CHAPTER ONE
Dragons be damned.
When in doubt, it’s always easiest to blame the dragons. Interstellar starfield flight is entirely their fault, after all. Not that you can say things like that out loud without pissing off the ‘Dragon Purity Collective’ who don’t like you using their deities in vain, but in my own head and in my own reports I can say whatever I want. Father doesn’t call me ‘That Rebellious Daughter’ for nothing. Dragons be damned.
Not that I can say anything I want in my reports, though – especially if Admiral Longbow notices them. Longbow isn’t a Dragon Purist, but he is one hell of a stickler for regulations. Cursing in your reports, while not technically against the regulations, is something Longbow considers “unbecoming of a senior officer in the United Corps of Starfield Travelers”. You don’t hear the end of it.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. He does eventually stop talking once he realizes how many meals he’s missed. Then he’ll usually start again to complain about the stench of the decaying senior officer who died waiting for him to finish. Fortunately, Longbow would only see your reports at a High Admiral Council inquest. By that point, dying while being lectured may be the best outcome.
I suppose it’s also not completely fair to blame everything on the dragons. It’s not like all modern technology is their fault, and blaming the guy who came first is like blaming bad news you receive on elves because they invented the first communicator. Sure, the dragons may have accidentally discovered the vast starfield outside of our own world, and technology may have been invented in the process, but it’s not like they did it entirely on their own. Hell, some elven mages, dwarven alchemists and goblinite theorists are also to blame for figuring out how that first dragon could breathe in the starfield, which led to the realization that magic isn’t confined to the world, the creation of mana storage batteries, the creation of starships, etcetera.
I get that it’s a long chain of events that brought us here… but since when does fairness matter in the grand scheme of cursing? Dragons be damned is just fun to say and sums up my feelings nicely, so I’m going to keep using it until I find someone who deserves more damning than the dragons.
My mind be damned for that two seconds I lost thinking about damning dragons when I should be thinking about how long it takes the delegates in separate starships to reach a conference on Andriennein, the fourth elven homeworld, along with the interstellar communication lag so I can accurately plan an Interstellar Homeworld Congress outing for the delegates. Myself be damned for wanting to be an interstellar starship captain to begin with, requiring me to learn things like how to plan an interstellar conference so I can pass this starships-be-damned test to upgrade from executive officer.
I glance at the time in my holoterminal, then at Vice Admiral Railmaker, the dwarf responsible for monitoring and validating my test. I still have a couple hours left to finish, but VA Railmaker looks extra surly today so I should really get to it. I know I hate it when I’m waiting for one of my staff officers to finish something that shouldn’t be taking so long, and most folk think I’m a rather nice elf. I can only imagine how a surly dwarf is feeling.
I tap in the command for a manual calc and start factoring in the distances. Sure, a navcalc can figure it out faster than I can by hand, but there have been horror stories of a ship going missing for weeks due to navcalc failure and no one on board being able to do the math by hand to figure out how to get to where they’re going.
And, of course, that one time a trollish ambassador had arrived two days late for a crucial vote. An angry trollish ambassadorial entourage can cause a tremendous amount of damage to the home of a planning assistant who screws up the math, and diplomatic immunity tends to nullify an insurance policy. It’s generally just a good thing to know the math, but it needs my entire thought process to solve. I really should focus on that for a bit.
««»»
Test completed and submitted to the council. VA Railmaker didn’t say anything as I left, which I hope is a good sign and not just standard dwarven surliness. I should find out if I’m approved as a captain candidate within a few weeks. Then I’ll be added to the list to wait for a ship with an opening. My position on the list will depend on my score and my overall officer rating up to that point, so I’m fairly confident that I’ll be added to the top third of the list. I have a pretty good rating as an XO currently, and aside from that ambassadorial planning question I think I did well on the test.
The bottom third would be bad. Some of those officers retire from the Corps before they’re able to get a captain’s chair. The bottom third is better than failing, but it’s a surefire way of saying “you’re not ever going to be captain unless there’s a war and we get desperate after all of our current captains have died horrifically leading battalions in battle.”
I’d like to be a captain and in a captain’s chair before I turn 150. That gives me about 26 years to reach that dream and the top third would likely put me in a chair by then. The middle third might get me a chair before 200, but if I retire at 250 I have no chance at promotion to the Admiral Council. I’m not sure I want to be an admiral, but I don’t want to limit myself. The Admirals would probably be happier if I don’t become one of them, which is a good enough reason to want to be one. I’ll have to think more about it after I get my captain’s chair.
I’ve wanted to be a captain ever since I was small. I still remember writing ‘Captain Rylae Westiel’ in spellsand on the floor of the gazebo at my parents’ house. I was nine or ten and had just learned to write my name and a few other words. My mother was proud and excited, and has always been the biggest supporter of my choices in the Academy and the Corps, because she feels that whole ‘my daughter is following in my footsteps’ thing. Arlien Westiel was Chief Caregiver on a starship when I was born, and then moved back on-world to Tir Tairngire, the first non-Terra elven homeworld, to raise me so I could also be close to my father.
My father has been a little more sedate about it. Jakobian Westiel is a schoolteacher, and has been one forever. Father doesn’t enjoy going off-world, and he would prefer if I come back home, stay on-world and follow Mother’s current footsteps at the Acadamy Hospital where she’s Chief Caregiver. He makes sure I know that he’s supportive of my goals and expects me to do great things, but I’ll always be ‘That Rebellious Daughter’ for joining the Corps.
My parents are both hardworking folk who are loved by everyone, and it’s hard to live up to that standard sometimes, but I guess I’ve always been a product of the drive of both of them combined, so wanting to become ‘Captain Rylae Westiel’ at such a young age wasn’t really a surprise to either of them. It must be nice, because some days it sure is a surprise to me!
