pre-mutiny dream of him standing on the quarterdeck of a wooden vessel, a light frigate from an age that predated iron hulls, with lines and masts and the sounds of water against the ship as the wind filled the sails above his head. He turned a big wooden wheel like the one hung in his father’s office, and the exhilaration of speed and the occasional ocean spray in his face had him calling out to the seagulls cawing above, challenging them to a race. Men clambered up and down flaxen ropes, daring their mates to hang from the yardarm and laughing as sailors do when the fair winds and following seas are their friends.
Charles was satisfied with everything he saw, from the glittering brass to the lines and ropes. Nothing was out of place, and everything was either tied down or locked up. The wheel in his hand ran true and free, and he could feel the ocean’s currents through the tiller ropes to the rudder as he and his fellow helmsman adjusted their course. Below his feet, he sensed rather than saw the industry of the gunners as they loaded gunpowder into the deadly tools of their trade. Her Majesty’s ship Salvation was on the hunt, and she sailed in the wake of her prey, a frigate not unlike their own.
The pirate ship was ahead, taking advantage of the same winds, though it labored in the seas while the Salvation flew on this bright day. Charles picked out other differences on the other frigate—green streaks on its hull from being at sea for too long, sails in need of mending, and a keel settled too deep into the water.
The question was not if Salvation would catch the pirates, but when. Their captain must know they’re too heavy for this pursuit. They’ll start throwing cargo and fixtures overboard any minute now.
As the thought formed, Charles saw a large sea chest make a large splash on the starboard side of the privateer, and he watched the chest float by them then disappear in their wake.
They should have planted a bomb or something in it. Maybe they would have gotten lucky.
More splashes and more flotsam to watch, though most of the expelled cargo sank immediately. Charles began to wonder how much the ship ahead pirated and stored in her cargo space.
“We scared them, son!” his father called. “We’re getting them this time!”
Charles mirrored his father’s smile as they held onto the wheel. They were dressed the same as the ship’s officers, blue coats sprinkled with sea spray and gold braid almost glowing in the sun.
Though asleep, Charles was conscious enough to pick out the errors in his dream. Officers probably didn’t man the helm of the old-style ships, and their uniforms certainly weren’t the same shade of color as the jumpsuit he wore on the bridge of his spaceship. There were other minor glitches that revealed his ignorance of the times but none more glaring than the absence of a captain or senior officer on the quarterdeck. Charles and his father were the only officers in sight.
But none of that took away from the thrill of the hunt. The two of them held the ship’s wheel and destiny in their hands as it cut through the waves, pounding the surf as the bow rose up and crashed into the ocean. Even though he knew what was about to happen, he let the chase fill his senses as he reached across the wheel and clapped his fellow helmsman’s shoulder. “This time, for the Queen!”
“For the Queen!” His father laughed loud and long, leaving Charles agog in wonder, never having seen the old man show much emotion. “And for Salvation!”
Can we not let it happen this time?
He blinked, and the gray wall of the mist appeared in the distance as it always did, ignoring the strong wind driving the two ships toward it. Charles resisted the urge to point and shout because it would make no difference. No one but him could see the mist as they approached.
Father is about to say, “It’s a fine day to hang a pirate, Charles!” The pirate ship will disappear, then the gray wall will eat my ship and kill all my men, Father included. Then I will wake up gasping for air like I’m drowning.
“It’s a grand day, Charles! A grand day to be alive!”
That’s not what’s supposed to happen. “Yes, Father! A grand day!”
The old man pointed ahead. “Do not fear. It is our friend!”
Charles turned to watch the seascape change from an ocean to the space he was used to viewing from his chair on the real Salvation’s bridge. The gray wall ahead was now a bright star against a black background, and Charles held up his hand to shade his eyes.
“Father, what…” He turned to find he was alone on the quarterdeck. The rest of the ship was gone, but the wooden wheel in his hand turned easily.
This has never happened before. What should I do?
He shrugged and kept sailing.
Someone knocked on a distant door.
His eyes opened, having fallen asleep at his desk. Ugh. Time to wake up.The sound came again, a knock at his office door. He sat up. “Come!”
Kathy entered, followed by Reuben Pettigrew. He pointed them at the chairs in front of his desk as he wiped his face with his hand.
