surface of the therapy pool, spitting water everywhere. “What the absolute fuck is wrong with you?”
Bertie shoved the man back under the water, held him in place, and slowly counted to ten. He badly broke his ankle the year before and spent a week in physical therapy so he could safely climb ladders once again. Usually defensive about who touched his body, he grew comfortable in the clinic, thinking he would have been a therapist in another life. After all, they did what he did every day—made broken things work better.
When he brought Charles to his old clinic in the Back, he was gratified to find it empty of people and unlocked, and he was even happier to find both the therapy pool and the ice machines filled to the brim. He emptied the contents of the machines into the pool and thrown Charles into the deep end.
When he reached “ten,” Bertie let Charles go. The First Officer exploded from the water and, as his petty officer anticipated, took a swing at him. Bertie easily blocked his arm and shoved Charles back into the pool.
He’s got spirit. No one can deny that. Now to point it toward something other than boozing and fighting.
Do I let him hit me or shove me in the pool?
Charles waded to the shallow end, wiping off his face and shaking the water out of his hair. Staring at Bertie, he spaced his words. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“Sobering you up.”
“Coffee would have worked.”
“We need to chat, and this is better.”
“For what?” Charles made it to the stairs and climbed out of the pool. “Towels?”
“Locker over there. Might have a jumpsuit too.”
“Talk.”
Bertie waited for Charles to strip off his blue jumpsuit, dry himself, and put on an Engineer’s light-brown jumpsuit he found in the locker. Bertie was disturbed by the fact that he could count the First Officer’s ribs.
You’re going on double rations when we get back to the Front.
“Talk,” Charles prompted again.
“Read my mind, sir.”
The First Officer frowned. “I don’t like games.”
“I’m not playing.”
Charles’s head jerked at Bertie’s hard voice. “Okay. Fine.” He crossed his arms with the towel in the fold. “You’re wondering how many years you’ll be spending in the brig after I have you arrested for assaulting a senior officer. Twice assaulted now that I think about it. Here and in the Bilgewater Café.”
“So very wrong. Care to grow up now, sir?” Bertie purposely put a drawl on the last word.
Charles’s face flushed red, and he took a step forward before stopping himself. “You have something to say. Say it.”
“I said my piece. Figure it out.”
Charles turned away to look at the window separating the therapy pool from the rest of the clinic. He studied his reflection there. “I absolutely fucking do not want to be Captain. I did nothing to earn it, and I don’t believe I should get it. Kathy would be fifty times better.”
“You’re not wrong, sir, but you have done something to make your father think you’re worthy.”
Charles turned to look at his petty officer, and Bertie thought he never met a man more haunted by his memories. “That depends on your definition of ‘worthy,’ Bert.”
“It was the mutiny, wasn’t it?”
Charles nodded.
“What happened?”
The First Officer went back to drying his hair, and Bertie thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then Charles spoke. “Why do you care?”
“You’ve been a mess since then. Everyone can see it, but no one knows why.” Bertie softened his voice. “Come on, Charles. What happened?”
He was sure he would never forget the look of horror on the First Officer’s face when he emerged from the towel.
“Everything.”
+++
As mutinies go, the third was an amateur affair compared to the previous two.
The first occurred a few years after Flyaway Day, when a rumor started circulating that the food supplies that fed thousands were being redirected towards the elite, giving them more than their fair share. Lies traveled at the speed of light in an enclosed space, and these lies resulted in many Passengers carrying torches and clubs in their attack on the Front.
By the time that mutiny was put down, hundreds were dead, crops were set afire, and damage was widespread. In hopes of preventing a recurrence, the Ring’s political structure was changed, and priests began to exercise local municipal power instead of the mayors who led the riot.
No one knew what sparked the second mutiny centuries later, though boredom was assumed to be a cause. Instead of attacking the Front, the Passengers tried to breach the Back, but the Back used Badges as a defensive force in place to repel the raiders. That second mutiny died on the vine before anyone got hurt or any damage was done.
