by J. S. Hawn
“Hey, Natasha tell Johnny his friends are here,” she bellowed.
Not two minutes later a short, broad shouldered man also in a white navy dress uniform stumbled out of the front door flask in hand.
“Ah, Commander Gopal, Elcap Trendale good to see you,” Pavel saluted..
“Skipper,” Will and Nathan replied in unison returning Jonathan's salute. Technically skipper was the informal term for a ship's CO, but it was also navy shorthand for former subordinates to refer to officers under whom they’d served, and who they held in high regard. The medals on Jonathan Pavel’s chest were testament to that respect. Like his two former subordinates, Jonathan had the standard fruit salad -the Good Conduct Ribbon, the Meritorious Service Ribbon, Humanitarian Service Ribbon, and Combat badge, although Jonathan's bore two batons noting he’d twice been on a ship that had fired its guns in anger. Unique to Jonathan's display was the Legion of Honor. This Red Badge signified he’d been wounded in combat, and the Navy Cross given for valour extraordinary. Also present were the foreign awards - The Star of Valour, and Helsinki Medal of Bravery given to Jonathan by the people and parliament of the New Helsinki system. Climbing into the cab, Jonathan didn't look like a man who you’d expect to be so well decorated. He had obviously started the evening early as demonstrated by taking a swig of the flask he had been carrying as soon as he sat down. He didn’t seem interested in slowing down.
“Shall we be off ommander!” Jonathan cried from the back.
“Aye aye sir,” Nathan Gopal hit the foot pedal jarring the inter-module tiny engine to life and away they sped.
Turing to Zeta, Jonathan doffed his cap and offered his flask, “Good evening my dear. Might I inquire as to which of these two scoundrels you are attached.”
Zeta smiled, “I’m with the one trying to kill us all,” she said rather loudly.
“I heard that,” Nathan replied as he slowed to swerve past a traffic collision between an irate trinket vendor and an expensive looking sports car. A single, red and white uniformed Met was trying to keep the sports car driver and vendor separated, but was failing. The gathering crowd were placing bets on the outcome of the fight.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance then,” Jonathan said offering his flask which Zeta accepted. “How are you in the dear commander's company?”
Zeta took a swig from the flask before replying then coughed and spluttered. William Trendale patted her on the back.
“By Allah, that's strong! What's in this?” Zeta asked red faced.
Jonathan smiled, “Kubaka Peach Schnapps. With everyone thinking war is imminent, they're practically giving away anything imported from the Confederacy so they can switch to different sources. This was a gift from my landlady for seeing O Delay O Delay earlier today.”
“Sorry we missed the show,” William said. “Couldn't get a lift down from Macran till 1700. Then it was straight here on the jump jet, and thanks be Zeta was waiting for us at Tribune with this.”
Jonathan waved his hand, “No apologies needed. It was a fine show, but at least you're still in space, and not drydocked like I am.”
Since the New Helsinki incident, Titan Jonathan's ship and Trendale and Gopal's old posting had been sitting at anchor near Macran awaiting a slip, so she could undergo extensive repairs. However, the threat of war with the Confederacy meant that ships with higher priority and less extensive repairs were receiving berth space. As a result, Titan rode silently at grav anchor in the orbit of Zhong, while her crew and officers were reassigned all save her Captain. Jonathan had languished in bureaucratic limbo since receiving medical clearance to return to active duty. As he was technically captain of a ship, which was slated for repairs, he was on half pay groundside until the repairs were complete. Unfortunately, Titan was continuously bumped down the priority list and those repairs had never started. No one was even sure if Titan was worth saving. A full survey wouldn’t be completed until she could be brought into dry-dock, and Macran’s dock yards were full of ships like Cronus and Minerva who were undergoing a final refit before being deployed to the frontier, where they would be needed if or rather when war came. So Jonathan was stuck. He’d tried to unstick himself by begging the Office of Personnel to reassign him. He was even willing to accept being bumped back to commander so he could take a XO slot, but two factors conspired against Jonathan. One, Titan had never finished even one full deployment under Jonathan's command when Navy rules stipulated he should have finished at least three tours on her before changing ships. That fact combined with Jonathan's date of rank put him behind every other Lieutenant Captain in the Navy. Additionally, there were some who blamed Jonathan for the entire New Helsinki incident. That, admittedly tiny yet vocal group, was led by one Senator Eugene Halman a senior Conservative from the Halman Estate, who was convinced Jonathan was directly responsible for the death of his beloved nephew Lt. Marcus Halman Titan’s navigation officer. In addition to bureaucratic rules and grudge bearing politicians, the other reason some officers did not want Jonathan in a command position was he was developing a reputation for being bad luck. His first XO posting had ended with him launching an accidental mutiny to save the ship from a fire, and his first command had ended with him in the most brutal naval action since the end of the Third Dominion war. In both cases, half his crew had wound up dead or wounded. So the rumors had begun to circulate that Jonathan Pavel was cursed.
