Capital Starship (Ixan Legacy Book 1)

by Scott Bartlett

  “And I find it toxic that you’re singling out the human part of my crew for this training,” Husher answered, his words clipped. “The implication seems to be that only human beings can possibly be biased against other species, which in itself is an incredibly biased assumption.”

  “You shouldn’t draw conclusions based on how things seem to you,” Snyder said, her tone rising in levels of condescension as much as volume. “Very little will become clear if we rely on your perceptions—the Implicit Association and Bias Test has already illustrated that. Your accusation that we’re biased only further demonstrates how misguided and ignorant you are, Captain Husher. With almost every word you say, you deny the experiences of oppressed beings like the Wingers, the Gok, and the Kaithe.”

  “What about the Tumbra?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve noticed something about the litany of oppressed groups so many have been rhyming off lately. The Tumbra are almost always omitted. Why?”

  That seemed to give Snyder pause for a moment, and she exchanged glances with the mayor, who cleared his throat. “I think we can all agree the Tumbra have done quite well for themselves, haven’t they?” he said, offering Husher an ingratiating smile.

  As he was doing so often lately, Husher squinted in confusion. If I ever manage to figure out where these damn people are coming from, it’ll be a strange thing. “Fascinating,” he muttered.

  With that, Snyder managed to get back on track. “As I was saying, Captain, to suggest that a species such as the Wingers should have to undergo Awareness Training is so wrongheaded I’m not sure where to start. It denies the privilege humans have enjoyed, stemming mostly from their twenty-year domination of the galaxy. And it denies that much of that privilege persists today. Do you not remember the savage attacks the United Human Fleet inflicted on the Wingers, killing tens of thousands? Do you so soon forget the way they were scapegoated for wrongs that belonged at the feet of human corporations?”

  “I’m not claiming the Wingers haven’t suffered,” Husher said. “What I’m trying to say—”

  “How do you explain that the vast majority of your crewmembers are humans?” Snyder yelled.

  “Are you actually going to let me answer, or do you plan to continue screaming whenever I try to talk?”

  “I’m not screaming,” Snyder said, “I’m speaking with conviction. There’s a difference.”

  Husher shook his head. “The reason I have more human crewmembers than beings from other species can easily be explained. Other than the Ixa and the Gok, the UHF has always dwarfed other species’ militaries. As a result, when we integrated our fleets, the majority of candidates to fill a given position were always human. More humans have experience in the military than do members of other species, that’s just a—”

  “Let me see if I understand you,” Snyder said, her tone much softer and sweeter than before, despite that she’d cut him off again. “Are you saying humans are more qualified than other beings?”

  “I’m saying that there are more humans qualified to fill military positions than there are similarly qualified beings from any other species.”

  Snyder peered around at the other councilors, wearing a satisfied smirk, as though Husher had just proven her point for her.

  Taking her silence as an opportunity to speak, Husher said, “I think it has some bearing on this discussion that both the Implicit Association and Bias Test as well as Awareness Training have been found to not actually work.”

  That caused Snyder’s gaze to snap back to his face, and the other councilors turned to study him as well. “Can you cite the studies that claim to demonstrate that?” Snyder said.

  Husher paused. “Not off-hand.” He was sure they existed, though—he’d never known Ochrim to be wrong about anything science-related.

  “Well, then. Feel free to submit these studies to the council at your leisure, so that we can review their methodology and determine whether the researchers themselves were prejudiced against other species.”

  Blinking, Husher tried to grasp at the words he might use to answer Snyder’s argument, which struck him as circular, though his blurring vision and ringing ears were making it difficult to articulate why.

  At last, Chancey spoke. “Captain, there’s something I should probably have made clear to you from the beginning of this meeting. It pains me to say this, but if you don’t comply with our requirement that both you and your human crewmembers undergo Awareness Training, you will be removed from command of the Vesta. Admiral Iver himself signed off on that action before he left the ship.”

  Suddenly, Husher felt light-headed. “The admiral…?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Chancey said, nodding. “There’s a growing sentiment—not only among this council but also the admiralty as well as the Galactic Congress and Senate—that your methods have become outdated for these modern times. Personally, I want you to prove us wrong, I really do. But that starts with agreeing to undergo this training, and agreeing to require your human crewmembers to do so as well.”

  All around the circular council chamber, Cybele’s city councilors were staring at him, waiting to see what his answer would be.

  There was only one answer he could give. Husher considered it vital to the survival of the galaxy that he remain in the command seat of the Vesta, though he knew these people couldn’t see that. There was a lot more at stake here than Awareness Training, or his pride, or the fact that he felt he was being grossly misrepresented.

  They’ve painted me into a corner.

  “Very well,” he breathed. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 11

  As Carbon Steel

  Eating her stew as quietly as she could manage, Fesky tried her best not to look like she was listening to the conversations of the enlisted crewmembers around her. At the next table, a group from Engineering was playing Poker. “Ante up, Sammy,” one of them said. “You gotta pay to play.”