The third mutiny was the smallest but resulted in a higher body count than the second. It started with two brothers on their farm in the Ring, drinking too much from their illicit still after a long day tilling soil for a crop they would never eat. Their neighbors joined the party to vent about the privileged one percent who took the crops and about the impending Landfall that would destroy their lifestyle in a few short years. Their get-togethers grew, and before they understood what happened, dozens of farmers were meeting regularly, with a few disgruntled Crew members thrown in.
One day, the loudest of the farmers stood in front of the group and said their lives were as good as they were going to get on the ship, not on a planet that they weren’t even sure could grow their crops. On Salvation, the farmers were feeding the thousands in the Ring, and their families were healthy and not in danger. It was the height of stupidity to change any of that, but they had no voice about Landfall, he said. Why take the risk on an uncontrollable planet when everything on the ship worked and sustained them?
The farmer said they should take their concerns straight to the top. They should organize a protest and let the Captain know that they were opposed en masse to Landfall and would push back on all efforts to transfer people to any planet.
The crowd, all of whom were slightly lubricated, loudly agreed with him.
One of the Crew members stood to inject reality in the discussion. He pointed out that they were outnumbered, and that the Captain possessed the legal force of the Ship’s Charter to protect Salvation by any means necessary. The Engineer could send the Badges to disperse their protest as they dispersed the second mutiny: violently and savagely.
As the farmers shouted down the Crew member, the priest who served as the local parish leader took his turn to try quieting the group, but he was young and new to his office. His audience listened respectfully then ignored him completely.
A farmer even younger than the priest stood and suggested that they could combine the fertilizers and chemicals on hand to even the odds. “We can make them listen to us if we have a big enough bomb.”
On such small words is history made.
Fewer attendees appeared for the next meeting of the Farmers Combine, as they called themselves. From their absence, the non-attendees must have come to their senses and suborned their fury and frustration, and they wanted nothing to do with the next steps. Only one Crew member showed up, but he was technologically savvy enough to know how to enter the Front if it were locked down remotely.
Also in attendance was one ammonium nitrate-and-oil explosive device. The builder said the plans were easy to find in the ship’s historical records.
The leader of the Combine proposed they march shoulder to shoulder to the Front and make their presence known. He asked for volunteers. A dozen farmers and the Crew member stepped forward, and they departed for the nearest pod station immediately.
Had the Combine possessed any common sense as a group, they would have employed internal security to prevent their plans from being heard by the wrong ears. As it was, the Badges planted a spy in the group, and he reported everything to the Engineer and the Captain immediately, while the priest reported his concerns to the Pope. The spy was one of the thirteen volunteers who marched to the spoke.
Even with the repeated briefings and warnings, the Captain did not take the Combine seriously, so he was surprised to learn that the mutineers, his word, breached the Front with the help of the Crew member. The Captain’s blood pressure shot through the roof, and the situation devolved from there as he tried to order an immediate response.
The challenge was that the Captain’s options were limited, as Byron tried to tell their father while he and Charles stood by his side in the Captain’s office. The Badges were stationed in the Back, and the Crew in the Front were not trained in repelling aggressors. Plus, the mutineers either read their history books or simply anticipated one defensive probability, Byron pointed out. All were wearing emergency masks, precluding use of the knockout gas that subdued the trespassers in the second mutiny. The gas was unavailable during the first mutiny, thanks to the ship’s AI system that unexpectedly sided with the criminals when the violence broke out. The AI was deactivated after order was restored.
It did not help matters when the rebels set fire to anything that would burn, a fruitless endeavor. The fires were almost immediately doused by automated systems. Automatic doors and hatches began to close to limit smoke damage, refusing the mutineers’ efforts to reopen them. Having no immediate avenue of escape, the invaders panicked and took hostages, holding them near one of the lower airlocks. The cameras in the area showed two hostages tied to the bomb.
“Engineer, do we have the ability to open the airlocks in their area and send the bomb into space?” the Captain asked the Engineer over the comm channel from his office. Kathy was on the comm channel on the bridge, monitoring the situation from her station there.
“Yes, Captain. My team is working on it right now.”
“Thank you. Let me be clear. I want both the inner and outer locks to open simultaneously and quickly. We may not have much time.”