My skin smells like the ocean. He dropped his hand into his lap to hide the shaking, a remnant of the transition from his drinking days to his new abstinence. He took the previous week to finish drying out, and he never felt closer to death. At the height of his recovery, he felt the grog oozing from his pores. Bertie and Doc Max did what they could to help the First Officer through the worst parts, but Charles still felt sick and hollow.
Never again.
He felt he was finally ready to face the public, and he spent that morning on the bridge, participating in a navigation drill. Its outcome was why the Second and Third Officers were in his office.
He looked at Kathy. “Percy on the bridge?” She nodded, and Charles tried not to show his disappointment. He hoped his father was back on watch. “Okay. We know why we’re here. What happened up there?”
In minutes, Charles was struggling not to roll his eyes so Reuben wouldn’t see his frustration over the Third Officer’s self-analysis of the latest blown drill. The setup was relatively easy—an unknown object several hundred feet across was on an intercept course with Salvation, and Reuben’s role as senior officer on the bridge required him to identify whether the object would indeed hit the ship then take the necessary steps to intercept the object or evade it if the ship’s rudimentary navigation computer was down.
Almost everything out of Reuben’s mouth was wrong, starting with taking zero responsibility for his actions and orders during the drill.
The Second Officer sat in silence on one side of his desk. Charles was surprised Kathy hadn’t jumped in, perhaps because she was deferring to his senior position.
If I suggested that we swap places, what would you say, Kathy?
Charles watched the Clock over the younger Pettigrew’s shoulder as the Third Officer made a list of failures. The Clock not only tracked the universal ship’s time but also counted down the years and days until Landfall. Yesterday, it clicked from one thousand days to 999 days.
The Crew’s officers held a small party for the newly promoted, and Charles pushed back on his reputation, limiting himself to water. He ignored their passive-aggressive comments and instead worried about his absent father. The old man continued to withdraw from public life to the point that he only intermittently appeared on the bridge. Through necessity, Charles took over signing reports and other necessary but dreary paperwork in the Captain’s absence.
Charles was prepared to spend as much time with the Captain as he could, but Charles learned that the mere sight of his younger son often sent his father into an emotional spiral. Instead of having the ship’s most senior officer as a mentor, Charles recognized he might be forced to learn how to be the First Officer on the job. He was the Second Officer for years and knew the ins and outs of being senior staff, but he also knew he had much to learn.
When he visited his father earlier that day, the old man was catatonic. Nothing Charles did or said in his presence generated a response, not even a flicker in his eyes when his son entered the room.
Bertie and Doc Max warned me this might be the case, that my father might not come back from wherever his mind disappeared to. But I’m not ready! I’m not ready for the job, and I’m not ready to let him go.
He already knew the first and harshest lesson of being a First Officer (or Captain, his mind whispered) was not the operation of Salvation. The Original Builders were geniuses, in his opinion. They predicted that over a journey of thousands of years at sub-light speed, there would come a time when the ship’s population might become too stupid to maintain and operate a complex spaceship. Fortunately, those ancient intellects designed everything to be operated by idiots. There were still complex tasks like steering the ship through orbits and such, but in open space, the ship could fly with a minimum of intelligence on the bridge.
The proof of that sits in front of me.
No, Charles’s biggest headache was clearly the personnel. He needed people to step up and take control of the ship’s more complex systems, but almost without exception, he and Kathy were disappointed thus far. With the latest drill’s failure, Charles saw he might be forced to make personnel decisions that might or might not be supported by his father.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
When Reuben hit ten minutes of complaining as measured by the Clock, Charles held up his hand. “Mr. Pettigrew.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Who had the conn during the drill?”
Reuben blinked at the obvious question. “Well, I did, sir.”
“Who then was responsible for the successful completion of the drill?”
Reuben stayed silent.
Charles thought that was wise. “How many drills have you conned as Third Officer, Mr. Pettigrew?”
“Five, sir.” Reuben sank in his seat, clearly seeing what was coming.
“Before I took my week of downtime, the Second Officer and I rotated members of the bridge through those drills to maximize the experience across the greatest number of people. In fact, even Ms. Bettencourt here and I took turns as your Crew.” Charles paused to draw out the lesson. “Who was the one person commanding those five drills?”
“Me, sir.”
Time for the reality check. “How do you like being a member of the senior staff, Mr. Pettigrew?”
“I miss being the purser,” Reuben said bitterly.
