She had her job, he had his.
At the moment, he knew she did not envy him.
Leaving the hypersleep bay to the attention of Lopé and his team, Oram and Karine paused outside the entrance to the brightly lit bridge.
This was a moment he had not sought. It did not matter that he had trained for it, and possessed the skills to do it. He would have given a great deal to be sleeping in his pod, awaiting a final and far more salubrious awakening at their intended destination. Choices in life, however, are all too often not made by us, but for us. Jacob was…
Karine put a hand on his arm. “They’re your crew now. They need a leader. It’s not an option. You knew that when we signed on for this.” She offered a gentle, reassuring smile. “You’ll do fine, Chris. You’ve always done fine.” With that she left him and entered the bridge. Just one more crew member joining the others. But of course she wasn’t just one more crew member. Not to him.
She was right, of course. She usually was. Even if he had a preference, he’d signed a contract. He took a moment to prepare himself, and then followed her.
The navigation console in the center of the room was something of an anachronism. So were the other consoles that lined the far side of the bridge. On a colonization starship, communication was instantly available to anyone who was awake and aware. All that was needed was to speak loudly enough for Mother to hear. Thus the bridge seemed like a throwback to a time when contact between individuals could only be conducted in person, face to face.
However, those who studied, built, and designed such vessels knew better. The longer the journey, the more important interpersonal interaction became. Conversing via handhelds or the omnipresent ship’s system was fast and efficient, but it did nothing for the human psyche. In the vast impersonal emptiness of interstellar space, proximity to a smile, a smell, a sweat, kept humanness real and alive. The mental health of the crew was as important as the physical health of the ship.
So there were the consoles, and seats bolted to the floor, and in the course of work everyone was compelled to look at, listen to, and occasionally make physical contact. The better to confirm that your neighbor was flesh and blood, and not a holo projection kicked out of the ship’s files. Or a bad hypersleep dream.
He took his seat. Most of the key crew members were there. In pairs, of course—except for Walter. Only couples crewed a colonization ship. Couples ensured efficiency and attention to detail. Not to mention sanity.
Oram wasn’t yet officially captain, yet he had already relinquished his former position as the head of Life Sciences, turning it over to his wife. Forced into command by tragedy and circumstance, he found himself uncomfortable in the new role. Without the presence of Karine to offer support and guidance, he felt he might very well have abdicated the responsibility, contract or no contract.
But she was here, seated beside him, quiet and confident, quirky and imaginative where he was uncertain. Sometimes his awkwardness was taken for arrogance by other members of the crew. He couldn’t help that. It was who he was. He might let down the others, but he could not do so to her.
Tennessee didn’t sit in his seat, or for that matter anywhere else, so much as lounge there on the bridge. Oram envied the big, easygoing pilot his ability to relax. What others might regard as insouciance, Oram knew as a characteristic of someone at ease with themselves and the universe. A useful quality to have, and never more so than right now. No matter what the circumstances, he could rely on the pilot to carry out orders efficiently and without question.
If not for Tennessee’s friendship and emotional strength, poor Daniels would likely already be in sick bay.
Faris was as easygoing as her spouse. A country girl who preferred not to identify the country, she was also an even better pilot, a subject over which the pair argued frequently without resorting to anger. Their spirited and occasionally salacious marital banter enlivened every episode of the crew’s wakefulness.
Prior to departure from Earth orbit, their sometimes-barbed back-and-forth had been a matter of concern among the Administration, until it was realized that the occasional jibe exchanged between husband and wife was always delivered with warmth and not enmity.
Upworth and Ricks were by far the youngest couple at the table. Their youth didn’t mitigate their skills, however, which encompassed navigation and communications. Upworth in particular was quick to take offense at any implication that she was unqualified for her position, perhaps because between her wide eyes, full mouth, and diminutive stature, she looked even younger than she was. Tennessee had once called her a “high explosive disguised as a Kewpie doll,” and she’d been forced to look up the meaning of Kewpie doll via the ship’s library.
If she had a fault, it was a tendency to improvise solutions to problems for which instructions already existed. As for the far more intense Ricks, he was quieter, competent, and much more inclined to go by the book whenever a situation arose. He served as the carbon rod to Upworth’s occasional runaway reactor.
Where the unforeseen was concerned, Oram himself was more likely to follow procedure before resorting to extemporization. So, for that matter, was his wife. In that regard he felt closer to Ricks. Still, Upworth’s occasional tendency to go off the rails notwithstanding, he had only respect for any newly married couple who decided to forgo their time on Earth in favor of signing up for colonization.
Lopé also preferred to stand rather than sit. As head of Covenant security, and eventually security for the colony, he was old-school military. He outranked his less imposing but younger and equally professional life partner and co-administrator Sergeant Hallet by only a single chevron.
Hallet was the last to arrive, apologetic and slightly out of breath.
“Sorry I’m late, sir,” he told Oram as he took up a position next to Lopé. His partner ring flashed in the overhead light, a perfect match to the one worn by the sergeant.
Oram waved off the apology. This was no time to stand on protocol. Clearing his throat a couple of times, he eyed each of them in turn before speaking, his tone somber.
“There’s no other way of stating this than to say it. We’ve suffered a terrible tragedy. Both in the loss of crew and the loss of colonists. And I—am your new captain.” His voice tightened. “I didn’t ask for it, I don’t want it, but that’s the way it is. I’ll do my best to live up to Jacob’s fine example.” Aware they were all staring at him expectantly, he fumbled for more words. Running bioscans on sleeping life-forms was infinitely easier than speaking to live ones, he reflected dourly. Searching for brilliance, he found only platitudes.
They would have to do.
“He will be sorely missed,” Oram continued. “We have much work to do. Thank you in advance for your support.”
There. He had done his duty in regards to dealing with the emotional needs of the moment. From the looks on the faces around him, his words had been satisfactory if not inspirational. Much relieved, now he could get down to business.
“Considering that what hit us essentially came out of nowhere, we’re in better shape than we might have been. Currently structural integrity is holding at ninety-three percent, although we still have a number of secondary systems offline. We lost forty-seven colonists and sixteen second-generation embryos, and as you know, one crew member. An additional sixty-two pods incurred damage, all of which is salvageable.”