The amount of work, study and understanding – and just plain ‘being the best’ – that goes into wanting to be a captain is enough to cause three-quarters of the Corps to give up on it before they even try. Another nine-tenths of those remaining don’t make it as far as the test. I’m still amazed at myself that I keep going, but at the same time I know I don’t really give myself a choice or a chance to quit. I’m going to be a captain. I decided when I was little. The hundred-plus years since that day haven’t changed my mind. I just hope the council find my test and service record as convincing as I think they are.
My landcraft is about to arrive at my on-world quarters. The test took most of my morning at the Admiralty, but there’s still likely to be plenty to do both on-ship and on-world. An XO’s job is never done, especially when docked. We’ve only been on Terra for about a week now, which has really just been long enough to get the senior officers’ on-world quarters sorted out, go through the requisition lists from the department heads, and start ordering the supplies and parts we need to continue on.
Along with my test, there’s been a number of officer meetings and training sessions, brainstorming collaborations, briefings, exercises… the list goes on. That
’s what happens when you only come back to Terra and the Admiralty every few years. You stay for around a month, get done everything you can get done, and prepare for the next few years off-world. Some information is only secure if relayed directly, some training is best when delivered hands-on, and some bars and restaurants just have to be visited. All entirely work-related, I assure you. In fact, that beeping communicator in my pocket is probably my Chief Engineer calling me about our scheduled work-related meeting.
The landcraft comes to a stop in the storage area at the corner of the building my quarters are in. I disconnect the key charm to switch off the landcraft, step out and pull the communicator from my pocket. Pushing the charm to answer the call creates a floating image of Chief Engineer Tanna Aldamiel’s disembodied head in-front-but-off-to-the-left of me – positioned so I can keep walking while talking to her.
“Engineering, I assume this is urgent, as you knew I had an important meeting this morning.” I keep my face expressionless as I enter the building and walk toward the door of my quarters.
Tanna smiles and wiggles her nose at me. “According to my schedule, Ma’am, your important meeting was supposed to end no later than fifteen minutes ago. I don’t hear an angry dwarf vice-admiral in the background, so I’m sure you didn’t answer the call while testing. Railmaker would probably drop you off the list for that!”
I speak the code to unseal the door to my quarters and it pops slightly open. I push it open the rest of the way, walk inside, then push it completely shut so it seals again. “Commander Aldamiel, I’m certain I didn’t just hear you say something unflattering about a superior officer. If I had, I’m almost positive that qualifies as treason under UCST regulations.”
Tanna rolls her eyes at me. “I’m so very sorry, Commander Westiel, Ma’am. I hope you will please ignore my previous treasonous remark, as I would hate to have to go to the Admirals and plead for clemency by presenting evidence regarding a damaged landscooter owned by Vice Admiral Dreadfang.”
“Dragons be damned, Tanna! You know that goblin never forgets anything and is still looking for whoever did that damage! He doesn’t care if it’s been 30 years! I never should have taken that bet!” I look around to make sure I really am alone in my quarters. I’m glad I got inside and had the door closed when she said that! Goblins are notorious for making sure folk pay up, and if another goblin heard about the damaged landscooter, it wouldn’t be a day before it got back to VA Dreadfang, and it’s hard to become captain when you’re running for your life across the galaxy. Although, space piracy might be a better option than the bottom third of the captains list…
I hear Tanna’s elven laughter as I’m looking around the room. “Poor little Rylae, still afraid of the big bad academy VA. It’s still funny though, so don’t expect me to stop any time soon. Are you coming out for lunch, or do I need to send a goblin hit squad to your quarters?”
I giggle at that. The last goblin hit squad that ‘visited’ me… well, I wasn’t alone, and it didn’t end well for the goblins. “I’m on my way, just going to check for urgent matters before I leave here. I’ll call if I’m going to be late.” She nods and cuts the call.
Tanna’s been my best friend for longer than either of us has bothered to count. We met at the Academy, graduated together, and have both been on the UCST Corsari since we were junior officers. We hit Commander at about the same time, but she’s more adept at spellcraft and mana maintenance, so she’s been on the Engineering track while I’ve been on the Executive Officer track. Things changed only a little when I was promoted to XO and became her boss’ boss, but she was promoted to Chief Engineer shortly after and we’ve worked directly together ever since. Speaking of, I should probably get to my messages or I’ll be late and she’ll drive me crazy with comments about how I’m ‘negligent in my duties as her manager’.
I think I said earlier that an XO’s job is never done, and my message box proves that more than anything. A day without messages is a day when everyone has died and the ship has been eaten by a dragon… although my dead self would probably still get messages from the Admiralty looking for a report on the size of the dragon’s teeth. The XO is basically in charge of all the details of running a ship, making sure everyone and everything is running as the captain wants them to be running, and that the folk underneath her are prepared for anything the captain says needs to be done.
It’s a lot of work, and sometimes incredibly stressful, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well… I’d trade it for a captain’s chair, obviously, but nothing else. I love being an XO, and I hope that I have an XO as good as myself when I get my own ship. Loving it doesn’t make my message box look any less full, though.
I quickly scan through the messages, mentally prioritizing them as I go. Then I see one from the Captain, marked Level 0 Confidential. Nothing that high on the confidentiality scale is ever good news, but maybe it’s not so urgent that I have to miss lunch. I open it and read through it.
…Dragons be damned. At least I’m not the only one missing lunch! I pick up my communicator to call Tanna, as well as the rest of the ship’s senior officers. This probably won’t be a short meeting.