by Ava D. Dohn
*
Darla gasped and fell forward onto Ardon’s chest. Catching her in his arms, he watched in helpless dismay as her eyes glazed over and her head fell back. The man let out a choking groan and slumped in despair.
“Is she dead!?” Crilen cried. “Is our sister dead?”
Leftenant Ilanit gasped, “It can’t be! She must not die!”
Ardon said nothing. Tears welled up in his eyes as he contemplated his loss. Tashi’s death broke his heart, now Darla’s was breaking his spirit to live. He must do something to take his mind off her passing.
After gently laying her on the floor and telling Crilen to stay near her, Ardon stood and grasped the broken captain’s rail. What was he to do? How could he manage? Then he remembered his taking command of the bridge. It was his ship now, and the lives of all those aboard were his responsibility. The crew waited on him to rescue their souls from death. He must not let them down.
Ardon commanded, “Give me status reports!” That would buy him a little time. As the acting bridge officers rattled off information regarding the condition of the ship and crew, the major attempted to figure out what a captain of a warship was really supposed to do. It seemed to him that all the captain did was order somebody to do or find something, and then give some brilliant order like ‘on my mark’ or ‘go here’ or ‘go there’.
‘Go there…’ Now, that was an excellent idea! But where was ‘there’? Ardon puzzled over that question. Then an idea struck him. “Tell Major Garlock to report to the captain’s bridge.” Well, that was easy. Giving orders wasn’t so bad - at least simple ones. Now, where to go? He recalled the Oruomai’s last transmission. Maybe he could get an answer from it. Ardon asked the communications officer to repeat that last message.
“Yes, Sir!” The officer replied, repeating the transmission. “Western Star, do not waste the gift you are given. Leave us now.”
“Do you know what it means?” Ardon queried.
“No, Sir.”
This was a dilemma. Ardon puzzled over the meaning. “Does anyone know what this message means?”
No one replied. There were just heads shaking.
Almost pleading, Ardon asked, “Can anyone tell me what ‘Western Star’ means? Is it another ship, a person? Have you ever heard the term used before?”
The acting communications officer stood up. “Yes, Major,” the woman answered, “twice to my knowledge - once by the colonel there.”
Ardon glanced over at Darla and then back to the petty officer. “When? When did she use those words?”
“Tonight, Sir, just after she ordered the ship around.” She leaned over a message log. “The colonel sent a coded transmission to the fleet, saying, ‘The Western Star has fallen into shadows.’” The petty officer looked up at Ardon. “And right after the MoonDust incident, I was at my station when the Oruomai replied to a message the colonel sent to fleet that went something like, ‘The Western Star should sail home.’”
Jebbson arrived just as the woman was informing Ardon of these events. He groaned in sadness at seeing Darla lying on the bloodied floor. But Major Garlock was a hardened veteran when it came to war, and now was the time to act like one. He politely listened to the remaining interchange between Ardon and the petty officer before announcing his presence.
Ardon was relieved to see the major. Understanding the man’s affection for Darla, he was sure Jebbson wondered about the woman. After a quick explanation, he concluded, “I am bewildered. My mind says the girl is dead, for I could find no signs of life within her, and that torments my soul with deep sadness. But my heart feels that she lives.”
Jebbson could see the tearful restraint in Ardon’s eyes. “May your heart prove the victor this day, Captain. But are we sure that we have secured a tomorrow?”
Ardon frowned and, in a whisper, replied, “You are an officer and an experienced leader. I am a chatterer of childish prattle, and someone who thinks valor is comprised of smooth words and winsome speech.” He glanced at Darla, his face filling with remorse. “I have violated the maiden to vainly display the glory of my manhood.”
Jebbson whispered back, “An honest man can act a fool. All men will, at times, act as fools. A stupid man, though, is a fool. Major Ardon, you are not a stupid man.” He reached up and squeezed Ardon’s arm. “And now, for the business at hand: Tomorrow we will weep our losses. Today we secure that hour for mourning. How may I help you?”
Ardon nodded, still whispering. “As you are aware, the ship is badly damage. In a moment of emergency, I took the bridge. I know nothing about being a captain, but there is no senior bridge officer remaining above a leftenant midshipman (petty officer by rank) to hand control over to.”
Jebbson whispered, patting Ardon’s arm, “Confidence, sir. Confidence and leadership - that’s what makes a captain. A captain of a ship is like a god to the crew. They look to their leader to rescue them from destruction and provide guidance. They will not question any order given if they believe it is done with purpose, mind you, even a purpose unexplained. And should the captain order their death and that of their ship, they will trust it is for a good cause and will accept such a fate, and even assist in accomplishing it.”
Jebbson stared into Ardon’s face. “Captain, it is your responsibility to make the final decisions. All here will assist you in attaining to them. But you must be firm when your choice is stated. Do not vacillate in your decision-making! That is very un-captain-like.” He then offered a highly visible salute to Ardon, signaling the crew of his acceptance of Ardon being the ship’s captain. He backed it up in a loud, audible fashion. “Major Garlock of the king’s council and liaison to Army Command, at your service.” In a more subdued voice, he asked, “How may I assist you?”
Ardon was confused about what to do, but well understood the weight of his new responsibilities. “I am searching for the meaning of the Oruomai’s transmission to the Shikkeron.” He repeated it and mentioned the two previous times the term ‘Western Star’ had been used. “I am in hopes of finding out its meaning, thinking it may provide guidance as to what I should do.”
Jebbson thought a moment, glancing at Darla from time to time. Suddenly, snapping his fingers with excitement, he asked, “The ship that Adaya traveled on to the Prisoner Exchange was named ‘DusmeAstron’. Doesn’t that mean ‘Western Star’?”
“Why, yes, it does.” Ardon confirmed, nodding his head. “But I do not believe the DusmeAstron is part of the Third Fleet.”
Shaking his finger, Jebbson exclaimed, “Euroaquilo commanded the DusmeAstron for that journey. As I understand it, that was why Darla – Adaya - remained aboard, instead of riding on the Shikkeron with Lowenah. Also, rumor has it that the name was newly painted on ship’s hull, just the day before we left for the exchange.” Jebbson pointed at Darla. “I believe she is the ‘Western Star’ that you search for.”
Ardon pulled on his beard in thought while mumbling, “‘Western Star, do not waste the gift you are given. Leave us now’.” Suddenly, his face lit up. “It might be the child’s name of celebration! She was gifted to Euroaquilo at her coming of age. He must’ve named her ‘DusmeAstron’ - a name known only to each other.” Ardon puzzled. Euroaquilo was telling Darla to leave, but she was aboard the Shikkeron. That must mean the admiral wanted the ship to leave - but leave them, the fleet?
Ardon paused in thought. Had he been a real Navy officer, he might have made a different decision and sought the safety of the Third Fleet, but his knowledge and experience led him down a different path. Gripping the broken captain’s rail, he closed his eyes and, concentrating on something he saw in his mind, ordered, “Give me eight degrees starboard and nose up three. Keep engines at maximum.”