“Understood.”
“While we prepare, please close as many bulkheads and automatic doors as we can without alarming the mutineers. Let’s minimize the possible damage where we can.””Already in progress. But Captain?”
“Yes, Engineer?”
“We’ve analyzed the bomb as much as we can from here. It will punch a hole in the side of the ship. A large one. I doubt they even know how big an explosive they have.”
“Recommendation?”
“Open the airlocks now. As quickly as possible, sir,” Joro said, her face frozen.
“Sir!” Byron said.
The Captain appeared startled by his voice. He turned from the screen. “Yes, First Officer?”
“The hostages. We should continue the negotiations.”
The Captain pointed at the corner of the screen that displayed the images of the mutineers gathered near the bomb. “With them? They do not have a clue what they’re doing. They will destroy us through sheer stupidity.” He turned back to the Engineer. “Ma’am, are you prepared to separate the Engineering section from the rest of the ship should the worst happen?”
Joro’s eyes went wide. “Sir, that is an extreme response.”
“I disagree, Engineer. Our mission must continue. We must make Landfall. The human race must survive. None of that will happen if the device explodes. Answer my question.”
Joro pointed to someone offscreen. “We will initiate the process. We have also assembled Technicians who may be able to safely disarm the bomb, and they are en route to the Front.” Someone spoke to her, and she nodded. “We have redirected the airlock controls to your console. They will open the doors on your command, sir.”
A red light appeared on the Captain’s screen. He contemplated the glow before turning to Byron. “Do you still believe we should keep talking?”
The First Officer stood straight. “Yes, sir. In fact, I offer myself in exchange for the hostages as a show of good faith. That will demonstrate that we are taking their concerns seriously, and no innocent person will suffer if the worst should happen.”
The Captain’s shoulders minutely sagged for a second before he straightened them again. “I can’t argue with your logic. You understand I may have to open the airlock?”
“I do, sir. I don’t think it will be necessary if I keep them talking. Time is on our side, but I accept that you must protect the ship.”
Up to that moment, Charles felt that he was a bystander and kept his silence, but the thought of Byron being expelled into the cold vacuum of space woke him up. He grabbed his brother’s arm. “No!”
Byron smiled as he looked at Charles’s hand. “If you have a better plan, now is the time, bro.”
“Yeah. Open the airlock now!”
“And the hostages? Should they die because of these idiots?” When Charles didn’t respond, Byron gently pulled his arm free. “The ship comes first, as our father always says, but the ship is nothing if we don’t always take the higher road and do all we can to protect our people. We must try to save them. Don’t you agree, Father?”
Instead of answering, the Captain stood and gruffly embraced his oldest son, kissing his cheek. Byron whispered into the old man’s ear, but it was too faint for Charles to hear.
The First Officer hugged his brother quickly then stepped back. “Captain, if I address both you and the Second Officer in the same sentence”—he pointed at Charles—“that is my signal. We’re out of time. We have no hope of negotiation, and worse, the bomb is about to explode. Open the airlock doors immediately, even if I’m standing in front of them.”
“I understand.”
“Don’t delay, sir.”
Charles heard what he was not saying out loud. “Don’t make my death be in vain.”
Byron stood erect. “With your permission, Captain.”
“On your way, sir.” The Captain’s voice was heavy with emotion. “Go with God.”
“And with you both.”
The Captain stared at the empty space his son occupied and spoke with a somber voice. “How did we get this far?”
Charles thought the old man might be speaking to himself. “Byron will be fine. He’s always fine. You watch. The mutineers will be inviting him to their weddings.”
“Your lips to God’s ear, son.” His father sat heavily in his chair.
The disaster unfolded faster than anyone could predict, much less imagine. The hostages were released as Byron predicted, but that was the last high point. The negotiations went through the night and broke down when the Captain balked on the issue of Landfall.
Recognizing the immovable force, the mutineers asked for pardons for their actions, and again, the Captain refused to give ground.
Charles witnessed all of it, and there wasn’t a moment throughout that he didn’t want a stiff drink. The worst part was when he realized, with a cold flush, that his father was being especially inflexible, but in fairness, he also understood that his father’s captaincy was relatively quiet up to this crisis, the only tension being Landfall preparation.
