cajole to get results. I’ve never seen a straight line between myself and my goals. Usually I take a very twisty, bendy route to get there.
The longer we stand staring at each other, the tighter my chest feels. Adrenaline floods my system. I’m ready to fight this. I’m willing to win if I need to. I’ve never disobeyed a direct order, but I’m also not used to my commanding officers second-guessing my actions, especially when they get results. We are way ahead of schedule, and while I won’t hold out for excitement, at least everyone seems to have calmed down.
She takes my gloves from me. Even with my boots on, she’s still taller. “Ash, there are two things I will not tolerate on my ship: One is an officer who can’t take orders, and the second is any member of my crew who takes actions that will put them or others in danger.” She opens the right glove for me to slide my hand in. “And right now you’re close to violating both.” She fastens the right glove to my suit and opens the left. I slip my hand in, never taking my eyes off her. “Because of that, I’m ordering you to stop working three shifts and to choose just one.”