  Ante up, Fesky thought. She dined in the crew’s mess about as much as she did in the officer’s. That was one of the many things she’d learned from Captain—later Admiral—Keyes: eat with the crew often, where you can pick up on their moods and show them you don’t think you’re any better than they are. Too many officers let their rank go to their heads, treating enlisted service members like unwashed masses while doing their best to keep themselves separate whenever possible.

  Not Keyes. He’d shared in his crew’s burdens, joined in their celebrations, and mourned every loss alongside them. Everyone on the Providence had been part of one big extended family, under Captain Keyes.

  Fesky knew that Husher also considered it important to eat with the crew, in principle, at least. In practice, he was often so swamped that there was only time to sneak in short meals between his ever-growing workload.

  A capital starship captain can’t focus only on military matters, anymore. Every decision must also be viewed through the lens of appeasing the thousands of civilians scrutinizing everything he does.

  It often seemed an impossible balance, to Fesky, and maybe it was. Either way, she often passed on to Husher what she overheard in the crew’s mess, where she tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

  When she came here, she was often reminded of her dearest friend, Ek, who she hadn’t seen in two decades. Ek was a Fin, who had evolved on Fesky’s homeworld—in fact, their species had grown up together. Like most Fins, Ek was incredibly perceptive. If she’d still been here, Fesky probably wouldn’t have needed to come here to gauge the crew’s mood. She could have just asked Ek.

  Gaining intel this way wasn’t easy. Whenever she entered the mess, someone always noticed, calling everyone to attention. But if she made it there early enough, then other crewmembers would come later, and if they sat nearby, failing to look too closely at her, and assuming she was just another Winger crewmember…

  …if they did that, she could pick up some fairly valuable information.

  Just such a group of mari
nes took the table behind her now—three humans, two Wingers, and a Gok. The Gok was none other than Tort, who’d helped Husher take down Baxa during the mission that had ended the Second Galactic War.

  “Did you see the bullshit posted on the Board today?’ said one of the human marines, whose voice Fesky recognized as belonging to Corporal Toby Yung.

  The Board was a digital bulletin board that could be accessed using Oculenses from anywhere in the crew section. The captain and other high-ranking officers used it to get non-priority messages to the crew. Fesky hadn’t read it recently, so she was interested to hear this, too.

  “Have not checked,” Tort rumbled in his gravelly tones.

  “It’s bullshit,” Yung repeated. “The captain announced that all human crewmembers are now required to undergo Awareness Training.”

  “Maybe Yung needs Awareness Training,” Tort said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Yung not aware of fellow marines trying to eat.” The big alien slammed his fist down on the table, rattling cutlery and making trays and dishes jump.

  Everyone at the table behind Fesky fell silent for a moment. Then, they burst into gales of laughter.

  Yung didn’t join in. “Very funny, but I’m being serious.”

  “Why do we have to take it?” asked another marine—Lance Corporal Cassie Roux, unless Fesky missed her guess. “What did we do wrong? I mean, I know I like to rough up Tort here every now and then…”

  That brought a few more chuckles, but Yung spoke over them. “Damned if I know,” he said. “All I can say is, most of the aliens I know in this crew are tough as carbon steel. They don’t need some elitist parasites trying to coddle and protect them. If someone disrespects Tort, he’ll just kill ‘em, for example.”

  “It’s true, though,” Roux said. “We’ve all been working together for years. Maybe people over in Cybele need politicians to tell them how to get along, but we sure as hell don’t.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Yung said. “The captain’s completely lost it. He’s so busy kowtowing to the parasites over in Cybele, he’s forgotten what it means to command a warship.”

  Before she knew what she was doing, Fesky rose to her seat, whirling around to tower over the marines sitting at the other table—well, all except Tort, who stared at her with tiny red eyes that blinked slowly beneath his forehead ridge.

  When they saw who she was, they all leapt to attention, saluting, and Fesky returned the salute, staring each of them down as she did.

  “I’m not familiar with the captain’s directive,” she said, “because I haven’t had a chance to check the Board today. But I’m sure that whatever Captain Husher’s decided, he did it not only with this ship’s best interests in mind, but with the Fleet’s too, as well as the entire Interstellar Union. I know that because I’ve served with him for over twenty years, and that’s how Captain Husher conducts himself. Unless you question my judgment, too?”

  “No, ma’am,” the marines answered in unison. According to the surprise that lingered on their faces, they still hadn’t recovered from the realization she’d overheard their entire conversation.

  “At ease,” she told them, then walked out of the mess, leaving her lunch half-eaten and silently cursing herself.

  Before those marines had another conversation like that one, they’d be on the lookout for Fesky, and they’d probably tell others what had happened, too. Meaning she’d just rendered a valuable source of intel about the crew less so.

  Why did I have to butt in? She knew why, of course: her shock and anger from hearing her friend badmouthed by his marines had caused her to act rashly. Knowing why didn’t make it rankle any less, though.

  Under other circumstances, she would have brought disciplinary measures to bear. But something had stopped her. Why didn’t I discipline them?

  By the time she reached the corridor outside the crew’s mess, she’d figured it out.

  The reason she hadn’t disciplined the marines was because she also had her doubts about Husher’s choices, lately.

