Makoro slid out from under the Antimatter Reactor, scanner in hand. “Magnet four hundred serviceable.”
Victor nodded. “It’s fully serviceable then. Very good. If you could head down to the amidships airlock, Ensign Elise Henrick could use the help with surveying the hull. We’re mostly sure of the extent of the damage-namely that it’s very bad-but we need it to be more specific than that.”
Ensign Karazwaki stood, and saluted. Victor was struck for a moment by how old the man was-at least, by Fleet standards. He must have been pushing forty, making him at the very upper end of eligibility for the draft. Regardless, just like any Greenie, he was going to have to learn to pull his weight around here
Victor nodded. “It’s fully serviceable then. Very good. If you could head down to the amidships airlock, Ensign Elise Henrick could use the help with surveying the hull. We’re mostly sure of the extent of the damage-namely that it’s very bad-but we need it to be more specific than that.”
Ensign Karazwaki stood, and saluted. Victor was struck for a moment by how old the man was-at least, by Fleet standards. He must have been pushing forty, making him at the very upper end of eligibility for the draft. Regardless, just like any Greenie, he was going to have to learn to pull his weight around here
Victor turned to Jane Steele, who had been surprisingly helpful over the day. “I hate to ask this, but can you also head over to the Airlock?”
“Sir, I was told by our Deck Officer that I wasn’t qualified for that, and that he’d rather I not participate in that assignment.”
Victor nodded. “Then let’s clean up in here-it’s better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs then.”
He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye, as he replaced the yellow guidebook she had taken down earlier in its cabinet. “So, you’ve got the literal worst job on this ship.” He said. “‘Maintainance’ pretty much means doing whatever the hell you’re told around here.”
She stayed silent, which, had Victor been anyone else aboard the ship, would probably have been a good plan.
“Come on, kid. You wanted in badly enough to lie about your age-which I applaud, for the record-but what did you want to do here?”
She was silent for a moment, before saying, “Before the war, I had kind of wanted to do Engineering, but mostly I wanted off Bernan.”
Victor knew the feeling. “It was Sol-Luna L5 for me. It’s funny how the world you’re born on is always the worst, isn’t it?”
She was silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Sir, with all due respect, I’d rather not speak about that. I’m a crewwoman in the United Terran Fleet. Is there any more than that that I need to say?”
“No, no-I respect that. I apologize. It was just meant to be small talk.”
Apparently though, without small talk, Steele was going to subject him to her music. He supposed that, ten years ago or whenever he had been her age, his had been equally tinny and annoying, but it seemed to get worse with each generation.
After an hour of cleaning, which was bad, and being subjected to Jane’s music, which was worse-he may technically have been able to pull rank and have her turn it off, but he wasn’t going to be that guy-his tablet finally buzzed with orders to head down to the Atmospherics Room.
Deck Officer Kalkus stood at the back of the room, speaking with Commander Shan. Both looked grim.
“Ensign Hudson, reporting for duty!” Victor said, snapping to attention, saluting, and hoping that Middie Steele had the sense to do the same.
Shan frowned. “You’re looking rather spry, Ensign. I’m pleasantly surprised by your recovery.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Is the Engine Room functional?” Deck Officer Kalkus cut in, visibly irritated.
“Yes sir!” Victor replied, allowing a bit of pride to show through. It hadn’t been easy-he had had only a single Middie and three Console Jocks from Combat Systems to work with-but he had gotten the ship ready for Antimatter Propulsion in extremely short order.
“The Antimatter Reactor and Storage is usable?”
“Yes sir.”
Alan glanced to the Commander. “In other words, the only problem we have is that we lost some air, and need to refill from the ballast tanks. No big problem.”
“I’m still concerned about the hull-it’ll change the Foldspace profile, and we’ve already had problems with folding. I’m not doubting Ensign Henrik’s ability, I’m just asking to see her calculations after she’s done with them.”
“In which case we’ll relay them to you. There shouldn’t be any real problem though-Ensign Henrick has gone over the AnsComp several times.”
“Understood.” Victor got the distinct impression that Commander Shan just wanted to not have to deal with Alan anymore. “As you were, then.”
As soon as Shan had left the room, Alan sat down, cradling his head in his hands. “She spent the better part of an hour harassing Elise about the damn Ansible. Why, just... Why?”
Victor shared an amused glance with Jane. “My condolences, sir.”
Alan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Are the Antimatter Engines online?”
“My area’s entirely online. I’d caution against drastic acceleration and combat maneuvers, just so I can see it in action, make sure everything’s still working in practice as well as in theory, but we’re definitely good for normal activity-you know, orbit and deorbit burns.”
“Wonderful. Find something to do then, I honestly don’t care what. We’re actually done with this thing, and it’s only twenty-one-hundred. Beautiful. Go eat something.”
The bridge was silent. It was just Kim and Jae, in the darkness, the lights of the various displays the only illumination. Above, the light from the SENCOM room was visible, the four crew members standing by for orders.
