Things Fall Apart: Chapter 19

Bellerophon, Main Recreation

It was strange to be back in this room where it all began. Not that it was the first time, of course. The wake and promotion ceremony, megaseconds ago now, had been here. Singer had continued to come here to wind down, as everyone did, occasionally. Nobody had really talked about it much, but most people actually made an effort to continue to use Main Rec for its intended purpose, once it had been cleaned up after the Incident, just like Main Dining had resumed service as soon as possible. Between them, the two compartments were the social core of a TCTO starship, and people had needed each other more than ever during the long limp back, and then after arrival at Gliese-581, when the scope of the tragedy began to be better understood.

Something about today, though, felt...final. Singer couldn't quite put her finger on it. Haraldsdottir was still playing her cards close. Even Singer's promotion was still actually under wraps, and accordingly, Singer arrived in the same dress uniform she'd been wearing since circumstances had made her the Skipper.

That Haraldsdottir was Up To Something was clear. That the commodore was deriving the kind of enjoyment one gets planning a surprise party was equally clear, especially to Singer's senses.

Not everything was a secret. Ari ben Yosef Espinoza's decision to formally rejoin Fleet, and specifically, Singer's command, had been finalized a meg or so ago, now. Almost immediately, however, Haraldsdottir had requested his detachment to the Yard Survey Team, with the result that she had not seen her ostensible chief engineer much. He'd been due back during the previous Delta Shift, however, and...yes, there he was, also in dress uniform, much like the one he'd worn as part of the side party that had greeted Haraldsdottir, but without the alias on his nameplate. Apparently, he'd decided to give up the pretense.

As she moved to greet him, she was a bit more surprised to see his former yacht pilot, Neera Goldsmith also in a dress uniform, wearing the bronze bar of a warrant officer and Fleet pilot's wings.

She had no idea if surprise had reached her face, but either way Espinoza gave her a moment to recover by grinning wide and saluting. "Skipper! Good to be back aboard. I believe you remember Pilot Goldsmith?"

Singer returned the salute and offered a hand to shake, first to him, then to her. "I do indeed. Glad to have you back, Lieutenant, and to see you, Pilot. I have to admit, I hadn't been told you'd signed up."

Goldsmith's smile was maybe less effusive than Espinoza's, but showed no signs of coercion, just reserve. "Doing something is better than doing nothing. With Mr. Espinoza choosing to come out of retirement with respect to his Fleet career, there didn't seem to be much call for a yacht pilot."

"We're glad to have you, Pilot. I certainly think we'll be keeping you busy."

"Glad to be here, ma'am!"

And so it went. Singer excused herself to greet more of her crew that had been away on various detachments. Finally, she made her way to the table that had been her, Alexander, and Cadotte's spot the last time they'd had a formal gathering here.

"Skipper, the commodore's shuttle reports it will be arriving in about 1 kilo," Alexander said.

"We'd best head down to the boat bay, then!"

And so she and her senior officers headed out, leaving murmuring anticipation in their wake.

As Kasel piped Haraldsdottir off her shuttle and onto the deck, Singer thought her boss was looking...better. Still tired, of course. None of them had really been getting enough sleep. Cleaning up the system, though, had brought a measure of closure. It all felt big and empty, but it also felt like the potential to build again. There was a dawning understanding that it was up to the people who survived to do that building, without much reference to what anyone else was doing, or to what had been before. This was their home, and it was up to them to decide what it would become.

Those decisions lay in the future though.

"Permission to come aboard, Lieutenant?"

"Granted, Commodore. The crew await you in Main Recreation."

"Excellent. Let's not keep them waiting!"

And back they all went. As they entered, once again, Kasel blew his pipe, and then boomed, "Commodore on Deck!"

The room stood as one as they walked toward the dais. They had discussed some of the particulars of the ceremony to come, she and the commodore, but Singer remained in the dark about most of the details.

As they mounted the dais, they also peeled off to chairs that had been set a bit back on the stage, and turned to face the podium at attention, as Haraldsdottir took her place there.

As movement stopped, Commodore Haraldsdottir said, "At ease!"

If the assemblage thought it at all odd that she had not invited them to sit, yet, nobody murmured about it.

"Before I begin the more formal parts of this proceeding, I want to offer my heartfelt thanks to all of you for the work you've done to help clean up the system and assess its needs. There is more work to be done, but it is very well begun.

"However, as I told Bellerophon's officers when I first came aboard, it is not my intention to hold this crew here at station. Right now, this is the only fully trained starship crew we have available. There are officers and crew here in system who have served on starships, and some of them have already been seconded to this crew, but as a body, this crew is the one we have. I intend to use it. How I intend to use it, I will elaborate shortly. First, however, there are some details that need to be attended to.

"In a time of emergency, the senior officer may make promotions and dispensations according to their discretion. Your own Skipper, in this very room, did so on your long trip home. Now, it is my honor to exercise that authority, and so: Attention to Orders!

"Lieutenant Elyah Singer, please come forward."

Singer did so, standing at attention to one side of the podium, facing the commodore.

"I, Commodore Kel Haraldsdottir, on authority bestowed upon me by the Tau Ceti Treaty Fleet Code of Regulations, Section 36, have placed special trust and confidence in the integrity and abilities of Lieutenant Elyah Singer. In view of these special qualities and her demonstrated potential, Lieutenant Singer is hereby promoted to the grade of Commander."

Decorum be damned. The room erupted in whoops of approval. Haraldsdottir did nothing to calm the ruckus, instead concentrating on pinning the new rank emblem on Singer's uniform.

Singer found she was blushing, and weeping a bit, and despite knowing this promotion was coming, altogether verklempt at the reception the news had received.

