Chapter Six

The occasion of the rescue of the Virtue initiated my first meeting with Senior Command: the Captain and subCaptains. So I would not feel overawed in such company, Elia Riles, my immediate supervisory officer, would also attend.

Today the power and freedom of the Star Captains is greatly reduced, but when I first shipped among the stars, each one was the ruler of his or her domain: that is, the ship and all her activities, whether economic, scientific or political. Since quantum repeater satellites were relatively new and not yet numerous enough for sector-wide instant communication, a Ship Captain had to have the authority to negotiate in the best interests of his House and Ship. The only authority a captain answered to was the Board of Directors, and most boards were understanding in the extreme, since they were themselves retired captains for the most part.

Since mass is an issue on any ship, the Captain's Quarters were not large by planetary standards. The decor, however, was exotic, expensive and elegant. Instead of the usual digital artwork or color patterns on the bulkheads, she had mounted various physical artifacts with informative laser-etched plaques instead of active screens. Rare and wonderful fabrics covered the rest of the bulkheads (what you dirt-eaters would call walls), the deck (floor) and furnishings. I recognized panzi leather, kurta silk and digifabs of nanopolymers produced at the permanent space station Alpha.

Elia had instructed me to wear my ship's dress jumpsuit, less ostentatious than a planet-side dress black uniform, but still impressive. The assembled company were similarly dressed. Glossy blacks, reds, yellows, greens and blues, denoting the various ship's specialties, glimmered in the multitude of pinpoint biolumeniers lighting the space. Service ribbons decorated each chest, the more senior the spacer the more glittering nanopowered decorations they sported, the ribbons being interwoven in the fabric itself. I was not eligible for any decoration yet, although I would soon receive my first year service stripe for my sleeve.

The Captain stood near the drink dispenser, serving each officer herself, a mark of her democratic nature. This equality did not extend outside this room, however. Captain Jenna St. Cloud was the sort of leader who seemed comfortable in her role, commanding without seeming to order, leading while preserving initiative, projecting an easy familiarity while reserving dignity. I may sound like a star-struck young spacer even now, but a spacer's first captain is like his first love.

Bosun Riles guided me lightly by my elbow into the line of officers. At the pace we were moving, I would be eye-to-eye with the captain in a few moments. Riles whispered in my ear.

"Just be yourself, Ish. She's not going to nuke you."

I nodded, swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to inhale past the constriction in my chest. The officer in front of me stepped aside and Captain St. Cloud looked directly into my eyes.

"You must be Ishmael O'Connor penDragon. The young bosun's mate that couldn't get himself lost. Glad to have a chance to meet you before I have to send your letter."

She referred to the Condolence Letter spacer's families dreaded.

"Yes, Ma'am; er, well, no ma'am."

"Which is it, young penDragon?"

"Yes I am Ishmael O'Connor penDragon and no you won't have to send that letter yet, ma'am."

"Well answered!" She offered a wai and I returned the bow, inclining slightly lower and waiting until she rose to straighten, then standing upright myself. "What will you drink, Ishmael?"

"I...uh, well, to be honest ma'am, I don't know what I want. Choose something for me, if you will."

"A man who isn't afraid to admit his ignorance! Better and better! Well sir, since you have saved the House over thirteen million credits by returning that scow, not to mention your own valuable hide, I will pour you some yCigIII terrolia brandy."

Those officers standing close by laughed. A yellow-suited Health Services officer said, "Not too much, Cap. Else he'll be in sick bay and miss his rotation."

The Captain poured a generous beaker of milky-purple liquid and handed it to me. She picked up her own beaker, half-full of some black substance that moved like liquid tar.

"Officers, I give you Bosun's Mate Ishmael O'Connor penDragon."

The group rapped their beakers with various rings, bracelets or such, making a musical ringing sound.

"Bosun's Mate penDragon, I hereby award you a Medal of Merit for your creative rescue of yourself, your cargo and your ship. Any command is important, and you preserved yourself and the House materiel in your charge as a good commander should. Well done!"