“Ansibilics reporting that we are go for the fold.” Jae said, flicking a holographic control over to Kim’s half of the room. There were no physical controls on the Bridge, although there were backups in SENCOM in case the holographic displays failed.
“Is Engine Room also ready?” She asked.
“We’re still waiting. SENCOM is ready, Atmospherics is ready, HVAC is ready, and Combat... Norton’s said that he’s ready, and let’s leave it at that.”
Kim smiled. “What’s the exact phrasing? Or do I really not want to know?”
“The exact wording was unrepeatable. However, I get the distinct impression that his crewmembers are rather unhappy with spending their time entirely inside of Fighter Consoles.”
“They’ll just have to deal with that. They’re Combat Systems. It’s quite literally their job.”
“Precisely.” A light flicked on off to Kim’s left.
“Is that Engine Room?” She asked, gesturing.
Ali glanced over, then nodded. “Yes-one moment.” He tapped the light, then said, “Deck Officer Ali. Yes, we’re ready to fold except for your area. Excellent. Super Nos.” Then, looking back towards Kim, he said “Hudson’s ready.”
She nodded, then tapped another floating light. “Commander Shan to all stations. Stand by to fold.” Then, switching channels to Ansibilics, “Ensign Henrick, execute the fold.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Elise’s voice was tense-she disagreed with Kim’s plan.
“You’re understandably nervous, Ensign. We all are. We both checked over those coordinates though, so we should wind up right where we intend to. Make the fold.”
“Executing.”
The Warblers external visible-light sensors-a fancy way of saying ‘cameras’-activated, showing the starfield that surrounded it. A moment later, it flickered, showing a massive green gas giant off the port bow.
“Engines, Flank Speed!” She heard Jae shout, seeing him fumble with a light out of the corner of her eye.
“SENCOM, get me a picture-what are we looking at here? Asteroid belt? Particulate? Empty space?” Kim said, trying to remain calm. Well, they weren’t inside the star, which was a good sign-Henrick had been more than half convinced that that was what would happen.
“Super-Jovian gas giant. No solid core. No rings, but... Look to our eleven o’clock.” Kim tentatively identified the speaker as Maria Prussin, Sensors Specialist.
Kim turned, seeing a particularly bright star shining-no, that wasn’t a star, it was debris.
Kim swore. “Is there a lot of that?”
“Yeah, we’re surrounded by it.” In astronomical terms, that probably meant that it was scattered with a hundred miles between each piece, but still, it was highly concerning.
“Begin evasive maneuvers then.” She zoomed the camera in on the piece of debris. It was a damaged UTFS drone-nothing special. The name ‘Breaker Bay’ was clearly visible on its side, however.
She inhaled sharply. The Breaker Bay was assigned to Strike Group Warden, with DESRON Six. It had been notable as it had been under the command of Reed Hazzard for the three months prior to the beginning of the war. And if there was anyone she though had an outside chance of actually surviving an apocalyptic war, it was Reed Hazzard.
Stop it. She thought. He’s dead. The Breaker Bay is probably sitting out there, gutted by lasers and KKVs. If it wasn’t, we’d know it.
“Commander Shan? Commander Shan!” She snapped out of her reverie, glancing to Jae. “I don’t know what you’re seeing there, but we’re in a debris field, and it’s more pressing than you spacing out!”
“Apologies. Is there anything directly violating our battlespace?”
“Incidental violation, but not direct. Our orbit is full of wreckage though-and not all of it’s human.”
Kim shuddered. “Does Sensors have a suggested orbit?”
Jae nodded. “They suggest moving us into a Polar Low Orbit-we’re currently in a Clarke Orbit.”
She opened a line to the Engine Room. “Engines, shift our Orbital Inclination by twenty degrees. Stand by for further changes.”
“Copy.”
She glanced towards Jae. “Apologies for that. Just, that drone... I had a couple of friends on that ship.”
“UTFS Breaker Bay?” Jae asked.
Kim nodded. “I knew the Captain.”
“Who was it?”
“Reed Hazzard.” Kim knew that Jae would recognize the name.
The man was silent for a moment. “He was a good man, by all accounts. One of the few people involved in the Governance Committee that actually cared about people.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Understood, Commander.”
Kim glanced at the trajectory projections that were being fed through to the bridge from Engines and SENCOM. That put the Warbler on a path that should take it out of the debris field within a few minutes.
They made it out of the debris field without further incident. It may have been filled with large quantities of debris by spacefaring standards, but in terms of real numbers, it was still overwhelmingly empty space.
Slightly before reaching the northernmost point of the orbit, several thousand miles above the ‘Geosynchronous’ Clarke Orbit that the Warbler had arrived in, she ordered the ship maneuvered until its bow pointed directly towards planetary north. Immediately afterwards, she ordered the Antimatter Drive engaged. The overall effect was to change the orbital inclination drastically, shifting them closer to the desired Polar Orbit.
They would repeat the maneuver every time they reached the northernmost or southernmost point of the orbit, but for the moment that was a long way off. “Time?” She asked, more to herself than anyone else, glancing to the holographic clock at the back of the Bridge.