Charles felt a small sliver of respect for the honest answer. “I can see why. You held the final say over the ship’s supplies, supercargo, and resources, absent the Captain. Your own little fiefdom with almost no oversight. Of course, with the ship’s inventories as automated as they are, it was easy for you to find a scapegoat when something broke.”
Reuben opened his mouth, but Charles cut him off. “Quiet. Now you are a bridge officer and three people removed from the Captaincy.” Charles waved at Kathy and himself. “Let’s envision a reasonable scenario where those three officers are in one area of the ship that is destroyed. As a result, we three die. Almost happened a few weeks ago, remember?”
In his harshest voice, Charles added, “If that happens, who becomes Captain?” He was pleased to see Reuben’s face turn white. “Didn’t think of that, did you?”
“No, sir.”
“Got caught up in being important and attending the ‘secret meetings’ of the leadership team, huh?” Charles didn’t wait for an answer as he picked up his pad from his desk. “Your vacation is over. Effective immediately, you will act as the senior officer of the watch in front-and-back shifts until further notice. Six hours on and six hours off. You will have the conn, even when your three superior officers are on the bridge.”
Charles looked at the Clock. “You have three hours until your first watch. Before then, send me your recommendations for drills for your next two shifts. Questions?”
Reuben’s mouth opened and closed twice before he spoke. “You’re setting me up to fail!”
“I disagree. I’m setting you up to be part of the solution instead of being a continuous part of the problem.”
Reuben spoke as if he hadn’t heard. “I protest.”
“Understood.”
“I mean, I formally protest.”
“Fine. Second Officer, please log Mr. Pettigrew’s protest appropriately.”
“Yes, sir.” Kathy’s face and voice were void of emotion.
Reuben looked between them. “I resign my commission. I’m done with you.”
No surprise there. “Resignation not accepted. Denied.”
“I demand to see the Captain!”
Charles shook his head. “That is your right, of course, but I’ll warn you now that he and I have discussed you at length. It is his wish that you continue to learn and grow in your current role. I will not speak for him in this specific instance, but I will recommend that your resignation be rejected.”
Reuben clenched his hands. “Permission to speak freely, sir!”
“No.”
“What?”
“For once in your life, Reuben, shut up and listen. I did not choose you, but I am stuck with you for the next three years. In that time, I am going to do my goddamn level best to make you a decent ship’s officer. If you think you can get out of that by screwing up, it won’t work. I was a bigger fuck-up than you ever will be. I know all the tricks. Therefore, you’re out of choices and chances. Face your brand-new reality head on, get your ass on the bridge, and do your job as best you can.”
Charles was pleased he hadn’t raised his voice. “Who knows, Reuben? You might even turn out to be a decent officer and human being. Now, do you still want to see the Captain?”
A little color appeared on the other man’s cheeks. “Wouldn’t do any good, would it?”
“Nope.”
The Third Officer stood and spoke formally. “With your permission, sir?”
“Dismissed.” Charles waited until the door closed behind Reuben before pushing his chair back and chuckling.
“Nicely done,” Kathy said.
“Thanks.” He propped his feet up on his desk. “To be honest, that was almost the same speech I got from my dad when I tried to resign as First Officer. The second time, not the first.”
“I didn’t know you tried again.” Kathy pointed at the coffee carafe with a questioning air. “How did he take it?”
Charles shook his head at the coffee. “Almost threw me out of his bedroom. That was the last time he showed any real energy.”
“The rumors are true?”
She needs to know. Bertie and Max know, as does Father’s orderly, Carlos Cabello. Kathy has a vested and reasonable interest. “Yeah. He’s pretty far gone. Doc Max and I have tried everything. Hell, we even talked about cloning a dog from the gene library.”
Kathy contemplated him with thoughtful eyes through the steam of her coffee, and again, he felt she should be the First Officer. They studied and trained together in the Back’s tech school for leadership-track students, and she was the star graduate of their class. Aside from her technical and leadership skills, she was a distant Devereaux cousin, twenty-fifth in line to the Captaincy through their shared great-great grandparents. There was no tradition or precedent barring her from wearing the golden eagles on her epaulets.
It would have the added bonus of irritating the Pope. A woman hasn’t been Captain in four generations.
“Permission to speak freely?” she asked.
“Always.”