Jonathan took another swig of his flask as the inter-module sped through the city, zigging and zagging out of River Front with its low slung bars and bordellos, and into the Capital Quarter, which was defined by the marble edifice of Government offices and the sleek glass and steel of private holdings. The Capital Quarter was so called because it was the area surrounding the great domed structure that was the Capital itself, where the Solarian legislature had set up shop following the end of Military Rule. Other than the law courts, most of this area was given over to the offices of legislatures, members of the press, trade associations, workers councils, and political consultants of all types. It was also an area noted for its grand parks. Jonathan leaned forward and tapped Nathan on the shoulder.
“Commander if you would, take a detour round the river walk.”
“Aye aye skipper.” Nathan called in reply turning the car from the main street, which was still mostly pedestrian but was seeing a resumption of traffic, onto the smaller, narrower lane that was clearly marked as only open to pedestrians, cyclists, hover borders and other light vehicles. The inter-module occupied a bit of a gray area legally, but Jonathan was feeling reckless tonight as were his companions judging by their reactions. All told, Jonathan had not taken well to being confined groundside. He drank often and heavily, and entered one self-destructive relationship after another. It didn't help that Agatha, Jonathan's downstairs neighbour for whom he had a shared love of chess and hot showers, had moved to Junopolis while Jonathan was deployed on Titan. His cycle of self destruction had continued wearing away his normally affable and conciliatory demeanor. It wasn’t just the being stuck groundside though. Jonathan's injuries and long recuperation had left him with deep scars both mentally and physically, and it was wearing on him everyday he remained here confined to the solid ground, and not out among the vast emptiness of the stars where he belonged. It was like the surf beating away at the rock of his resolve. The rock could withstand any assault for a time, but it would eventually be worn down.
The path Jonathan had directed Nathan onto wound through Founders Park, a leafy open space which sat at crux of where the Serentine and Agora rivers joined. Along the concrete steps, which led down to the water, stood fourteen statues, each twelve feet high and carved from marble. They were the carved visage of fourteen of Solaria’s great heroes and statesman for whom the park was named. At either end of the row, stood empty pedestals symbolizing that the Republic's history was still being written, and new heroes would be added. The statues faced the Capital itself, which sat like a great edifice raised in the long bygone days of
Rome, England or America. Looking over the park and at the great Capital and then past the statues to the river and the towering skyscrapers of the New City beyond, Jonathan felt trapped. Without great show, he withdrew a bottle of pills from his pocket and popped one in his mouth before replacing them. His companions saw the action, but didn’t comment. Jonathan suffered from mild to moderate terraphobia, which was to simply say Jonathan grew agitated and uncomfortable in open terrestrial spaces. He felt more at home in the confined, artificial spaces of spacecraft. Cities were therefore Jonathan's more natural element. Whenever he was ground side, the artificial structures and grounds substituted for him the cramped conditions and enclosed spaces of ships. It use to be in Singking he could maintain himself with one or two doses of Oxitanie. The dose he had just taken was his fifth, and this was a good day. Jonathan suddenly stood up spying what he’d been looking for.