It was already twenty-three-hundred. Kim glanced back to Jae. “What do you think of postponing Reveille tomorrow?”
Jae nodded. “I personally think that’s an excellent idea.”
Suddenly tired, now that the excitement that invariably came from the finer points of orbital dynamics had worn off, Kim started up the PA System. “UTFS Warbler, this is Commander Shan. Good work today. Reveille is postponed until oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning. Officer of the Night Watches will be following the normal schedule. Super Nos.”
Officer of the Night was one of the worst duties aboard a starship. There had to be someone on the Bridge or SENCOM deck at all times, especially when in a planet's orbit. Most of the time it was merely boring. They’d cross the equator again in another hour and a half, which was right before Reveille anyway.
Officer of the Night was an excellent opportunity to catch up on paperwork or reading or something of the like. She had several of the old Tilde Files arrayed on the table in front of her. The Warbler had been commissioned back in the Second Year of the Republic, and had been immediately assigned to the front lines, based off of the DawnStar Eloi. The old DawnStar battleships had been massive platforms, meant to be placed in orbit around a world and defend it from the Xon. They had primitive Antimatter Drives, capable of changing their orbits and the like, but they weren’t supposed to voyage through deep space. The Imperiata, on the other hand, used only light Cutters and Strike Cruisers, none longer than perhaps a thousand feet, each upgraded to be maximally effective at hit-and-run tactics. The Ictarid Gunboats were supposed to help counter that-a tiny ship, packed with state-of-the-art drives, maneuverability, and far more weapons than they had a right to.
They had failed at that mission. The Gunboats had been too experimental, too untested. The initial loadouts had had only two drone Consoles, with further armament provided by close-range plasma throwers and sabot cannons. The suite of weapons had been managed by an advanced computer program, before it had been decided that automation was both inefficient and qualitatively inferior to just having a human do the task. There had initially been over five hundred Icterids ordered. They underperformed so badly at their intended purpose that less than a hundred of those were ever commissioned.
Admiral Killian had been the one to save them. He had been the one to bring the class into being, and was the one to save it from failure. He had had the weapons systems gutted, and replaced entirely with Drone Consoles. This turned the Ictarids from incredibly horrible starfighters into highly effective small carriers. They didn’t see service again until after the fall of Raven, but when they did, they were well-suited to the new sorts of warfare that developed. A flight of anywhere from three to ten Gunboats would chase down an Imperiata starship, using their superior maneuverability and speed to hound them down, then the flight as a whole would be capable of deploying as many Drones as a much larger carrier. They were brutally efficient, and had made several highly-placed enemies in the Fleet hierarchy for disrupting the traditional Fleet dynamics. They were simply too good, too versatile to be allowed-or at least, that was Kim’s theory as to why such small ships hadn’t been utilized for far more in the Fleet.
She heard footsteps behind her, so she put down the file she had been reading-one of many such glowing reports by Imperiata War-era Skippers on how the Warbler had performed above and beyond all expectations-and turned to face the door.
Ervin Norton stood in the door, looking tired.
“You don’t have to be up for another hour and a half.” She said, turning away.
“Sorry.” He said. “I forgot to turn off my alarm. I honestly didn’t know who was on the last watch this morning. I’ll leave.”
Kim shook her head, sitting back down in her chair, running her hands through her hair, letting it down. “No, you can stay.” She said. “You’re honestly the only person on this ship that I can talk to.” She gestured to Jae’s chair, which was sitting unused by the wall. “Sit if you want.”
He pulled it over to the table, and stretched his arms. “I thought you hated me.” He remarked.
“You lack discipline in many matters.” She said. “You’re blunt, and don’t care for protocol. I dislike those traits in certain circumstances, and admire them in others. You’re highly competent at all of your duties-both flying drones and leading a segment of my crew.” Kim paused for a moment, unsure of whether to continue, but felt compelled to be honest about this. “You’ve also gone out of your way to try to help me get myself out of holes, typically ones that I’ve dug. If there still was a fleet, I’d be referring your name to the First Citizen personally for commendation.”
He looked vaguely surprised by that. “I keep forgetting that you knew him.” He said.
Kim closed her eyes, staring at the ceiling. “I was entwined in all of that, unfortunately. People have a tendency to either idolize or demonize the Governance Committee and the rest of the Republic’s elite. They’re just people. Julian is a very intense man, very goal-driven. He also hates the sight of blood. He’s no coward, he’s just hemophobic. Sheila Hazzard may have a public image of the cold businesswoman, but if you ever meet her in person, she seems almost like any other working mother. The two of them adopted a child after Isabella moved out-Zachary Brennan was the son of a long-time aide of Julian whose shuttle got involved in a foldspace accident.” She shook her head. “It’s one of the only times I’ve ever seen Julian emotional in public about anything.”
“It’s funny. You talk about them like they’re still alive, still with us-but you use their names, not ‘First Citizen’.”