“What do you think happened to him, Charlie? Was it Byron’s death or the fact he could not open the doors himself?”
You’re the only person on this ship to call me by that nickname. He realized what she said and set down his cup with a noise. “How did you know?”
“I was online. You were on camera. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
“Who else knows?”
Kathy shrugged. “The Engineer. She was watching.” She stopped to think. “Doc Max is spending a lot of time in the Captain’s cabin, so he must know.”
Charles decided not to say that Bertie knew too. “Yeah, he knows. You have a fair idea of what’s going on, then.”
Kathy pointed at the Clock over her shoulder. “He’s not going to be here in three years, is he?”
Charles suppressed the wave of anger, recognizing it for what it truly was—worry and stress. “No. We have to be realistic.”
“‘We have to be’? Or you have to be?”
“Both. Hardest thing I’ve done.”
“Worse than giving up booze?”
She knows everything, doesn’t she? “Yes.”
Kathy took a sip of coffee. “Is that why you’re pushing Reuben?”
“Pretty much. The Captain sees something in him and ordered me to bring it out. And yes, I tried to fire him, but the old man refused that too. We’re stuck where we are.”
“I’m not worried. You made the hard call, and you’ll make it again.”
Charles blinked at her echo of Bertie’s words. “Good thing you can’t read my mind.”
“Could be worse. Reuben is more of a Devereaux than me. He’s closer to the Captain’s chair.”
“His father is even closer. Can you imagine old Fletcher Pettigrew as the Captain? Better hope I don’t fall down a ladder.”
“Don’t even joke about it.”
Her response was interrupted by a sharp rap on his door. “Enter!”
Charles wasn’t surprised to see Doc Max, for it was about time for the daily discussion about his father’s health. Oddly, he didn’t have his med kit with him. He was surprised to see Reuben Pettigrew trailing behind.
The bastard’s going to try for medical relief. Not gonna happen.
He changed his mind when Carlos entered the room. He was baffled at why the Captain’s orderly was entering his office until Kathy stood and came to attention.
The thought struck his heart like a hammer.
He’s dead. My father is dead.
The entourage stopped and stood at attention like Kathy in front of the First Officer’s desk.
“Sir,” Doc Max said formally, “we bring terrible news.”
Charles knew he should stand, but he didn’t trust his legs. “Go ahead.”
“Sir, I regret to inform you that your father passed away in his sleep.” Max took a breath and waved at the orderly. “Carlos employed lifesaving methods when he found Captain Devereaux and called me immediately. There was nothing anyone could do. His heart refused to start. Per his documented wishes, we did not employ extraordinary measures, and we will not begin the cloning process. I’m sorry.”
His heart died weeks ago, Doctor. The rest of his body finally caught up.
“I understand.” Charles looked down and focused on slowing his heartbeat, taking deep breaths. “Thank you. Thank you both for your service.”
“What are your orders, Captain?” Kathy asked Charles.
And there it is. Fuck.
Doc Max extended his hand and dropped the golden eagles on Charles’s desk, along with the Captain’s master key, the metallic emblem of office, and the traditional wristwatch. The air seemed to disappear from the room as Charles contemplated the artifacts.
Get it over with.
He picked up the golden eagles. “Ms. Bettencourt. Mr. Pettigrew. Would you, please?” They walked around the desk, and with Kathy on his left and Reuben on his right, they removed his First Officer’s insignia. He handed each an eagle, and they carefully pinned them to his collar epaulets. They left the First Officer’s symbols on his desk.
“Thank you.” He pocketed the key and put on the wristwatch. It hadn’t worked in centuries and the crystal face was cracked, but every Captain wore it since Flyaway Day. He picked up and contemplated the Captain’s emblem of office.
“What are your orders, Captain?” Kathy repeated.
What would she do if I handed this to her? I should have done it before they pinned me, dammit. Too late now!
“All standing orders and regulations remain in place.” Charles exhaled audibly. “No one here will say anything until I speak to the Crew. I have to call the Engineer and the Pope first. Do you understand?” When they affirmed his orders, he looked at Doc Max. “What’s next?”
“Sir, with your permission, I will begin the arrangements.” Max paused. “I would be honored if you would allow me to serve as marshal for the upcoming mourning period.”
“So ordered.” Charles thought it was probably the easiest decision he would make that day. Doc Max was Byron’s marshal too. “My family thanks you.”