When the commotion had calmed down, Singer saluted, and Haraldsdottir returned that salute, and said, "Commander, please remain here at my side. Company, please be seated."

People settled down, and the sense of anticipation sharpened. Haraldsdottir resumed, "I have made your Skipper a commander. Now, she needs a command. Bellerophon has served with honor for nearly for nearly two gigaseconds. Generations of Fleet officers and crew have served aboard her. While we are not here today to formally decommission her, we must now admit that it is time to let her rest. I have said I have a use for the one starship crew available, however, and that means you need a starship to be the crew for. Chef?"

"Commodore?"

"Would you please project, here, the drydock at station 18 Anti-spin."

"With pleasure, Commodore."

In the space between the dais and the rest of the room, positioned for easy viewing by everyone present, there sprung up a docking framework, and within that framework, a ship.

A new ship.

The lines were clearly those of a TCTO Fleet ship. Her lineage to Bellerophon was obvious to anyone with eyes to see. She was, Singer believed, smaller, and somehow more refined. Not sleeker, per se—sleekness mattered very little in space, after all, and while ships like Bellerophon could land, it wasn't done often. Just, more evolved.

"What you're seeing here is not just a new ship, but a new class of ship. In the order of the fleet, she and the other ships planned for her class were intended to succeed ships of our current frigate classes. She's smaller than Bellerophon, intended for a crew of about two hundred organic persons—and six AIs, although she can operate easily with three. As it happens, with the augmentations needed to fully round out this crew, there will be almost exactly the right numbers."

All ears were on the commodore, but all eyes were on the ship. Without being told, Chef was panning and, as needed, switching cameras, to provide a virtual flyby.

Singer was as rapt as any of them.

"Even were this ship intended for a larger crew, however, she has one other attribute that makes her the most obvious ship for the mission I intend for you. This is the first ship in production to contain the next generation of Time Compression Drive. That will allow her to cruise at ratios up to ten-thousand to one."

That caused a stir, and well it might, Singer thought, trying to keep an almost dreamy look off her face at the prospect. At those ratios, they could be to David's Star in less than a megasecond. Their business in-system there would take longer by far than it would take them to arrive at their next stop after.

"The ship is not entirely complete. Our yard survey suggests it will be about 3 more megaseconds to make her ready to fly. There will be little time after that for a shakedown, which means there are risks. Time, however, is marching on. Our friends deserve to know what's happened here. We need to know what's happened elsewhere. We need to begin rebuilding our network. These will be the tasks that you and your new ship will be assigned. So, once again, I ask you to stand."

They did so, and Singer, on instinct, once again turned to face Haraldsdottir, whose startling blue eyes were right now full of...mischief?

The penny dropped for Singer just one second before the other woman proclaimed, "Attention to Orders! Commander Singer, you are hereby requested and required to take command of the Tau Ceti Treaty Fleet Ship Zephyr, and of her officers and crew to be assigned. Fail not in this charge at your peril."

Almost, Singer gaped. Almost, she fainted. Almost, she panicked, for this was far beyond anything she had expected. She had worked through several scenarios to go along with the promotion Haraldsdottir had telegraphed. An assignment to Haraldsdottir's staff, perhaps, or as XO to Haraldsdottir on some other ship. But surely not a permanent command, and of a brand new ship, at that. People actually on the command track waited and connived and even fought for billets like that, often going their entire careers without such a plum.

But of course, Singer realized: none of those officers were here. She, Elyah Singer, was the card Haraldsdottir had in her hand, and she was going to play that card to best advantage.

And then, her officers were standing beside her, and Alexander was shouting above the already raucous din, "Three cheers for Captain Singer!"

She wanted to protest, but no. As a mere lieutenant in temporary command of in an emergency, perhaps, "captain" would have been a reach. As a commander set in official authority, however, it was entirely the proper mode of address.

Singer could not have given a coherent account of the next twenty kiloseconds or so. She knew the company had been formally dismissed only because she had been chivvied to her "usual" table, and an impromptu celebration party commenced.

Despite everything there still was to do, everything there still was to mourn, this was a moment to celebrate. Her friend Sipho, ignoring all decorum, practically pounced her, then stood back and saluted her properly, then broke out in giggles and pounced her again. The two other survivors of Almaty stood more decorously behind her, but also offered their salutes. "Captain," said Ensign Debenham, "in case it wasn't already obvious, we're with you. Unless the Commodore takes it into her head to reassign us, we're yours to command."

The Commodore had come over just in time to hear this, and said, "The Commodore, in fact, has already drafted orders assigning you to this crew. I also have someone in mind to fill the Operations Officer billet, but I haven't had a chance to discuss it with the Captain here."

Haraldsdottir made a point of emphasizing "captain" and Singer fought hard not to squirm. The commodore's grin told Singer that the not-quite-squirm, and the blush, had been noticed.

The commodore was not quite done with her, though. "Captain, I will leave you and your crew to celebrate a bit. We'll have a briefing at 1 kilo past the start of Alpha Shift."

Somehow, Singer managed to croak out, "Yes, ma'am," and Alexander, who was also actually grinning, said, "I will make sure the captain remembers, ma'am."

"I'll see you, then, Captain." She nodded at the others present, and then quietly left the room. Singer was vaguely aware that there was probably some protocol for seeing a senior officer off the ship, but she was also quite certain none of her officers were going to let her sneak away from her own promotion party.

Singer took a deep breath. Survivor's guilt almost snuck up on her, then. A voice in the corner of her mind said she was only captain now because so many had died.

But no. She was captain now because she'd done right by her crew, and her crew by her. And now, they'd get to keep doing it.

That was, perhaps, worth celebrating after all.