“It’s a coping mechanism. You know that as well as I do. And, well... I shouldn’t be doing that, according to the standard etiquette, but...” Kim trailed off. “It’s complicated.”
“Sorry, shouldn’t have brought it up.” He said, looking away. “I wouldn’t want to be grilled about my friends and family right now either.”
She shook her head. “I knew them. I was close to them. Julian was undoubtedly a mentor to me, but... They weren’t friends. Honestly, in Julian’s case, I’m happy he’s dead.” She spat out that last sentence.
Ervin frowned. “If he was such a mentor to you, why?”
Kim curled her lip. “Nothing different from anyone else with at Tactical story. They want something from you, they kill someone to get your attention, then they get what they want. Routine. Regardless, I never really bonded with any of the Governance Committee or their children, though Julian certainly wanted me to.” That was a lie, but she certainly didn’t want to discuss Reed. That had been a touchy topic, even back before Tantaline. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.” And probably not making a very good impression.
Ervin was silent for a moment. “Like you said, it’s a coping mechanism. We’ll all find different ways around the pain.”
“DO you maybe want to talk for a little while?” She asked. It had been a long time since she had been this awkward around someone. She wasn’t sure exactly why. She could name a dozen reasons-the fact that she had been suspicious of him when he came aboard, the fact that she had openly lied to the crew, the fact that he had called her out on it, him covering for her in the same breath, even potentially attraction.
“What’s there to tell? I had some connections, was trained from the day I could figure out how a tablet worked to be a warrior, and got shipped off to a Kynaki military school as soon as they could do it. I was honestly okay with that though-I didn’t have to deal with any of that Mil-Ind politicking, I could just blow up my problems in a flight sim whenever I felt like venting. Never really had many meaningful friendships, as in Spartoi schools, they do a rather effective job at making sure everyone there knows that the only reason someone’s there is because of mommy or daddy, even if it’s not true.”
Kim nodded. “The Republic has a real issue with nepotism in the military. From the rank of Captain on up, our officers are almost entirely there because of their connections. Their subordinates were one of the finest fighting forces the universe has ever seen, but... Maybe that was all it took? A few bad decisions at the wrong times, and no more Terran species?”
Ervin shook his head. “That might have contributed, but... They fight damn well. We’re good, but their fighters are superior to our drones, smarter and faster. From hearing Ensign Silver-she was in the Marines-talk, they’re even more intimidating in hand-to-hand combat.”
Kim glanced away. “That honestly burns even worse. Having been defeated in a fair fight just makes it even more evident that there’s nothing we could have done about it.”
“If I may change the subject for a moment, Commander, to something equally disturbing but in a slightly different manner... We’re the last Human ship in the universe. Our species is functionally extinct. Well... There’s instances of various populations surviving for hundreds of years with less founding individuals. Even Terran populat-.”
Kim held up a hand. “Yes, that’s a fact of life, Ervin. Please though, the end of the world was two days ago. We, collectively, have bigger concerns than repopulation.”
He nodded. “Apologies, Commander. I just want to make sure that’s something that we’re thinking of.”
Kim shot him a glance. “To be perfectly clear, Deck Officer Norton. We, as in Kimberly Shan and Ervin Norton, are not thinking of this. We, as in the commanding officers of the UTFS Warbler, are. Is this understood?”
“I apologize if you ever thought that the first meaning was what I was insinuating, Commander. I’m perfectly familiar with the Fleet’s regulations, Commander, and wouldn’t dream of violating them.”
Kim stood, trying to find something else to do other than talk to Norton. Thank you for killing the moment. She thought. It was still over half an hour till Reveille, but at least Norton took the hint that he wasn’t wanted anymore, and left the Bridge.
Sighing-honestly, they had been having a pleasant conversation-she kicked back in her chair, and began to draw up the day’s duty roster.
Makoro awoke, surrounded by the sounds of snoring in the Ensign’s Berth. There was something out of place though, something he hadn’t heard since the day he had been ‘Selected’... He could hear crying.
He slipped off of his bunk, hitting the floor softly, feeling the cold metal beneath his bare feet. Quietly, he walked over to the curtain that separated the male and female sides of the room, hesitating for a moment, then opening it slightly. Mary Wentworth, one of Makoro’s fellow pilots, sat on the side of her bed, head buried in her hands, sobbing quietly. Cassidy Freeman sat next to her, an arm around her, both of them wrapped in a blanket from Freeman’s bunk across the room.
Makoro rapped softly on the wall, and she looked up.
“I can’t sleep.” She said. “I’m so sorry.”
Makoro smiled. “It’s no trouble at all.” He gestured towards the hall. “Why don’t we stop into the Mess, get something warm in you?”
Freeman nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’ll do you some good, Mary. Let’s go.”
Wentworth and Freeman stood, the former’s eyes bright with tears. Makoro swiped the door open, and led them to the Mess, rummaging in a cabinet for some of the drink packets they kept on hand for situations such as these. “Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?” He asked, holding up an assortment of packets.
Wentworth didn’t say anything, merely sitting down on one of the metal stools that went around the edge of the room, but Freeman spoke up, saying “Two Coffees, please. Cream and lots of sugar.”
