by Nate Duke
“Revolts again,” Lady Elizabeth said. “We’ve tried to control them, but the blockades are only affecting our security.” She held onto Banner’s arm to keep him in front of her.
Banner’s jaw was tense as he looked at his expensive, ruined jacket. He could buy a hundred more, but he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin his clothes. He was pleased with Lady Elizabeth’s attentions, though, and he nodded at her. “I’ll take care of them.”
The men were too many for us, and we were a group of two lieutenants and two civilians. The lady wasn’t going to fight, and we needed to keep the North Star’s surgeon alive. It wasn’t the time to play heroes; we couldn’t risk leaving the ship at the hands of a group of midshipmen. It was our duty to keep our ship safe, but not to crush a class revolt.
And what if it was only a distraction? What if the men were throwing rotten eggs at us to attack Lady Elizabeth when Banner and I went after them? I’d read the best authors in military strategy and that’s what I’d do: distract the officers and attack the target later on.
The men could be planning to snatch her, or maybe to outright kill her. Desperate men sometimes acted stupid, and I wasn’t going to allow anyone to trick us.
“We should leave,” I said. “This might be a diversion strategy. We can get reinforcements and let them take care of this.”
“I’ve been trained for this,” Banner said flatly. Was he implying that engineers were cowards? He took out his electric gun and increased its power to its maximum level. It wasn’t lethal against healthy men, but anyone with minor heart conditions wouldn’t stand it. He was overexaggerating. He tapped on the intercom in his ear and asked for reinforcements from the bridge. “I’ll handle. You can stay here and protect the lady.” He emphasized protect, implying that I was scared.
If I’d been a coward, he’d still be locked up in a Cassock frigate. I didn’t help him because I wasn’t driven by pride and because I didn’t need to prove that I was the bravest and most capable officer in the world.
I turned on my intercom too and told Flanagan to take a squad and help us escort Lady Elizabeth back to her room. Chasing after rebels was the port’s responsibility, not ours. Helping Lady Elizabeth was common courtesy.
“Sorry, sir,” Flanagan replied, “but I’m with Banner in this one. Can’t have any revolts, or we’ll be kicked out of the port before we fix the Star.”
“Flanagan, it’s an order,” I said. “We can’t afford to lose more men or to leave Lady Elizabeth without protection.”
“That’s no problem. I’ll take care of it, sir.” Flanagan closed the channel.
Seconds later, Banner had left to catch the rebels, and I hadn’t reacted on time to stop neither him nor Flanagan. My second-in-command was so eager to please a lady that he’d forgotten that his duty was to keep the North Star safe and afloat.
I know I was the acting captain and that I should’ve stepped forward and ordered him to stay and protect Lady Elizabeth.
I didn’t.
I could make up a thousand excuses, but back then, I’d felt poor and worthless, as if Banner did know what he was doing and I was just an engineer acting like an officer. I was a disappointment for the Navy, and I lacked the character to command. Perhaps Banner was more suited for the post.
Lady Elizabeth addressed me directly. “Mr. Banner is so brave. Don’t you plan to help him?”
“No,” I said. Running after the men only brought us to their field. Banner could be right, but he could also be falling into a trap.
This wasn’t cowardice; it was thinking with my brain. If the Admiralty had wanted dumb brutes to risk their lives stupidly, they should have promoted more real officers instead of letting engineers take charge. Oh, wait. That’s exactly what they did, wasn’t it?
“Mr. Wood has a very curious way of explaining himself.” Hatfield offered his arm to Lady Elizabeth. “But I’ve heard of his bravery in battle. I wouldn’t underestimate him just yet.” He stared at me. His eyes said, ‘You owe me one.’
Whose side was the surgeon in? One minute, he was telling me everything that was wrong in my style and appearance. The next, he was trying to distract Lady Elizabeth so that she didn’t consider me a coward.
Upper-class politics were too complicated. I’d liked boarding enemy frigates and shooting, but being a captain entailed much more. I’d never be one of them, but I’d grown used to command, and I couldn’t relinquish it without renouncing a part of me.