With his command being threatened, Charles knew his father didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t understand the need for concession and compromise. He felt cornered and could only repeat the one thing that sustained him all these years.
“Our mission must continue.”
But what if it can’t? Charles wondered.
The Captain may have felt cornered, but the mutineers were the ones who were truly trapped. They could not go forward, and the Captain wouldn’t let them return to the Ring.
The young farmer who created the bomb was quiet throughout the negotiations. When he heard the Captain’s last refusal, he must have understood his life was over. The price for mutiny was death, per the Ship’s Charter, so he felt he had no choice.
Byron saw the farmer lift the remote detonator. “Don’t! Dad! Charles!”
+++
Charles stopped talking to bury his face in his towel.
Bertie waited a few seconds. “What happened?”
Charles dropped the towel into a white bin. “You know what happened. Everyone knows. The airlock doors opened, and the bomb went out. It exploded in our wake. No damage.” He stopped to take a breath. “Byron and three mutineers went out too. Gone forever.”
“Okay, yes, but what really happened?”
Charles gave him a murderous look, but Bertie wasn’t deterred.
“Come on, man,” Bertie said. “You’ve been drunk every minute of the day since then. There’s more here than what you’re saying.”
“Fuck you,” Charles slowly enunciated.
Bertie figured it out in a flash. “The Captain didn’t open the doors, did he?” He silently counted the seconds. When he got to “ten,” Charles spoke.
“No.”
“And?”
“He froze. My father… The Captain received Byron’s signal to save the ship, and he froze. We saw what was happening in the airlock and knew the ship was in danger, but he couldn’t move.”
“What did you do?” Bertie whispered.
“The only thing I could do. I pushed the red button.” Charles shuddered. “He tried to stop me. My father, I mean. He grabbed me and pushed me away. I almost threw him over the desk, but yes, I pushed the button.” He laughed. “History repeats itself. Cain murdered Abel, and I murdered Byron. Younger brother and older brother. I will be equally damned.”
“No!” Bertie responded with a force that surprised them both. “Not even close. You saved us. You saved Salvation. You acted for the greater good.“ He blinked at the thought. “I don’t know what I would have done if my sisters were in the airlock. They’re pains in the ass, but I love them, like you love your brother.”
“Yeah, well, the ship is dead either way. Byron was going to be the next Captain. Now we’ve got me.”
Bertie felt a confidence he didn’t know he had. “We’ll be better than fine, and I can prove it. You think Byron would have been a good captain? Able to make tough calls? The whole thing?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“What would he have done if you were in the airlock instead of him, and you sent the signal to your brother?”
”I should have been in the airlock.”
“Dammit, Charles, answer my question!”
The First Officer met his eyes. “He wouldn’t have hesitated.”
“Like you didn’t hesitate.”
“Yeah.”
Bertie watched Charles’s face and was gratified to see a light appear in the man’s eyes. He spoke quickly. “I get that you don’t want to be Captain. God’s truth, no sane person wants to be Captain. It’s a life of continuous headaches and political crap, and we haven’t even started getting ready for Landfall. A lot of people are clueless about the job. Some think they want the privileges and fancy office, but they never see the life-and-death decisions that have to be made. The ones that separate the idiots from the adults. You know better. You’ve seen it. You lived it. And you made the right call.”
“You think I should shut up and get to work?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, sir, but I do know one thing.”
“What?”
“Knowing what I know now, I would be proud to serve under you. Sir.”
Charles walked to Bertie’s side of the pool. “I have a lot to think about.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
Bertie saw the move coming from a mile away, and he let it happen. Charles shoved him hard in the center of his chest, and he flew backwards into the ice cube-filled pool. When he surfaced, he made a show of spitting out water while flailing his arms.
“Your uniform is a disgrace, Mr. Mason,” Charles said as he walked to the door. “Get changed before I write you up.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Bertie threw a mock salute at the First Officer’s back.
We have a way to go, but he’s better for the moment. He might even make a passable officer now.
Fingers crossed.