Makoro nodded, starting up the water heater. The shipboard coffee was, as that beverage invariably was, disgusting, so he grabbed himself a tea packet, placing it next to the two packets of coffee mix, as he searched for mugs. “It’s been a very interesting few days, hasn’t it?” He asked.
“Yeah.” Mary said, pulling the blanket tight around her.
“Would you like to talk, or should I just get you a drink? I’m perfectly fine with just being your barista while you have a conversation about deep truths.”
Mary actually laughed at that. “No, no... I shouldn’t be this way. No-one else is. I’m sorry.”
Makoro shrugged. “You’re one of the only ones honest enough to let us see how they’re really feeling. The only other person I’ve seen doing that is our Commander.”
“It’s true, Mary!” Cassidy said, putting her arm around Wentworth again. “I’m keeping this all bottled up, Makoro is I’m sure, and everyone else almost definitely is.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard Hans Henrick talking to his sister about how lucky they were they just happened to be assigned to the same ship.”
Wentworth made a rude hand gesture.
Probably a bad move. Makoro thought. On both of your parts. “The thing to remember is that we’re all in this together. It’s the Warbler versus the universe, and the universe is winning.”
“The universe always wins.” Mary spat. “There are things you can’t escape... Death is one of them. Karma’s another.”
“Taxes?” Cassidy offered.
“Karma?” Makoro asked.
Mary shook her head, cracking a smile. “A fast enough stardrive and it’s funny how the first gets left behind. And maybe it’s not ‘karma’, but the universe seems to have a way of getting back at people for things. When you owe someone a debt, they’ll always collect, sooner or later.”
“I think I understand your meaning.” Makoro said. “We always seem to get our just rewards.” And maybe that means our species deserves this fate.
“The universe does seem to have a way of just being horrible to us though, regardless. Entropy doesn’t discriminate.” Freeman said. “Sometimes bad things happen to the good, the innocent, the undeserving.”
“Hell though, the Republic wasn’t undeserving.” Wentworth spat. “I’ve served it as long as anyone, but it disgusts me. The Republic’s been corrupt for as long as I’ve supported it. We had a chance, a real chance to remake ourselves and our species into something truly wonderful, utopic. That’s what the Republic promised when I joined, but... It’s just a system to consolodate power. The worst part is that I only now have the courage to say that, now that it’s gone. The Spacers were right. The best course was just to strike out on your own. It was demanding, but it gave you the certainty that you were right. You could sleep at night. The Republic was so much easier, but you can’t sleep.”
Cassidy put her arm around Wentworth’s shoulders. “I’m ashamed too. But sometimes you do what you have to do. I joined the Fleet as a nurse. I knew that the Republic did some horrible things, but thought it would provide an opportunity to do good. You said earlier that you joined it after it freed you from the Imperiata-you had every reason to believe that it was good then, and Tactical wasn’t anywhere near as evil as they are now-or, well, were before Tantaline and Saray-back then. We can’t always know what the exact consequences of our actions will be. All we can do is make the best choices we can, and hope it turns out for the best.”
Makoro heard footsteps-a young woman in a Middie’s uniform appeared in the doorway. Her namebadge said ‘SADIRA IBN CASPAR’-the rebellious one from the other night.
Caspar’s eyes darted around the room, taking everything in as she approached Makoro. “Should I go?” She asked, glancing to Freeman and Wentworth.
Makoro shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think that what we all need is a little more companionship, not less.”
Sadira nodded, stepping towards the water heater. “Is there any left?” She asked.
Makoro nodded. “Although it may be only warm by now.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She started humming as she leaned against the counter, preparing a doubly strong cup of coffee.
“We might want to save that.” Makoro observed.
She shrugged. “I doubt we’ll live that long.”
Makoro listened to the sound of her humming for a full minute, before asking, “What is that?”
She shook her head. “A song from the Recon Corp. Just an old shanty we sort of adopted.”
“I know that tune.” Mary said, looking up. “I thought I heard my Captain say, leave her Johnny, leave her. Tomorrow you will get your pay and it’s time for us to leave her.”
Mary took a breath, then launched into a chorus. “Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Sadira glanced up, surprised, then continued the song, her voice higher and clearer than Mary’s. “Oh, the sky was foul and the fuel ran dry. Leave her, Johnny, leave her! She shifted green and flew right by, and it's time for us to leave her.”
This two of them sang the chorus again, voices joining together. “Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Then Mary sang the next verse, voice slightly louder this time. I hate to fly on this old tin can. Leave her, Johnny, leave her! No grog allowed and rotten grub, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Makoro and Cassidy joined in the chorus this time, perhaps slightly out of tune, but getting most of the words correct. “Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Sadira took up the song again. “We swear by rote for want of more. Leave her, Johnny, leave her!”
As she continued, though, another voice cut in from the door to the Ensign’s Berths. “But now we're through so we'll be planetside, and it's time for us to leave her.” Richard Tvorik stood in the door, inhaling before saying “Final chorus-extra effort now!”