“Aye thar she blows,” he cried pointing gleefully to the water beyond the steppes where a crowed gathered. In the middle of the Serentine illuminated by the lights of the city, seven gaudily painted vessels glided through the water. They were trim craft, forty feet long with a crew of sixty rowers. Each was painted a different panoply of colors, and at their fore was the figurehead of a great Crag Dragon, while at their aft burned a large torch. The dragon boats were a magnificent sight. Each was commissioned and built the whole year through by different charitable organizations in the city all in anticipation of First Planting. On Sowing Eve, they were rowed the whole length of the Old District from the Capital to the Diplomatic quarter. Later they would be hauled ashore and paraded down First Street until they were carried back to Founders Park, and as the first light of daylight began to grace the horizon they’d be burned. The tradition was rich in symbolism. The Crag Dragon was the Republic's official symbol, and the trip up river represented the journey from Earth to Solaria, the Diplomatic quarter was the sight of Allen Warren's original settlement, which would grow into the great Metropolis of Singking. The journey down First street showed the growth and magnificence of the city, and the burning of the boats symbolized the old giving way to the new and providing for the promise of renewal.
Gopal pulled over the inter-module so they could stop and watch the procession. They weren’t the only ones to do so. The crowd was quite large and colorful, and not surprisingly full of families as well as drunken revelers. The launch of the boats was the unofficial end of the more family friendly revels of the earlier evening, and the beginning of the more graphic celebration which would spread beyond the River Front and throughout the city.
Jonathan and his companions sat watching the boats go when some one cried out.
“Hey, Captain Pavel, Skipper, Hey!”
Jonathan turned to see a young man in the rugged, functional clothes favored by a spacer. His boyish good looks marred by the terrible scarring on the right side of his face, where modern medicine had tried and failed to repair the result of a plasma burn. The man strode up to the inter-module before snapping to attention.
“Captain Pavel sir, Able Spacer Mi Peters of the RSNS Bombard formerly of the RSNS Titan.”
Jonathan returned the salute, out of reflex and then took the man's offered hand when he thrust it out.
“I just want you to know sir, if they ever get off their asses at the Admiralty and give you a command, I’ll request a transfer aboard sir.”
Jonathan felt an uncomfortable mix of relief, gratitude, and pride.
“It would be an honor to have you aboard Able Spacer,” Jonathan offered him his flask. “Drink with me.”
The man took the flask and tilted his head back taking a good hearty swig. He then seemed to roll the liquor in his mouth as if evaluating the taste before swallowing, and nodding.
“Right good brew sir, right good.”
“I thank you Able Spacer,” Jonathan said. “Now I’m afraid we must be off, less we keep our honored host waiting.”
“By God, is that the time?” Gopal cried feigning outrage looking at his chrono. “Everyone buckle in.” The inter-module sped off zipping around the river walk back toward the main road.
Jonathan sat in silence his eyes staring ahead. The young spacer had been friendly enough but those scars. He should have hated Jonathan. He should have cursed him, screamed at him, raged and raged, but he hadn’t. William Trendale and Nathan Gopal shared a mutual look, which was lost on Zeta who was still leaning out the window trying to get a glimpse of the dragon boats. Both men were aware of their old CO’s unhappiness, and ongoing melancholia. It wasn’t unusual in the service. Often the best officers were like fish or birds. In the sea or sky, they were in their element, but put the fish on dry land or clip the bird’s wings and they were lost. Which was why they had been overjoyed when events gifted them an opportunity to if not cheer Jonathan up, then at least allow him to gain a small measure of revenge. The fact that their clever scheme, which Zeta and Jonathan had approved of wholeheartedly, involved an invitation to the most exclusive social event of First Planting, was just an added bonus. After all, who did not like a good party? Especially when it was Senator Eugene Halman’s party! The three officers and Zeta shared an evil grin as they pulled up in front of the stately manor on First Street. The tricycle design of the inter-module contrasted starkly against the expensive ground cars and limos that were queuing up to drop off the other guests. Pulling up to the valet stand, Jonathan and his companions leapt from the vehicle with a distinct lack of grace. Nathan Gopal handed the key and a ten solar bill to the slack jawed, wide-eyed valet and said, “Do be careful my good man, she’s a rental.”