Chapter 11
Lady Elizabeth had given the officers and surgeons large guest rooms and offices in the spaceport, much larger than many of the houses I’d lived in. She’d been polite and attentive, but she showed a constant preference towards Banner. I was a foreigner aboard the spaceport even though I had the same rank as him and a couple extra years of seniority.
Even though Hatfield exaggerated everyone’s despise for me, he was right that my boots and clothes needed some care. I’d gone to my office to clean them because I didn’t have spare crewmen to assign to cleaning.
“Is he cleanin’ his boots?” Kozinski said. I’d left my door open, and he and York were spying on me from the corridor.
“Of course he is,” York said as if I wiped my boots daily. “That’s why he dresses better than us and the lords and ladies greet him. The moment they see you or me, they see our dirty and scruffy clothes and don’t even greet us. We don’t need no rank to show where we come from.”
“But his boots don’t even smell,” Kozinski said. “Why is he cleanin’ them?”
“That’s why nobody even looks at us!” York said. “They smell your feet from a mile away.”
The local gentry hadn’t greeted me, and only my crew showed interest in my behavior or my manners. I was definitely doing something wrong.
I threw one of the boots at the door, and both men quickly ran away. Kozinski’s who, who, who echoed in the hallways as he ran away.
Even though everyone ignored me, I could’ve grown used to living at Aurora Port. I could snap my fingers and get a dozen servants to help me in whatever I needed, and I didn’t need to cook my own food anymore. Captain O’Keeffe’s steward and the lieutenants’ cooks had died, and food aboard the North Star had much room for improvement.
Hatfield knocked on the door and walked inside. He was wearing a rich yellow blazer with a red handkerchief in his left chest pocket, and red pants. I had no idea of how his clothes’ colors managed to survive washing; mine always ended with a greyish tone. Maybe that’s why Lady Elizabeth considered him and Banner better than me.
“Good evening.” Hatfield looked at the empty desk and stared down at the boot I’d thrown at the door. “Boots on the floor and sitting like a common seaman. Do you expect anyone to be impressed by your manners?”
He continued complaining and telling me that neither Banner nor Lady Elizabeth would ever accept me as an equal if I didn’t start behaving like them. He told me that I was simply hurting my promotion chances by acting like an engineer instead of a gentleman. He said a few more things, but I wasn’t listening anymore.
Banner could do whatever he liked. He could spend his days chasing after egg-throwers if he wished to. I didn’t need his help, nor Hatfield’s.
I stood up, dropped my boot onto the floor and faced him. “Look, Doctor. I’m the acting captain of the North Star and I have more important things to do than to learn silly tricks that will give me validation before a bunch of elitist snobs.”
“Excellent start.” Hatfield clapped his hands once. “There’s your command authority at last. Now if you repeat it with better elocution and after having a shower, we might be up to something. Until then, only the lower crew will admire you because they consider you their equal.” He raised his chin and gestured at it. “Manners are split equally between pose and behavior. Work on your pose for the time being.”
Pose? I was wiping my own boots clean because I couldn’t hire anyone as my steward. I hadn’t slept in days because I was the only engin
eering lieutenant aboard the North Star and we needed to perform repairs. Did I look like I could work on improving my pose?
“If you walk with your chin up in my town,” I said, “you’ll step on dogshit.”
“Precisely.” Hatfield acted as though I’d said something kind and polite. He was our only surgeon, and he’d definitely lost his mind. I didn’t want him to get anywhere near me if I ever needed a doctor. “Polite people can afford to step on animal waste because they have servants to clean their boots.”
Well I didn’t, and I couldn’t afford any.
Before I’d answered, Flanagan entered the office unannounced. He had a broad smile on his face and pushed three scared men inside. They were dirty, with their hands tied together and several wounds on their faces and hands. All four of them smelled of rotten eggs and had large stains on their clothes. They’d been fighting, and Flanagan had probably decided to teach them a lesson. A rotten lesson.