“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her!” This last time they sung whole-heartedly, at the top of their lungs, letting the sounds flow through them. Smiling as the sounds of the last syllable rung out, they glanced to each other, laughing and smiling.
Then a sixth face stuck into the room-Deck Officer Celia Abrams, hair and uniform ruffled, eyes tired. “People are trying to sleep!” She hissed, voice rasping.
Nodding, they each promised to be quieter for the next half hour or so before Reveille. That didn’t stop the smiles.
Whatever else might be, joy was no longer extinct.
“Sir, I was told by our Deck Officer that I wasn’t qualified for that, and that he’d rather I not participate in that assignment.”
Victor nodded. “Then let’s clean up in here-it’s better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs then.”
He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye, as he replaced the yellow guidebook she had taken down earlier in its cabinet. “So, you’ve got the literal worst job on this ship.” He said. “‘Maintainance’ pretty much means doing whatever the hell you’re told around here.”
She stayed silent, which, had Victor been anyone else aboard the ship, would probably have been a good plan.
“Come on, kid. You wanted in badly enough to lie about your age-which I applaud, for the record-but what did you want to do here?”
She was silent for a moment, before saying, “Before the war, I had kind of wanted to do Engineering, but mostly I wanted off Bernan.”
Victor knew the feeling. “It was Sol-Luna L5 for me. It’s funny how the world you’re born on is always the worst, isn’t it?”
She was silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Sir, with all due respect, I’d rather not speak about that. I’m a crewwoman in the United Terran Fleet. Is there any more than that that I need to say?”
“No, no-I respect that. I apologize. It was just meant to be small talk.”
Apparently though, without small talk, Steele was going to subject him to her music. He supposed that, ten years ago or whenever he had been her age, his had been equally tinny and annoying, but it seemed to get worse with each generation.
After an hour of cleaning, which was bad, and being subjected to Jane’s music, which was worse-he may technically have been able to pull rank and have her turn it off, but he wasn’t going to be that guy-his tablet finally buzzed with orders to head down to the Atmospherics Room.
Deck Officer Kalkus stood at the back of the room, speaking with Commander Shan. Both looked grim.
“Ensign Hudson, reporting for duty!” Victor said, snapping to attention, saluting, and hoping that Middie Steele had the sense to do the same.
Shan frowned. “You’re looking rather spry, Ensign. I’m pleasantly surprised by your recovery.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Is the Engine Room functional?” Deck Officer Kalkus cut in, visibly irritated.
“Yes sir!” Victor replied, allowing a bit of pride to show through. It hadn’t been easy-he had had only a single Middie and three Console Jocks from Combat Systems to work with-but he had gotten the ship ready for Antimatter Propulsion in extremely short order.
“The Antimatter Reactor and Storage is usable?”
“Yes sir.”
Alan glanced to the Commander. “In other words, the only problem we have is that we lost some air, and need to refill from the ballast tanks. No big problem.”
“I’m still concerned about the hull-it’ll change the Foldspace profile, and we’ve already had problems with folding. I’m not doubting Ensign Henrik’s ability, I’m just asking to see her calculations after she’s done with them.”
“In which case we’ll relay them to you. There shouldn’t be any real problem though-Ensign Henrick has gone over the AnsComp several times.”
“Understood.” Victor got the distinct impression that Commander Shan just wanted to not have to deal with Alan anymore. “As you were, then.”
As soon as Shan had left the room, Alan sat down, cradling his head in his hands. “She spent the better part of an hour harassing Elise about the damn Ansible. Why, just... Why?”
Victor shared an amused glance with Jane. “My condolences, sir.”
Alan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Are the Antimatter Engines online?”
“My area’s entirely online. I’d caution against drastic acceleration and combat maneuvers, just so I can see it in action, make sure everything’s still working in practice as well as in theory, but we’re definitely good for normal activity-you know, orbit and deorbit burns.”
“Wonderful. Find something to do then, I honestly don’t care what. We’re actually done with this thing, and it’s only twenty-one-hundred. Beautiful. Go eat something.”
The bridge was silent. It was just Kim and Jae, in the darkness, the lights of the various displays the only illumination. Above, the light from the SENCOM room was visible, the four crew members standing by for orders.
“Ansibilics reporting that we are go for the fold.” Jae said, flicking a holographic control over to Kim’s half of the room. There were no physical controls on the Bridge, although there were backups in SENCOM in case the holographic displays failed.
“Is Engine Room also ready?” She asked.
“We’re still waiting. SENCOM is ready, Atmospherics is ready, HVAC is ready, and Combat... Norton’s said that he’s ready, and let’s leave it at that.”
Kim smiled. “What’s the exact phrasing? Or do I really not want to know?”
“The exact wording was unrepeatable. However, I get the distinct impression that his crewmembers are rather unhappy with spending their time entirely inside of Fighter Consoles.”
“They’ll just have to deal with that. They’re Combat Systems. It’s quite literally their job.”
