this. Every year, I’m impressed.
Even though it was his third time attending the party in the Ring—but his first as Captain—Charles couldn’t help but be moved by the pageantry, music, and dancing outside the Basilica’s auditorium. The colors worn by the children running by, along with their laughter, almost made him smile, but as Captain, he had a reputation to maintain. Stoicism always, his father drilled into him.
He stood still to soak in the energy and take in the sights and sounds, his foot tapping with the music. Too many of his days lately were a series of headaches and hard decisions, and it felt good to be swept away from that reality for a minute or two before he returned to being the Captain.
Three related events eased some of his burdens. The first was the arrival of the person who could be his next Second Officer. Mannix was nothing like he anticipated. Most Burners were of average height and width, but Mannix was a Trogg and a mountain of a man and silent almost to the point of being a human black hole. His thick dark hair offset the blue-white eyes that missed no details, as they were always moving. Charles was forced by his father to read Shakespeare for some unknown reason, and Mannix fit the passage from Henry V—“Men of few words are the best men.”
Better yet, Kathy approved of Mannix. She reported that he was a quick learner while deferring to the rest of the bridge Crew when he asked questions. They already knew him from his time as an Engineer watch stander, so he wasn’t a stranger. Before Charles left for the Ring, Kathy said she would certify Mannix as a bridge officer, and they could address his promotion to Second Officer when Charles got back.
Thank God. The rest of us need a break. Charles was still holding down a shift, along with Kathy, Reuben, and Percy. One more certified bridge officer would give them far more flexibility.
The second event began as a tragic happenstance, with Joro reporting a murder to the Triumvirate. Watching her on the screen, he could tell she was deeply affected by the Badge’s death on multiple levels. A few hours after her call, Charles was in his cabin and, on impulse, called her directly. Joro was still at her desk in her office, though she changed to what must have been her comfortable clothes.
“Hi,” he said, feeling foolish for some reason.
“Good evening, Captain.”
“No, not an official call. I’m checking in. You had a shitty day, and I thought you might want to talk.”
She ruffled her long hair, and he admired how it fell back into place. “Like I told my daughter, another normal Burner day.”
“Except it wasn’t, was it?”
“Not even close. Murder doesn’t happen much on our ship.”
He liked how she said “our ship” but thought it would be tactless to mention the mutiny. “When was the last one in the Back?”
“The Chief Badge sent me the file. Thirty-something years ago, a woman stabbed her partner for some stupid reason. He was too far gone by the time his body was discovered, like my Badge. The Triumvirate at the time voted two to one to suspend her death sentence. Moira thought the murderer was dead, but it turns out she’s still alive and working under supervision in the sewer plant on the lowest level.”
“Huh. Isn’t that something?”
“That’s not all. Guess who was a brand-new Pope at the time and voted for the death sentence?”
“He’s been around that long?”
“Yep.”
“Guess he’s an Old Testament guy.”
She smiled. “You’re funny.”
The next night, Joro called him to ask if the Pope produced the young priest from the mutiny. Charles told her His Holiness, with the “deepest of regrets,” said the priest went into isolation to contemplate his sins and was not available for questioning. On the other hand, the families and friends of the mutineers would meet with the investigating Badge only if they were given immunity. Charles admitted he hadn’t made up his mind but would probably agree, if only to allow the ship to move on so everyone could focus on Landfall.
After that, their nightly calls became a habit, with them often talking about useless things around the ship. He was impressed with Joro’s encyclopedic memory over the most trivial of mechanized functions, but he wilted inside each time when he realized how much he didn’t know about the ship he was supposed to command.
When he admitted this during one of their calls, Joro talked him down. “Not your job description, Charles.”
“What is my job description, Joro?”
“Save the human race from itself.”
“Oh. Is that all?” He couldn’t help but laugh.
“We haven’t heard from Old Earth in centuries. There were supposed to be other ships like Salvation, but we’ve heard nothing from them, either. We may be the last of our race.”
“Yeah, that’s what my father said. He also said he tried not to think too deeply about it, or he might freeze up and do nothing.” Like you did when Byron died, Father.
The Engineer seemed to read his mind. “You don’t freeze. I’ve seen it.”
“Hardest thing I ever did. And the shittiest.”
“Necessary. Can you imagine if that bomb went off out here in the middle of nowhere?”
This thought led to the third event—the trial of the nine surviving mutineers and a half dozen of their supporters in the Ring. Exercising his duties under the Emergency Measures section of the Ship’s Charter, Charles convened a military tribunal with Kathy as chair and an Assistant Engineer volunteered by Joro. A Bishop was supposed to be the third member of the tribunal, from what Charles read in the ship’s history, but the Pope resisted. Charles finally accepted his refusal, reasoning he needed to save arguing with the Pope for more important things down the road, and asked Doc Max to serve on the tribunal instead.
The trial was swift, as there was little to dispute, and all defendants were unanimously found guilty and sentenced to be executed for being culpable in the First Officer’s death. Charles commuted the death sentences to lives of hard labor, and the convicts were confined to the sewer facilities in various locations across the ship.
One defendant was spared due to “diminished mental capacity” and was sentenced to confinement in the long-term medical-care facility in the Back. Very few people knew he was the spy planted by the Badges, and he would be released in a year with a new face and identity.
Charles was glad to have the repercussions of the mutiny behind him, but the entire episode still niggled at him on many levels, not the least involving the deaths of his brother and father.