“Of course, Captain. I’m very sorry. With your permission?”
Charles nodded and walked around the desk as Doc Max left, holding out his hand to Carlos. “This must be especially tough on you. How are you doing?”
The older man took his hand. “As good as I can be. I tried, sir. I really tried…”
When Carlos’s voice trailed off, Charles put his arm across his shoulders. “I get it. We both knew this was coming, but it doesn’t help, does it?”
“No, sir.”
“It may be too soon to ask, but I hope you will consider staying on as captain’s orderly. I’m going to need all the help I can get, and you know more about being Captain than most.”
“It would be my honor… Captain.”
Charles ignored his stumble. “No, Carlos, it would be mine. I’ll be your third captain, right?”
“Fourth, sir. And last, probably.”
“We’ll see about that.” Charles stepped back and formally saluted. “Carry on, Mr. Cabello.”
Carlos’ eyes grew wide at the honor, and he returned the salute. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
When he left, Charles returned to stand behind the desk. “Mr. Pettigrew.”
“Sir!” Reuben replied.
“Though neither of us could have anticipated it, you now have the Captain’s ear. This will be your only opportunity for you to submit your previous request because I will not entertain this conversation in the future. Do you have anything you wish to say?”
“Yes, sir. That you forget what I said earlier. I accept your orders and will carry them out to the best of my ability.”
“I wasn’t joking, Reuben,” Charles warned. “This is your only chance.”
“Understood, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“Good. Percy has the bridge. Please relieve him until Ms. Bettencourt relieves you. You will start your front-and-back shifts in three hours, but don’t worry about the drills for the time being.” He let go of a deep breath. “We’ll revisit after the official mourning period.”
“Yes, sir. One question.” Reuben paused. “My father?”
“Right. Yeah, please notify him and tell him I will be reaching out to him soon. Do that on the way to the bridge.”
“Aye, aye, sir. My sincere condolences on your father. Sir. He was… he was… he was a hell of a captain, sir.”
“Yes, he was. Thank you. On your way.”
Reuben almost ran from the office as Charles picked up the First Officer insignia from his desk. “Dammit.”
“I’m sorry, Charlie.”
“Me too.” He juggled the metal pieces in his hand. “Come here.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m not asking, Kathy.” She stepped forward, and Charles removed her Second Officer insignia, replacing it with the First Officer symbols. “Congratulations, Ms. Bettencourt.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
He handed her the Captain’s chest emblem. “Would you please?”
She nodded as she took it, holding it up for them to examine it. The three gold circles were arranged in an overlapping Venn diagram with a gold star in the center. The Engineer and Pope wore their own versions, with the Engineer’s star in the left circle and the Pope’s star in the right.
She pulled the zipper of his jumpsuit down to the middle of his chest then reached inside to catch the pins of the emblem. Charles tried to ignore the warmth of her hand, but he couldn’t stop the memories from rushing back.
Has it really been seven years since we were together? God, we were such kids.
He stepped back and zipped up his jumpsuit. “Thank you.”
Kathy returned to her side of the desk. “Can I ask questions, or do you need time?”
“Go ahead. I might not be worth a shit for a few days.”
“Pettigrew?”
“Father or son?”
“Both.”
“If you haven’t figured it out, my dear uncle is all noise and no action. He will scream and shout that he should be First Officer, but he retired last year. The Captain has the option of recalling retired officers to active duty. You’ll note my father did not recall him when Byron died. I do not plan to do so, either. He has no official standing. If he makes your day miserable, point him at me.”
Kathy smirked. “I can handle him. The son?”
“Reuben was my pet project. He is now yours. Do what you must to get him in shape. We need a competent Third Officer. I’ll back you up.”
“You’re not promoting him?”
“Hell, no. He’s barely getting by as it is. I’ll figure something out for the Second Officer.”
“Good, because we’ve got no one else.”
Charles nodded. “Get to the bridge. I have calls to make, then I’ll do the ship announcement.”
Kathy walked around the desk and quickly hugged him. “I’m really sorry about your dad.” She left before he could speak.
He sat heavily in his chair, contemplating the office.
Too fast. Much too fast. Here I am, leaving Byron behind again for the office that should have been his. He should be alive, dammit. So should our father. None of this was necessary!
Fuck.
He wiped his face with one hand before he opened the direct channel to the Engineer.