“Precisely.” A light flicked on off to Kim’s left.
“Is that Engine Room?” She asked, gesturing.
Ali glanced over, then nodded. “Yes-one moment.” He tapped the light, then said, “Deck Officer Ali. Yes, we’re ready to fold except for your area. Excellent. Super Nos.” Then, looking back towards Kim, he said “Hudson’s ready.”
She nodded, then tapped another floating light. “Commander Shan to all stations. Stand by to fold.” Then, switching channels to Ansibilics, “Ensign Henrick, execute the fold.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Elise’s voice was tense-she disagreed with Kim’s plan.
“You’re understandably nervous, Ensign. We all are. We both checked over those coordinates though, so we should wind up right where we intend to. Make the fold.”
“Executing.”
The Warblers external visible-light sensors-a fancy way of saying ‘cameras’-activated, showing the starfield that surrounded it. A moment later, it flickered, showing a massive green gas giant off the port bow.
“Engines, Flank Speed!” She heard Jae shout, seeing him fumble with a light out of the corner of her eye.
“SENCOM, get me a picture-what are we looking at here? Asteroid belt? Particulate? Empty space?” Kim said, trying to remain calm. Well, they weren’t inside the star, which was a good sign-Henrick had been more than half convinced that that was what would happen.
“Super-Jovian gas giant. No solid core. No rings, but... Look to our eleven o’clock.” Kim tentatively identified the speaker as Maria Prussin, Sensors Specialist.
Kim turned, seeing a particularly bright star shining-no, that wasn’t a star, it was debris.
Kim swore. “Is there a lot of that?”
“Yeah, we’re surrounded by it.” In astronomical terms, that probably meant that it was scattered with a hundred miles between each piece, but still, it was highly concerning.
“Begin evasive maneuvers then.” She zoomed the camera in on the piece of debris. It was a damaged UTFS drone-nothing special. The name ‘Breaker Bay’ was clearly visible on its side, however.
She inhaled sharply. The Breaker Bay was assigned to Strike Group Warden, with DESRON Six. It had been notable as it had been under the command of Reed Hazzard for the three months prior to the beginning of the war. And if there was anyone she though had an outside chance of actually surviving an apocalyptic war, it was Reed Hazzard.
Stop it. She thought. He’s dead. The Breaker Bay is probably sitting out there, gutted by lasers and KKVs. If it wasn’t, we’d know it.
“Commander Shan? Commander Shan!” She snapped out of her reverie, glancing to Jae. “I don’t know what you’re seeing there, but we’re in a debris field, and it’s more pressing than you spacing out!”
“Apologies. Is there anything directly violating our battlespace?”
“Incidental violation, but not direct. Our orbit is full of wreckage though-and not all of it’s human.”
Kim shuddered. “Does Sensors have a suggested orbit?”
Jae nodded. “They suggest moving us into a Polar Low Orbit-we’re currently in a Clarke Orbit.”
She opened a line to the Engine Room. “Engines, shift our Orbital Inclination by twenty degrees. Stand by for further changes.”
“Copy.”
She glanced towards Jae. “Apologies for that. Just, that drone... I had a couple of friends on that ship.”
“UTFS Breaker Bay?” Jae asked.
Kim nodded. “I knew the Captain.”
“Who was it?”
“Reed Hazzard.” Kim knew that Jae would recognize the name.
The man was silent for a moment. “He was a good man, by all accounts. One of the few people involved in the Governance Committee that actually cared about people.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Understood, Commander.”
Kim glanced at the trajectory projections that were being fed through to the bridge from Engines and SENCOM. That put the Warbler on a path that should take it out of the debris field within a few minutes.
They made it out of the debris field without further incident. It may have been filled with large quantities of debris by spacefaring standards, but in terms of real numbers, it was still overwhelmingly empty space.
Slightly before reaching the northernmost point of the orbit, several thousand miles above the ‘Geosynchronous’ Clarke Orbit that the Warbler had arrived in, she ordered the ship maneuvered until its bow pointed directly towards planetary north. Immediately afterwards, she ordered the Antimatter Drive engaged. The overall effect was to change the orbital inclination drastically, shifting them closer to the desired Polar Orbit.
They would repeat the maneuver every time they reached the northernmost or southernmost point of the orbit, but for the moment that was a long way off. “Time?” She asked, more to herself than anyone else, glancing to the holographic clock at the back of the Bridge.
It was already twenty-three-hundred. Kim glanced back to Jae. “What do you think of postponing Reveille tomorrow?”
Jae nodded. “I personally think that’s an excellent idea.”
Suddenly tired, now that the excitement that invariably came from the finer points of orbital dynamics had worn off, Kim started up the PA System. “UTFS Warbler, this is Commander Shan. Good work today. Reveille is postponed until oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning. Officer of the Night Watches will be following the normal schedule. Super Nos.”
Officer of the Night was one of the worst duties aboard a starship. There had to be someone on the Bridge or SENCOM deck at all times, especially when in a planet's orbit. Most of the time it was merely boring. They’d cross the equator again in another hour and a half, which was right before Reveille anyway.