Hatfield gave me a curt nod and left, gesturing at me to raise my chin and act like an officer.
I gestured at him with one hand to leave. I didn’t have time for politeness.
“These are the egg-throwers, sir,” Flanagan said proudly.
The four men lowered their gazes to avoid looking straight at me. I didn’t need them to explain themselves; they’d attacked a noblewoman and several Navy officers. They would’ve been hanged on Earth, and they’d be lucky if they ended up in jail.
One of them, a young-looking man with a light stubble, kept blinking and fidgeting with his sleeves. He should’ve thought twice before attacking anyone. Throwing rotten eggs was childish.
Port governors couldn’t afford magnanimity towards anyone who threatened their power. Power is nothing but an illusion, and the common man couldn’t be allowed to realize that their numbers gave them far more strength than any army in the world.
I told some of Flanagan’s men to take them away to await trial by a magistrate.
“Captains can judge the men they capture,” Flanagan told me.
I knew the rules. All actions taken against a Navy captain are considered to take place under his jurisdiction, qualifying him to judge the action and sentence the man.
“Thank you, Flanagan,” I said, but I wasn’t judging anyone.
Flanagan fidgeted. He’d ignored my orders and gone to capture the men, and now he wanted me to forget his insubordination.
I would’ve congratulated one of my engineers if he’d followed a hunch and been right, but ordinary crewmen expect officers to bark orders at them and to dislike whenever they ignore a superior. And besides, the ordinary crew needs to follow instructions. He wouldn’t have ignored Banner’s orders.
“You’ve ignored everything I’ve told you,” I said. “I gave precise orders not to go after the rebels, and yet you ignored me.” I paced around him, staring at him. I’d seen officers act like this before. It worked, or they wouldn’t do it.
Flanagan remained still, facing ahead. Did they learn that at boot camp? My engineers always followed everyone with their gaze.
Wasn’t he going to defend himself? To offer an explanation?
“I should lock you up in the brig,” I said, trying to get a reaction.
Nothing. He didn’t even blink.
Oh, right. They don’t speak without permission.
Was I ever going to get used to command?
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” I said.
“Permission to speak freely, sir,” Flanagan said.
It didn’t sound good, but I nodded.
“I’ve lived on Earth for most of my life,” he began. “I’ve lived in the slums, grown in the slums, rotten in the slums. Lived the revolts of ’23. Started with a gang of five who started burning mailboxes. Nobody stopped them on time, and the next day we had fifty vandals. Then three hundred, then several cities copied them. Then you had an entire state burning in anarchy. I didn’t want any revolts of ’23 again, so I chased after them.”
The revolts of ’23? How old was he? 100? And why was he trying to teach me history when he should’ve followed naval hierarchy?
And why was I reacting like a power-blinded officer who didn’t listen to his crew? I was an engineer, for goodness’ sake! I was supposed to accept suggestions. But I was an officer and wasn’t supposed to accept insubordination. Command was about suffering one contradiction after another, choosing the lesser of two evils, and hoping that your choice was right.
In this case, I could’ve lost several of my men. Losing Banner would’ve been a perk in the long run, because none of the midshipmen would question my rule. Losing anyone else was going to mean trouble. The North Star had almost been captured by the Cassocks when she had been fully manned. We had no chances to survive with a small crew if we kept losing people.
If we weren’t careful, we’d end up being like the lost Roman legion, but we’d end up setting up in an abandoned spaceport instead of amongst the Masai.
I nodded at Flanagan. “You’re lucky, you know?” I said. “We’ve lost most of our crew and we’re in the middle of nowhere. You’re one of the few veterans on board, and I’m not going to renounce so easily to your skills. You’ve survived and caught the bad guys, but this wasn’t your task. You could’ve been wounded or killed. We’re in a foreign spaceport, and we need our entire crew to take us back to Earth once we’re done with the repairs. Unless you’re planning to father a new generation of crewmen, I can’t afford more losses. I don’t care about the revolts of ’23, I don’t care that you liked Banner’s orders better, but if you ever ignore my orders again, I’m placing you before a shooting squad and lowering my sword. Understood?”