The other thing that stuck in his craw was the fact that the investigation hit a dead end. The young priest was still in exile, and the Badges learned everything they could about the mysterious speaker at the farmers’ meetings who stirred things up with his vitriol. Those questioned did not know who he was or where he came from. No one admitted to inviting him to the Farmers Combine. The provocateur disappeared before the mutineers marched to the Front with their bomb. Bertie said none of those interrogated remembered his name or important details.
Basically, they had his description, but nothing else.
Who was he and where did he go? And will he strike again?
A change in live music brought Charles out of his memories as he focused on his hands. They still shook a little, no matter how hard he tried to calm them, and he was about to put them in his pockets when a small body bounced off his legs. Looking down, he met the eyes of the fallen little boy, almost flat on his back. The kid was frozen in fear, his mouth agape.
Charles took a knee next to him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sorry. Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you, sir.”
“No harm. Up we go.” The Captain lifted the boy to his feet as he rose. “What’s your name?”
“Martin, sir.” His eyes moved to the Venn diagram on Charles’s chest. “Are you the Captain?”
“That’s what they tell me. Where is your mother?”
“I don’t know.” Martin’s lower lip began to quiver.
“Ah, well, it looks like you and I have a mission. Up we go.” He lifted Martin to his hip, and the boy tucked himself to the Captain’s side like he’d been there for years. Charles decided he could get used to this feeling. “Let’s start with the auditorium. A lot of people there.”
“Okay.”
Charles started weaving through the crowd of dancers when, as if on cue, a priest appeared from behind them. “Sir, welcome to Flyaway Day. I am Father Scott. May I escort you to His Holiness?”
“Of course.”
The priest eyed the child on Charles’s hip. “May I take him, sir?”
“We’re good. Lead on.”
“Of course.” The priest turned and walked briskly through the crowd.
Charles struggled for a moment to keep pace while not jostling Martin too much. From the boy’s giggles and laughter, though, it seemed he was having the time of his life. Charles rewarded him with an extra bounce and jogged to catch up to the priest.
As he expected, they headed to the auditorium then aimed to one side. He assumed they were going to a side entrance to prepare for the ceremony. If they did things the same as in the two previous years, the Pope and the Captain would appear at the top of the main staircase and acknowledge the crowd. They would then descend into the amphitheater to take their front-row seats. A children’s choir would sing a hymn, the Pope would rise on stage to give a short speech, then the ceremony would conclude with everyone streaming to the exits to participate in more dancing and frolicking.
Given the circumstances, Charles would rather frolic and dance as he had in the past, too, but stoicism always.
The trip from inside the side entrance to the small prep room was a short one, and the room held mostly priests in long black cassocks. The Pope stood out in his white cassock with gold trim.
He smiled widely when he saw the party enter the room. “Captain, my captain, welcome!” He vigorously shook Charles’s free hand in both of his. “And who do we have here?”
“Martin, may I introduce my good friend the Pope?” Charles was a little startled when the boy drew back from the older man, and he whispered, “He’s okay.”
“Yes, Martin, I’m scary in all this white and whatever, aren’t I?” the Pope asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand, I understand! Watch this.” The Pope produced a piece of candy out of thin air. “Magic!”
Martin took the candy and smiled.
The Pope nodded. “There we go.”
“What do we say, Martin?” the Captain prompted.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You are most welcome, Martin.” The Pope ruffled the boy’s hair. “Captain, if you would like to pass him to Father Scott, we will get the show rolling.”
“Martin and I are sticking together. We’re on a quest.”
“Of course.” The Pope nodded, leaving the Captain to admire how the older man kept rolling with the punches. “You know the drill. You saw them with your father. They’re waiting on us. It’s a pity the Engineer could not join us. She never comes to our Flyaway Day celebrations.”
“Who says I couldn’t be here?”
Everyone turned to the side door that framed Joro perfectly as she stood there, wearing a formal tunic with gold trim like Charles’s, except hers was red while his was blue. The tunic was paired with a long red skirt that dropped to her ankles. The shade and fashion were not unlike Mirriam’s red dress from when I met her, he thought.
Like before, the Triumvirate all wore their Venn diagram emblems of office.
Again quick on his feet, the Pope approached the Engineer with his hand out. “Ma’am, welcome!”
“An honor, sir.” She turned to the Captain and patted Martin’s back. “You didn’t say the admiral would be joining us.”
“He invited himself, like all admirals do. Martin, this is my friend, the Engineer.”
“Hi.” Martin waved at her.
“Hi!” Joro put out her hand. “Shake?” When Martin took it, Joro recited as she raised and lowered their grasp, “How do you do? How do you do? How do you do, again?”
Martin laughed, and the rest of the room joined him.
“Your Holiness.” Joro turned serious. “I know we have much to do and discuss, but I have no time today. Less time than usual, in fact. I hate to ask, especially on this most important day, but is there something we can do to speed things up?”
“Of course.” The Pope pointed at the person with the headset and snapped his fingers. They scurried over. “Change in plans. We will do my speech first. The Engineer and the Captain will join me on stage. Please make it happen.”
“Of course, sir. Of course.” The headset ran away from the group, speaking quickly into their mic.
“I hope you don’t mind the assumption that you would join me,” the Pope said. “It seems appropriate, all things considered.”
“Agreed,” the Engineer said.
“Seconded,” the Captain agreed.
The headset returned. “Whenever you’re ready, sir. Ma’am. Sir.”
Joro surprised Charles by hooking her arm through his free one then doing the same with the Pope. “Let’s make an entrance, shall we?”