I stood there with my glass half-raised, no doubt looking foolish. My face grew hot. I'm sure I turned several shades darker. Less than a year in space and I had earned a decoration! True, the Medal of Merit is the lowest award, just above a Journey Badge, which only denotes a spacer's presence on some significant journey; nevertheless, it was a decoration. There were plenty of senior spacers who had nothing but their Journey Badges after decades in space.

I stammered my thanks to the captain. She nodded and gestured that I should circulate. The others came up to me and offered me their names and congratulations. A small group encouraged me to tell my tale, which occupied my time until the mess bell sounded. I found my place marker, which glowed in digiscript on a prismatic marker that extruded itself from the table surface, so those across from me could discretely remind themselves of my name, and I could know theirs. I thought this a clever way to save strangers the embarrassment of forgetting a name, especially when the Captain was required to entertain people she had just met, or had never met and would probably never meet again. The ship's processors stored this information along with all the other the terrabits of data she accumulated.

The dinner was not lavish by planetary banquet standards, but it was quite a bit nicer than typical ship's rations. One or two of my companions made sure to inform me that such was not the usual case, but this was the monthly officers' dinner and thus a special occasion. There was the usual soy-based proteins, but seasoned more exotically than usual. Vegetables and fruits from all over the Sagittarius A arm of the Galaxy. Fresh baked bread!

Conversation was lively. Elia, my faithful supervisor, sat across from me, and helped cue me to those conversational items I might not understand. Those officers seated near me related their own stories of misadventure, usually presented in a humorous, self-deprecating tone that down-played the danger and emphasized the individual's luck in the face of a maliciously unpredictable universe.

After the food was cleared and after-mess drinks dispensed, the Captain sat herself in the head chair once again. All eyes turned to her.

"Spacers, here's to long life, vast riches and undying love!" We acknowledged her toast and waited for the business we assumed she was about to present.

"In twenty-seven days we will cross the orbital plane of the XV234.45 star system. One hundred and fifty years ago, relative, the House schooner Star Queen called upon the colony established on the fourth planet of the system, named Reliance. They have a pioneer-agarian economy with a feudal-democratic sociopolitical government. According to processor projections we have equipment they could use. It's possible they will have surplus goods by now. We have data/voice acquisition via direct laserbeam data transmission. They indicate they have food products available. We know we can always sell food products. I am ordering a Trade Mission to Reliance. We expect you will be on journey for about six weeks ship time, about six months relative."

The term 'relative' referred to the time distortions implicit in high-velocity (near light-speed) travel. When a spacer referred to time, he usually meant ship time, that is to say, the chronometer-measured time of the ship itself. Traveling at a fraction of the speed of light, time passes at different rates on the relatively static planets or space stations. And of course, all these are moving through space at their own velocities and orbits, so time, such a simple, directional concept, becomes quite complicated when long-distance space travel is taken into consideration.

The captain named off the officers who were to lead this Mission. His eyes fell on Elia Riles.

"Bosun Riles. I know you would like to go, but I want one of your juniors to get the experience, so select someone to go as Bosun of the Bridge for the Quest." I knew I was too junior to go as the bridge bosun. But the captain's eyes fell on me next.

"And make sure Ish goes along as second."

"Yes ma'am," Riles answered, but she cast a hard look at me. I think for that moment she was jealous.

The rest of the evening passed without much to interest me. My mind was filled with the thought of being one of two crew members responsible for piloting the barquentine Quest, a medium-sized auxiliary ship capable of transporting a crew of ten or so, along with a vast hold area suitable for almost any type of cargo. She would have a fore-and-aft rigged particle-sail to boost her plasma drive. Very fast, with an atmosphere-capable orbital shuttle, she was the largest 'boat' that could be carried by a schooner-sized vessel like the Ody. And that is how I came to learn the pain of being a spacer.