A pale-skinned blonde woman whose blue uniform was a little too big glanced at him, her blue eyes wide. Either she had heard stories about him or she was one of the Skittish—the people who had been yelled at or demoted so many times that they were terrified of everything.
He nodded at her, but didn’t smile. He rarely smiled once a ship was underway. People tended to see smiles as encouragement, and he didn’t like encouraging anyone unless they deserved it. And, in his opinion, the competent people of the world did not deserve encouragement, because that would be patronizing.
Of course, that attitude had gotten him in trouble with superiors, who told him he wasn’t sufficiently positive with his teams.
That was why he liked to bring his own team with him, people who knew how he worked and didn’t need silly back-patting time-wasting encouragement when all they were doing was the job they had been assigned.
The bridge on the Renegat was larger than the bridge on most SC-Class vessels he had been on. It was circular, which was also unusual. And the unusual design made it feel like he was walking forever by the time he got to Preemas’s ready room.
Most captains that Crowe had served under rarely used that room. They might go into it to reprimand someone on the bridge crew, rather than do so in front of the entire bridge, or to have a private emergency conversation that needed to occur so fast the captain wouldn’t have time to go to their quarters.
But this captain seemed to have moved into his ready room as if it were the base of his operations instead of that chair in the middle of the bridge.
Crowe was about to use the signal beside the door to let Preemas know he had arrived, but as Crowe reached up, the door slid into its pocket with an audible whoosh.
Crowe made note of that whoosh. It was something that shouldn’t occur. Interior doors should be silent, not obtrusively loud. He would send someone to the bridge level to make the repair as soon as he left.
He stepped inside the ready room, and the door closed behind him—another whoosh.
The ready room was cooler than the bridge, which surprised him. It had the dry-air smell of a place that was being cleaned once too often. Because of that smell, Crowe half-expected it to be devoid of furniture, but it was not.
It had an actual desk in the middle, an old-fashioned one that looked like it had been carved from actual wood. That desk clearly did not recede into the floor to make room for other furniture, so it had to be bolted down. Two large chairs sat in the corners of the door side of the room, tiny regulation tables beside them. Two more chairs sat in the other corners of the room, without tables.
A big chair with a circular back sat in front of the desk, and a chair the size of a small throne sat behind it.
And on that chair sat Ivan “Call Me Pre” Preemas. Crowe had to stop thinking of him by his full name with that little moniker in between it all, because at some point, the full name and moniker would slip out, sarcastic tone and all.
Crowe was never going to call his captain by a nickname, even if that was what Preemas desired. Rank structures existed for a reason, and that reason was a subtle way of keeping everyone on the ship in line during a mission.
If anything, Captain Ivan “Call Me Pre” Preemas should have insisted that everyone on the ship call him Captain Preemas at all times, and should have done so during that very first speech. Of course, he hadn’t, and there were already indications that some of the basic Fleet structures were breaking down—the extra-long hair, the lack of uniforms—indications that Crowe had as well, because he hadn’t cut his hair either.
Preemas’s hair was regulation length. He didn’t even have stubble this late in the afternoon. He wore a uniform, and it was as pristine as if he had put it on five minutes ago.
“Sit,” Preemas said, and waved a hand at the chair in front of the desk.
“I prefer to stand, sir,” Crowe said, keeping his tone neutral. He had no idea why he was here, and he wanted to be able to leave quickly if need be.
He didn’t think he had done anything wrong, but he had learned the hard way that new captains on new ships sometimes used one person as an example to prove to the rest of the crew that they could be tough.
“I prefer that you sit,” Preemas said. “I don’t like standing, and I don’t like being the only person in the room who is sitting. So you’re the one who has to modify your behavior.”
Crowe suppressed a sigh. The chair was bolted down, so he couldn’t pull it back, much as he wanted to. Whoever had placed that chair near that desk hadn’t put enough space between them for someone of Crowe’s height.
The chair did swivel, though, and so he turned it toward himself, settled in it, trying not to look too awkward, and then spun toward Preemas.
And then, because Crowe couldn’t help himself, he raised his eyebrows slightly as if to say, Good enough for you?
“Thank you.” Preemas put his hands flat on the empty desk surface. No screen activated. There didn’t even seem to be one, although Crowe knew that to be an illusion.
There was an ever-so-faint hum that indicated working equipment over and above the environmental system. The only place that sound could come from was the desk.
“Tell me why there is a seal in your file,” Preemas said.
Crowe’s heart skipped a beat. He had been asked this question more than a dozen times throughout his career, and he had declined to answer it every single time.
Still, he hated it. Because that damn seal, which had been in his file since he was a juvenile, had prevented him from ever achieving his childhood dream of captaining his own ship.
“The Fleet decided that file should be sealed for a reason,” Crowe said this time, just like he had said every other time before that.
Preemas raised that perfectly shaved chin ever so slightly.
“If we’re going to continue this conversation, Crowe,” Preemas said, his tone clipped and annoyed, “assume that I have a brain.”
