Things Fall Apart: Chapter 30

Aboard Zephyr

Singer and Saito arrived to a scene that was not...precisely...a riot.

No, Singer thought as she took in the scene a second time. It was precisely not a riot. Riot could be seen just on the edge of one's vision, but it was not that. Training, discipline, and perhaps the fact that everyone had, like Saito, had food and drink and fresh air was keeping it from crossing the line.

The partition separating Main Rec and Main Dining was down, allowing it to be one large space. Singer might have preferred a more confined space in case things erupted, but she also saw the sense in giving the Aquila crew's shock literal room to breathe.

The Main Rec side had a platform at one end—call it a stage, or a dais—which was on the opposite side of the room from where Saito and Singer had come in. Singer would have expected Alexander, or maybe Espinoza to be attempting to tame the mob, but was surprised to see it was Cadotte, who was mid-sentence.

"...only just received word two shifts ago, while you all were recuperating. It made us no happier than it makes you, not because we don't welcome your company, but because you deserve better. And if anyone had better to offer you, I promise you, this crew would be fighting for you to get it."

"You can't expect us to believe," came an angry woman's voice, "that one of the busiest ports and shipyards in known space has no room for us!"

Singer had planned to move forward, take the stage with Saito. When she met Cadotte's eyes, however, the lieutenant shook their head, just a little, just enough. Saito made to move forward, and Singer took his arm to restrain him. "Cadotte has this, or thinks they do."

Saito looked back at Singer, a protest forming, then subsided, nodding. He trusted her; she trusted Cadotte. All three of them ultimately trusted Aquila's crew, even if they were upset right now.

For reinforcement, Singer also looked at Alexander who was standing with Espinoza and Kasel. All three were alert, but not alarmed.

Very well.

Cadotte was answering, "PO, I would prefer to be gentle, but the truth is, I'm no good at gentle. I'm good at clear. So here's clarity." They must have subvocalized something to Chef, or maybe they were showing off their implants, something they rarely did. A holo came to life above their head, the width of the room. "Here is a tactical schematic of the Gliese-581 system as it stood fifteen megaseconds ago. It is not quite to scale—New Norfolk and the other city-stations are magnified, as are the major ships traversing the system. This is what you're undoubtedly picturing when you say that you can't imagine there isn't room for us."

Saito said, sotto voce, "Nice touch, there, that 'us'."

Singer nodded, but said nothing else, intent on reading the crowd and watching Cadotte's performance.

Cadotte let the image, with various stations and worlds moving in their relatively fast orbits around their dwarf star, hover without further commentary for maybe thirty seconds.

"And this is the system as it currently stands."

All that remained were the planets, the belts, and markers for the dockyards. Borass Station and some of the other rock-based installations were also called out. There was no need to be parsimonious with labels, as the up-to-date image was far less crowded.

Silence stretched, then curses, sobs, disbelief. And the angry woman once again said, "There still has to be room for us!"

Cadotte did something Singer had never heard before. They raised their voice, not just to be heard, to but to let emotion show.

"What is the first rule of any space habitat?" It was not quite a scold.

The room went silent. It was the angry woman who spoke, still angry, but no longer quite defiant. "The good of the ship comes before all."

Cadotte repeated it. "The good of the ship comes before all. That sentence is not just a mantra to be mouthed, though it comes down to us nearly as scripture from the earliest days of the Dream of Spring, outbound from Earth to David's Star. It's the one absolute truth. Every ship, every station, is a fragile bubble. Its capacity is finite. Its resources are finite. Its community's ability to absorb trauma, ultimately, is finite. Everyone in this room has experienced first-hand, and somehow survived, just how fragile our worlds are."

The image changed again, highlighting the surviving rock-stations.

"Every one of these rocks that survived the Incident are already at capacity. Several of them were never meant to be living spaces, but now, it's the only place their workers have left to live. Before Bellerophon arrived with intact pinnaces, they were all isolated from each other and several were on the brink of starvation, out of rations and without the replication capacity to feed a residential population. Those worldlets are only just now achieving something like stability.

"So tell me: would you destabilize them?"

Silence. One might say abashed silence.

Finally, the angry woman, calmer, but still angry, said, "No, Lieutenant. I would not."

"I'm glad to hear it," Cadotte answered. "In the coming megaseconds, we're all going to have call to remember that basic truth again and again. The good of the ship comes before all. Your crewmates need you. You need your crewmates. We all need each other. That's how we survive flying around the galaxy in tin cans in the first place."

There was a small rustle through the crowd. A collective chuckle at the phrasing. The tension in the room went down just a little.

The angry PO said, "What about this ship? You weren't expecting fifty more people. Aren't we just a drain on your resources?" The last part was not quite a sneer.

Singer sensed rather than saw Cadotte throw the conversational ball over the crowd's head. Now it was her turn. Mustering a parade-ground voice, she said, "Not at all, PO."

Discipline was not quite tight enough for the whole crowd to turn about-face as one, but they all heard Singer, and Cadotte's clear attention on their commanding officer gave the hint for the crowd to change their focus.

"Before we rescued you, this ship was due to be crewed by the survivors of Bellerophon and Almaty—a total of 187 people. Establishment for this ship is 220, but there's room for more. We are just a few shifts away from our departure, and the rush to get us in shape to go anywhere means there's going to be a great deal of work to do, still."

Seeing Saito next to her had calmed the crowd considerably. They didn't know her, but they trusted him. He'd gotten them through, after all.

A woman, a PO, moved to the new head of the crowd, facing Singer. Before she opened her mouth, Singer knew it was the angry one, the one who had done most of the speaking for her shipmates. She was older—old enough that she really should have been a chief, by now, but wasn't. There was a story there, Singer was certain.

When she spoke, the voice was still strong, but not quite so angry. "You must be Commander Singer." Apparently, Singer's name had already come up at some point.

Singer considered simply nodding, but the crowd needed to hear it. "I am."

The PO gave her an assessing look, one which Singer had seen over the years from many older POs and chiefs. The one that tried to sort out if the officer in front of them actually had brains in their head or was just good at passing tests at the Academy. Not for the first time, Singer was reminded that it was the non-commissioned officers who really ran the ship. Commissioned officers just managed it.

"Well, Commander, I, for one, wouldn't mind a bit of work to occupy my mind. But some of us are pretty bad off. The good of the ship comes before all. You got room for people who can't pull their weight?"

Singer did not hesitate. "I always have room for recuperating members of my crew."

For a moment, Singer considered mentioning that there might be an alternative. That she was still waiting to hear from Haraldsdottir about using Bellerophon as a station. But no. It would only cause more trouble if people pinned their hopes on that only for Haraldsdottir to disappoint them all.

So instead, she held the the PO's gaze and did not flinch. It was not a staring contest, but Singer would not hide from this woman, stranger though she was, any more than she would from Saito. Even if she were inclined, she couldn't afford to. Whatever her rating, this woman clearly held sway with her people. Singer needed her.

Finally, the other woman nodded, slowly, accepting what she'd heard, and, rather to Singer's surprise, saluted. "Petty Officer Sharon bat Avi, Engineer's Mate, requesting assignment for duty, Captain."