Things Fall Apart: Chapter 14

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Errata: In the previous chapter, I had a placeholder number for how long it would be before Singer was able to send a pinnace across to the commodore, and set it at two kiloseconds. When scaling other times in this chapter, I realized after the fact that I was scaling all my conversions too short. That chapter has been revised to say that it will be five kilosecs, giving more time for both the pilot to join the crew for recovery time, and preflight.

Approaching Borass Station

Luck and orbital mechanics had been in everyone's favor—the first good luck in a while. The rock that was Borass Station was near the outer edge of the cometary disc, and Bellerophon had surfaced where its orbit was bringing it nearer. Thus, the pinnace, piloted by Wasserman, would be able to make relatively short work of the trip across. It was still several kilosecs there and back, but the return trip would be shortened both by the orbit, and by the fact that Bellerophon was continuing to close with the station at a more leisurely pace.

Singer spent the time as usefully as she could. She gathered with the crew, of course, in their impromptu, unscripted ceremony for the uncounted and possibly uncountable dead. She could not have given a coherent account of what she'd said, but she dismissed the gathering some time later with a sense it had been the right thing, whatever it was.

Tired and emotionally fried as she was, she nevertheless went next to the makeshift sickbay, to see her friend Sipho and the other survivors of Almaty. Outside the compartment, the nurse on duty told her that the other two, she'd had to sedate to keep them from re-injuring themselves, and that Sipho, being further along, had been moved to another room.

Arriving there, Singer later would have sworn the door opened before she'd hit the chime. For 300 seconds, the years and rank between them were forgotten, and they were just two broken-hearted friends, clinging to each other for comfort and soaking each others shoulders.

But Sipho knew about Singer's talent, and knew how frazzled she had to be, and she herself was exhausted, still recuperating. She put on her mock-mom voice they'd each always used on each other back on Vespa and sent Singer to go rest while she could, and get ready for the commodore.

Upon entering her room, Singer saw that Chef had anticipated her needs. A countdown showed the estimated time until the pinnace would return. She still had at least fifteen kilos, which was enough time to rest, if not exactly sleep. She doubted she could sleep, but she did absolutely need to unwind or she would be no use at all speaking with the commodore. So thinking, she said, "Chef?"

"Skipper?"

"I'm going to attempt a nap, or...something approximating one. Ping me in no more than seven kilos. Also, I think I forgot to actually organize our side party for the commodore. Please ask all the current senior staff to be present in the reception area for her arrival."

"Yes, Skipper. Anything else?"

"Yes. Please place a call to Señor Espinoza for me."

"Coming right up!"

Espinoza's face lit the screen a moment later. He looked like she felt, and she wondered if he also had a touch of the talent, or just a healthy dose of run-of-the-mill empathy.

Either way, he opened with a respectful, "Skipper, what can I do for you?"

"I would like you to join the side-party, and if the commodore retains us all for conference and not just myself, I would like you to be there, as well."

"Won't that seem a little odd, ma'am?"

"Do you still hold a reserve commission?"

He smiled wryly. "Strictly speaking, a man named Alan Yancey Erikson holds a reserve commission. He's been strangely hard to find these last several years, though."

"Perhaps if you synthesize him an appropriate dress uniform, he'll show up?"

Espinoza considered a moment. "Perhaps he might. I left the bridge, of course, before you actually established contact. Which commodore are we entertaining?"

"Haraldsdottir."

Espinoza laughed outright at this. "Perfect. She was the lieutenant who supervised me on my middie cruise. She knew who I really was almost from the start. Saw right through the pose and the alias. Sharp as a tack, that woman. Well, since I won't be doing any violence to my secret identity, where she's concerned, I suppose I might as well show up in regalia. Especially since I have a strong feeling the reserve activation clause is about to get invoked." This last was said with a touch of wry resignation.

"No matter what happens next, we'll probably need an engineer, yes."

He sighed, then, just a little bit of the spoiled billionaire he rarely showed coming out as he said, "I suppose I don't have anything else better to do."

She heard the multiple meanings layered there, and knew she'd won the point.

"I'll see you in," she glanced at the countdown, "about fourteen kilos."

He saluted, with only a little mockery behind it. "Aye, Skipper."

After he disconnected, and she'd composed herself to try to at least make her body relax, she realized belatedly what she was doing. She had almost offered Sipho a place on the ship, but refrained because the context was not really right. Anyway, assuming the other two from Almaty recovered, she wanted to make the offer to all of them. Now, she basically had offered the same to Espinoza.

She was rebuilding her crew, filling in holes, but she had no idea what authority she had to do so. She saw no likelihood now that the crew would be broken up, but...where would they be going? What would they be doing? Did the arriving commodore even have any authority to issue orders to her any more. Did the service they were part of technically still exist?

These were not questions she could answer, but neither could she put them wholly aside. At some point, she and the commodore were going to have this conversation, and come to some understanding of what assumptions they were operating under. Singer was quite sure she would make a lousy pirate, so she was content to work with the commodore...as long as she seemed to be giving reasonable orders.

Despite her racing brain, emotional exhaustion finally overtook her, and despite all odds, she slept. Her dreams were a jumble, but she slept, all the same.