“I do, sir,” Crowe said, then realized that sentence was defensive. He hated being defensive this early in a conversation.
“You do not,” Preemas said. “You told me the file was sealed for a reason. Of course, it was sealed for a reason. That’s how seals work. I want to know what’s behind the seal. Tell me what’s in the file.”
No one had ever asked that bluntly before. Crowe blinked, hoping the surprise did not show on his face.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it, sir,” he said.
“I don’t care,” Preemas said. “I’m your captain and I order you to.”
“I’m afraid sealed files don’t work that way,” Crowe said, and then realized he was probably insulting Preemas’s intelligence again. “I mean to say, that you need a certain level of clearance just to look at the file, and captains do not have it, sir. I’m sorry.”
“You did something big, huh,” Preemas said. “Something the Fleet doesn’t want known.”
Crowe did not move. He couldn’t confirm or deny that. He hadn’t thought about the sealed file as “something big.” He didn’t think about it as anything, except a barrier for him, a part of his life he couldn’t undo, no matter how much he wanted to. The incident had happened when he was fifteen, and the seal had been a part of his life ever since.
Everyone wanted to talk about it and no one respected him after he told them he could not.
“Tell me what’s in the file,” Preemas said.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Crowe said. “I must respectfully decline.”
Preemas let out a sharp laugh, which surprised Crowe. “Did they tell you that you couldn’t reveal the details of the file? Or did they just tell you that you weren’t supposed to discuss whatever it was that happened to you.”
Happened to you. No one had phrased it like that before. Everyone else had said something like whatever it was that you did. Not what had happened to you. Both were true, but one was more sympathetic.
Crowe felt a wave of gratitude toward Preemas, then caught i
t. Crowe was being played. Preemas had done this before with others, and he knew how to gain their sympathy.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Crowe said again, “I cannot discuss the file.”
“And that is not an answer to my question,” Preemas said. “What did they tell you would happen to you if you told someone what’s in that file?”
Crowe’s heart fluttered. He felt nervous about this for the first time in years. Because he couldn’t remember the answer to that question, or maybe he didn’t know. Maybe they hadn’t told him.
Maybe they had told him he couldn’t talk about the incident, told him that the file was sealed, told him that the incident was classified, and never told him what would happen to him if he talked.
They told him what would happen to him if he didn’t agree to their terms. He wouldn’t have had a career at all. He would have been dumped at the nearest sector base, and forbidden to work inside the Fleet. He would have lived in some city, like Z-City, and watched Fleet staff go back and forth doing fascinating things with engineering and tech, things he would be forbidden from doing.
But they didn’t tell him what would happen to him later in his career if he actually told someone what was in that file.
“See, that’s the thing,” Preemas said. “They seal files after they’ve doled out whatever punishment they deem necessary, and they assume you’re not going to talk. Or they threaten you to remain silent. But here’s my thinking, Nadim. May I call you Nadim?”
“No,” Crowe said.
Preemas’s eyebrows went up, and he leaned back, looking shocked. “Well, that’s a first. You don’t like me?”
“It’s not about like or dislike, Captain,” Crowe said. “It’s about protocol.”
“Well, I don’t like using two words when one will do. Or four words, in your case, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe. It’s kinda like sitting down. I prefer to be comfortable, and I prefer nicknames.”
“I do not,” Crowe said.
They stared at each other for a moment. Preemas’s mouth twisted slightly to the side. An almost smile—or it was an actual smile, since his eyes were twinkling.
“Okay,” Preemas said. “Here’s my thinking, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe. I have been given no instructions regarding your sealed file. I have not been told that I must throw you in the brig if you reveal its contents or that I must demote you if I hear you talking about it. At the moment, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe, I am the leader of our merry band. In fact, I am the law here. I determine the rewards and the punishments, in absence from direction of the Fleet.”
Now Preemas was insulting Crowe’s intelligence. But weirdly, Crowe was interested in this, because Preemas was making a point Crowe hadn’t considered.
Preemas was saying, “You could probably challenge my authority, but where would it get you? It would piss me off, and the controversy would have to wait for a settlement for months and months, until we return to the Fleet itself.”
If we return, Crowe thought, but did not say. He hoped his face didn’t say it either. He hoped he was keeping his expression under control.
“During that time,” Preemas said, “I could put you in the brig or isolate you from the rest of the crew or keep you working, being peeved at you and you at me, each of us thinking about the controversy between us that we decided the Fleet needed to settle. Or…”
Preemas fully smiled this time, apparently enjoying that dramatic pause. Crowe didn’t enjoy it. He hated drama.
“…you could tell me what’s in the sealed file.”
“Since we are speaking frankly,” Crowe said, “I see no reason, sir, to tell you what is in that file.”
Although there were reasons. Crowe knew things about Scrapheaps that most of the Fleet did not.
Preemas leaned back in his chair, looking intrigued.
“No reason.” It was almost as if he could see the lie. Then he nodded once, and sat up straight, his chair rocking. “I’ll give you a reason, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe.”