Flanagan turned pale and gulped. He looked at me through the corner of his eye. He respected my rule and the chain of command.
“I’ve said, understood?” I repeated. Wow, I almost sounded like an officer. A badass officer.
“Aye, sir.”
I dismissed him and he left. On one hand he was impressed that I’d finally filled my shoes as an officer. On the other, he was somewhat disappointed that I was turning into the same kind of officer everyone had dealt with: too confident in his own choices and too unlikely to listen to anyone but himself.
Responsibility was changing me. Before becoming acting captain, my most complex choice had been between pizza and noodles. Now, everything involved risking men’s lives and wondering if the North Star had any chance of returning home if we lost more men.
Perhaps the question wasn’t if we could afford losing someone else, but if we would ever get back to Earth with our current crew. Two officers, a handful of midshipmen, and one surgeon couldn’t lead a small crew aboard a modern ship of the line.
The Admiralty would eventually order me to take the North Star home, and they might be ordering me to lead the men to a guaranteed death.
Chapter 12
Flanagan raised his practice sword before his nose to salute me and prepared it in front of him. It was a wooden sword to avoid zapping each other while training, so he could hit his officer in command without further consequences. I could hit him too… if I caught him off-guard.
“Hold your sword straight, sir,” he told me. “It’s no hammer.”
I groaned and panted for air. He’d had me running around the spaceport’s gym, swinging swords, and acting as though leaving my brain out of oxygen were the most natural thing in the world. Sweat dripped down my forehead, ears, and chin, and my socks almost squished water out of them whenever I moved.
Flanagan had trained with the sword and with every other weapon. He could shoot with both eyes closed, he could box, and he could fight with swords. He didn’t have a gentleman’s training like Banner or most of the other officers, but he was much better than me. If I was to remain in command of the North Star, I had to learn to use the captain’s sword.
I raised my sword to the falcon’s guard, just above my head, but swordfighting wasn’t natural to me. The training sword was denser than no
rmal electric swords to build muscle, but its weight only slowed me down and unbalanced me.
Flanagan hit my ribs twice with the flat end of his sword. I slashed downwards to use the force of gravity and strike with a greater speed. Flanagan stepped aside and stroke me on the ribs once more. He stepped beside me, lowered the sword beside my knee and flicked his wrist. It broke my balance and I fell.
I dropped onto the mats headfirst and lost my sword. Flanagan kicked it away and hit my sword arm with his sword.
Ow! “Hey,” I complained. “I’m the officer, remember? You’re not supposed to hit me while I’m fetching my sword.”
“The enemy won’t stop attacking once you’ve dropped your sword, sir.” Flanagan stood in front of me and tapped on his knees with his practice sword while he waited.
Okay, okay, I wasn’t awesome at fighting. Happy now?
Exercise is important for captains and they need to be fit, but I was awful in sports at school. Don’t take me wrong; I wasn’t bad per se, but the thought of being hit by a ball or by one of my classmates wasn’t the best incentive to function properly. My adrenaline levels had helped me when we’d faced the Cassocks and I’d had a lot of beginner’s luck, but it wasn’t the norm. I didn’t kill any Cassocks every morning before breakfast.
I groaned and sat up, then scrambled for my sword. My muscles hurt, my head hurt, and I still hadn’t slept enough since we’d landed on the port. Would Flanagan stop hitting me if I stayed on the floor?
“You don’t look like an officer at all, sir,” he said. I’d told him not to call me sir while we sparred, but he did it anyway. Why did everyone talk more respectfully whenever they offended someone?
“I do look like an officer.” I gasped for air. Heck, I was running out of oxygen with every word. “Like an engineering officer. It’s exactly what I am.”
“And now you’re acting captain,” Flanagan said. “You don’t need to convince me – you fought bravely against the Cassocks and that’s enough. But you won’t keep command unless you convince others. Right now, I wouldn’t believe that you’re an officer, so I wouldn’t let you captain a ship.”