“Uh, of course sir,” the valet said. Solaria’s social classes celebrate First Planting in distinct, yet similar ways. Steaders, the people whose ancestors had been recruited to the original Solarian colonization effort to provide cheap labor, held debaucherous parades in the streets, intermixed with pub crawls, dances, and plays. Landeds were the descendants of the original investor class who had provided financial support for Solarian Pacific Colonial Trust in exchange for vast land grants, and who despite seeing a marked decline in their political power quite literally owned large swaths of the planet, celebrated through lavish balls and functions. The celebrations were not mutually exclusive, and often bled into one another. Often it depended on where one stood politically. Solaria had five major political parties and a dozen smaller ones, which held a seat or two in the Quorum the national legislature or the Estate General, the local legislatures of the Estates. Among the Landeds, there were only two broad political factions with political parties serving more as cliques depending where on the spectrum you fell. Landeds divided themselves into Conservatives and Liberals, and then subdivided into Nationalist, Judicialist, Conservative Party, Liberal Party, and Democratic Populist after that. Among those who were on the Conservative spectrum, there was a reverence for Solaria’s traditions and the path the founders had followed. The Liberals were more progressive, and as such more open to intermingling, intermarrying, and intermixing with the Steaders. Nationalist and Judicalist Landeds were fairly open to the concept as well. Nationalists were in fact rabidly supportive of meritocracy. However, the Solarian Conservative League of Landowners who were frequently just called the Conservative Party were a clique of about 25 to 30 Senators who felt Solaria must adhere strictly to its founding traditions. Among those, there was the likes of Eugene Halman who had commented on the record of doing away with the Estates General that now governed the Estates, and giving power back to the Landed families themselves, including the right of life and death over all Steaders who resided on the Estate. That was probably the least noxious of his positions. The Conservative League platform was a hodgepodge of xenophobia, and a longing for the days when Landeds had practically owned their Steaders. Of course a group so hung up on pedigree also cared far too deeply for appearances, which made intruding upon their festivities all the much sweeter.
Jonathan and his comrades proceeded up the walk past the paparazzi drones which
buzzed about. The paparazzi themselves were on the other side of the street. Setting foot on the grounds of the mansion would lead to them spending the rest of the holiday in the city jail on trespassing charges. Jonathan and his comrades made an effort to not walk so much as strut. Jonathan and William arm and arm sharing the flask, while Nathan and Zeta sauntered, and as they reached the steps Nathan pulled Zeta in for a passionate kiss. Jonathan offered his flask to a gawking Quorum delegate with the Black and Gold Scales of Justice lapel pin indicating he was a Judicialist. The man was too busy watching Zeta, but his companion who was most certainly a professional escort accepted, complementing Jonathan on his choice of liquor. After Zeta and Nathan had finished their several minute snog session, the party proceeded through the gilded bronze doors into the main hallway. The Halman mansion, Jonathan knew from his habit of reading up on various historic sites and places in Singking when hungover, had been built at the beginning of the First Republic and had been burned during the Three Days of Blood, which had heralded the beginning of the Glorious Revolution. The mansion had been rebuilt after the signing of the third constitution, and the end of twenty- five years of military rule. The architecture showed the building’s age and history. Its outer walls were simple brick, painted white with red stripes and gold gilding at key points. The riots had gutted the building, but left its core structure standing, and the interior had been rebuilt in the most opulent style imaginable. The floors were marble, and the walls were painted with agrarian frescos and the chandeliers were artificial diamonds. The doorway into the main ballroom was over ten feet high and sculpted with various mythical beasts from ancient earth lore - winged dragons, chimeras, griffins, and llamas. The herald, in a traditional double-breasted coat with purple and white leggings the colors of the Conservative party, announced them to the crowded ballroom.