Crowe braced himself for the threat: If you don’t tell me, I will put you in the brig for the entire trip. Or if you don’t tell me, I’ll make someone else the chief engineer.
He might have arguments against both of those things, depending on how Preemas presented them.
“This crew has been together now for a little over two weeks,” Preemas said.
Crowe tried not to sigh. Here it was—the threat of demotion. He had expected it. It had happened before when superior officer discovered the file, but never this fast.
“I’m going to be making personnel changes,” Preemas said. “So the more information I have, the better off I, and the entire ship, will be.”
That last sentence didn’t fit into the script. Crowe frowned.
“If you’re going to demote me, sir,” Crowe said, “just do it.”
Without the drama, he mentally added.
“Demote you.” Preemas sounded surprised. “That’s not what I was thinking of, Acting Chief Engineer Crowe.”
Crowe frowned before he could stop himself. He hadn’t expected that at all. “Sir?”
“You’ve seen the rest of the crew,” Preemas said. “From what I can tell, you know some of their records. You don’t respect at least a few members of my bridge crew.”
“I never said that, sir,” Crowe said.
“You didn’t have to,” Preemas said.
Crowe’s heart started to pound. He thought he hid his emotions well enough. Did everyone know what he thought? Had he lost one of his main survival skills?
“I don’t know if you know this,” Preemas said, “but I did not have a say in staffing this vessel.”
Crowe had assumed it, but he hadn’t know for certain. And, he had figured, Preemas had some staffing say. Captains usually did. They were usually allowed to bring their own favorites with them, if they really wanted to.
Crowe had just figured that the bridge crew included some of Preemas’s most trusted officers. Since Preemas didn’t have the best reputation in the Fleet, Crowe had just assumed that he would bring some bad actors along with him.
“I was not allowed to veto any crew, nor was I allowed to bring in any of my own people.” Preemas flattened his palms against the desktop again. It must have been a nervous habit. He sounded calm.
Preemas apparently saw that he had Crowe’s interest. Preemas’s smile had long since faded.
“The crew placement came from on high,” Preemas said. “The jobs everyone has are the jobs that the admirals think they should have.”
His tone suggested he did not agree. Crowe certainly didn’t. He wouldn’t have brought in at least half of the crew. He would have left them behind. They weren’t the kind of people who should go on a long mission.
They were probably not the kind of people who should go on any mission at all.
Knowing that made Crowe feel a bit better about Preemas. He wasn’t the kind of man, then, who chose only the half-wits and derelicts for duty. He had been saddled with people whose reputations were as bad as his was.
“The crew has had time to settle in,” Preemas said. “And the newness has worn off. They’re now performing at the level they will perform at throughout the mission.”
In other words, they had relaxed—or so Preemas thought. And, given what half the bridge crew was wearing that afternoon, he was probably right.
“I can see their work ethic and their abilities. Maybe not as clearly as I would be able to after six months or a year, but enough to get a sense of who they are.” Preemas slid his hands off the desk and onto the arms of the chair.
Was this conversation making him nervous? Was that why he was fidgeting? Or was he the kind of man who fidgeted all the time?
Crowe didn’t know his captain either, except by reputation, and that reputation hadn’t been stellar. After the Drauxhill Incident, Preemas’s reputation went down, but he still managed to get adequate assignments.
But mediocre captains, which was what the Fleet consid
ered Preemas to be now, didn’t get assignments like this.
Crowe frowned. He had just realized he was in a stranger situation than he had thought when he boarded the vessel.
“I think,” Preemas said, “some staff assignments were based on previous experience and not on ability.”
Crowe agreed with the observation for some of the crew. Some of them seemed to have no ability at all, like Kabac. But that could simply be Crowe’s prejudices.
“So,” Preemas said, “I’m going to shake things up.”
Crowe froze. He wanted to be more than the acting chief of the engineering department. He wanted to be the actual chief with the responsibilities that entailed.
And he didn’t want to be anything else—not even for reasons of a “shake-up.”
“But,” Preemas said, “before I shake things up, I did my due diligence. I’ve been reviewing files, looking for hints, clues, the kinds of things you normally find when you’ve worked with someone for a long time. Most of the files are pretty straightforward. Yours is not.”
Crowe wanted to shift in his seat, fold his hands together, lean back, something. But he didn’t. He continued to watch Preemas.
Preemas’s eyes were twinkling. He knew he was making Crowe uncomfortable.
“You’re doing good work,” Preemas said, “and, quite frankly, that’s an understatement.”
Crowe almost shook his head in surprise and caught himself at the last moment. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had praised his work without adding a caveat in the exact same sentence.
For someone who has such a bad reputation, one captain had said to him, you do surprisingly good work.
Crowe swallowed involuntarily, knowing he was revealing some emotion.
He couldn’t stop himself. This meeting was definitely not going as planned.
“I would like to promote you,” Preemas said, “but I refuse to do so without knowing what’s in your file. If you’re the kind of officer who has a history of suddenly losing his mind and going after crew members with a dull kitchen knife, I want to know that.”
“I wouldn’t be serving on any ship if that were the case,” Crowe said.
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