  Chapter 12

  Vanguard

  Husher worked best in his office, where he could be alone for the most part. Often, he ended up eating in here, too. He kept a stash of nutrient bars in his desk drawer, and he opened the drawer now, with the intention of snacking on a bar as he reviewed his primary Nav officer’s proposed route to the Gok home system.

  He didn’t expect the route to contain many surprises. It would almost certainly involve the use of darkgates, which were still the main way to get around the galaxy. Luckily, the route shouldn’t involve passing through any systems colonized since the Second Galactic War. No new darkgates had been built since the discovery that dark tech endangered the universe, so most newly colonized systems could only be accessed via warp drive, which took a lot longer.

  As he rooted around in the drawer, his hand became tangled in a leather thong, and he raised it out to disentangle himself. The thong was attached to a small wooden crucifix, which had been the only thing Captain Keyes had left him in his will.

  Husher hadn’t expected Keyes to have made any arrangements to leave him anything, and he definitely didn’t know why he’d left him the little cross. He hadn’t even known Keyes was religious—the man had never discussed God or faith. The crucifix must have been important to him, though, considering he’d not only made the arrangements to bequeath it but had also stored it off-ship, allowing it to escape the eventual destruction of the Providence.

  Despite his confusion, Husher had kept the gift. It was all he had left of his mentor.

  Before he could get to reviewing his Nav officer’s work, his com lit up where it lay on the desk, inches from his right hand. It was a message from Mayor Chancey: “Captain. Got a minute?”

  After staring at the display for a couple seconds, Husher messaged back: “Sure.”

  Next, his Oculenses displayed a translucent alert about an incoming call from Dylan Chancey. He accepted, and the mayor appeared before his desk, sitting in an overstuffed leather armchair that erased from view the more spartan chair that was actually there.

  This was accomplished using sensors embedded in the wall of the mayor’s residence—similarly positioned sensors would now be transmitting Husher’s likeness to the mayor. Although, to Chancey, it would seem like he was actually sitting inside Husher’s office. The recipient of a call always played virtual “host” in this way.

  “Yes?” Husher said.

  “Captain, I’d like to offer my sincere apologies for the tone of the council meeting yesterday.” Chancey’s voice emerged from speakers built into Husher’s desk.

  “Oh?”

  “I didn’t intend it to go that way. Penelope can be…enthusiastic. And honestly, I regret having to place this extra burden on your shoulders, on top of everything else.”

  “Then why did you vote for it?” Husher said flatly.

  “Because I’m beholden to my constituents, and this is what they indicated they wanted.”

  “You held a referendum on it?”

  The mayor’s mouth quirked, and he raised a hand to rub his broad jaw. “No,” he said after a pause, “but…well, the ones who wanted it were pretty vocal. Listen, if I’m not seen to play ball on issues like this one, then I’m looked at as the bad guy, and that doesn’t help anyone. I have just as much interest in keeping things stable as you do.” Chancey cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m making myself clear or not, but…let me try to put this another way. As long as everyone dots their I’s and crosses their T’s when something like this comes up, then all’s well. But when you don’t, people get angry, and the longer you deny them, the louder they get. So it’s easiest to just go along with them in the first place. If you don’t mind me offering you some unasked-for advice, that is.”

  Husher folded his hands on the desk. “What if I hold principles that the majority doesn’t view favorably?”

  “Hmm. Well, that’s not really my wheelhou
se. I go where my constituents tell me to, or I don’t get their votes next time around.”

  “I see.”

  “We’re getting a bit off track here. I really did call because I wanted to apologize. Things got pretty ugly yesterday, but I think they’re going to be better from here on out. The protesters got what they wanted, so they’re happy, and you have my word that I’m going to do my best to make this stuff go away as quickly and quietly as possible. I know you have a job to do, and I want you to know that I consider your job way more important than I consider mine. That probably seems rich coming from me, after what just happened, but it’s the truth. I understand how vital your job is, and I’m going to do everything in my power to clear your way so you can do it.”

  “All right, then,” Husher said. “Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me, Captain.”

  “Any time, Mayor Chancey.” It’s apparently part of my job, now, anyway. Husher terminated the call, wondering why the mayor had bothered to try clearing the air. Maybe the man really did feel bad.

  That done, he left his office and headed for the CIC. He wanted to be there when they transitioned out of the Feverfew System, and he planned to schedule his watches so that he’d have the CIC for as many of the necessary transitions as possible. Even though his mission was diplomatic in nature, that didn’t mean he trusted the Gok not to spring an ambush at the slightest opportunity.

  The Vesta’s battle group had rejoined her in the small hours of the morning, and as Husher settled into the command seat, he ordered his Coms officer to distribute orders to the other captains to form up behind her.

  “Yes, sir,” Ensign Fry said.

  Technically, the other captains had autonomy over their respective ships, though Husher could also direct them as he saw fit. Ultimately, the battle group went where the admiralty told it to go, and adhered to whatever ROEs the admiralty laid out. But in certain situations, Husher performed the function of admiral without holding the actual rank. Just another role to round out my endless list of duties.