Officer of the Night was an excellent opportunity to catch up on paperwork or reading or something of the like. She had several of the old Tilde Files arrayed on the table in front of her. The Warbler had been commissioned back in the Second Year of the Republic, and had been immediately assigned to the front lines, based off of the DawnStar Eloi. The old DawnStar battleships had been massive platforms, meant to be placed in orbit around a world and defend it from the Xon. They had primitive Antimatter Drives, capable of changing their orbits and the like, but they weren’t supposed to voyage through deep space. The Imperiata, on the other hand, used only light Cutters and Strike Cruisers, none longer than perhaps a thousand feet, each upgraded to be maximally effective at hit-and-run tactics. The Ictarid Gunboats were supposed to help counter that-a tiny ship, packed with state-of-the-art drives, maneuverability, and far more weapons than they had a right to.
They had failed at that mission. The Gunboats had been too experimental, too untested. The initial loadouts had had only two drone Consoles, with further armament provided by close-range plasma throwers and sabot cannons. The suite of weapons had been managed by an advanced computer program, before it had been decided that automation was both inefficient and qualitatively inferior to just having a human do the task. There had initially been over five hundred Icterids ordered. They underperformed so badly at their intended purpose that less than a hundred of those were ever commissioned.
Admiral Killian had been the one to save them. He had been the one to bring the class into being, and was the one to save it from failure. He had had the weapons systems gutted, and replaced entirely with Drone Consoles. This turned the Ictarids from incredibly horrible starfighters into highly effective small carriers. They didn’t see service again until after the fall of Raven, but when they did, they were well-suited to the new sorts of warfare that developed. A flight of anywhere from three to ten Gunboats would chase down an Imperiata starship, using their superior maneuverability and speed to hound them down, then the flight as a whole would be capable of deploying as many Drones as a much larger carrier. They were brutally efficient, and had made several highly-placed enemies in the Fleet hierarchy for disrupting the traditional Fleet dynamics. They were simply too good, too versatile to be allowed-or at least, that was Kim’s theory as to why such small ships hadn’t been utilized for far more in the Fleet.
She heard footsteps behind her, so she put down the file she had been reading-one of many such glowing reports by Imperiata War-era Skippers on how the Warbler had performed above and beyond all expectations-and turned to face the door.
Ervin Norton stood in the door, looking tired.
“You don’t have to be up for another hour and a half.” She said, turning away.
“Sorry.” He said. “I forgot to turn off my alarm. I honestly didn’t know who was on the last watch this morning. I’ll leave.”
Kim shook her head, sitting back down in her chair, running her hands through her hair, letting it down. “No, you can stay.” She said. “You’re honestly the only person on this ship that I can talk to.” She gestured to Jae’s chair, which was sitting unused by the wall. “Sit if you want.”
He pulled it over to the table, and stretched his arms. “I thought you hated me.” He remarked.
“You lack discipline in many matters.” She said. “You’re blunt, and don’t care for protocol. I dislike those traits in certain circumstances, and admire them in others. You’re highly competent at all of your duties-both flying drones and leading a segment of my crew.” Kim paused for a moment, unsure of whether to continue, but felt compelled to be honest about this. “You’ve also gone out of your way to try to help me get myself out of holes, typically ones that I’ve dug. If there still was a fleet, I’d be referring your name to the First Citizen personally for commendation.”
He looked vaguely surprised by that. “I keep forgetting that you knew him.” He said.
Kim closed her eyes, staring at the ceiling. “I was entwined in all of that, unfortunately. People have a tendency to either idolize or demonize the Governance Committee and the rest of the Republic’s elite. They’re just people. Julian is a very intense man, very goal-driven. He also hates the sight of blood. He’s no coward, he’s just hemophobic. Sheila Hazzard may have a public image of the cold businesswoman, but if you ever meet her in person, she seems almost like any other working mother. The two of them adopted a child after Isabella moved out-Zachary Brennan was the son of a long-time aide of Julian whose shuttle got involved in a foldspace accident.” She shook her head. “It’s one of the only times I’ve ever seen Julian emotional in public about anything.”
“It’s funny. You talk about them like they’re still alive, still with us-but you use their names, not ‘First Citizen’.”
“It’s a coping mechanism. You know that as well as I do. And, well... I shouldn’t be doing that, according to the standard etiquette, but...” Kim trailed off. “It’s complicated.”
“Sorry, shouldn’t have brought it up.” He said, looking away. “I wouldn’t want to be grilled about my friends and family right now either.”
She shook her head. “I knew them. I was close to them. Julian was undoubtedly a mentor to me, but... They weren’t friends. Honestly, in Julian’s case, I’m happy he’s dead.” She spat out that last sentence.
Ervin frowned. “If he was such a mentor to you, why?”
Kim curled her lip. “Nothing different from anyone else with at Tactical story. They want something from you, they kill someone to get your attention, then they get what they want. Routine. Regardless, I never really bonded with any of the Governance Committee or their children, though Julian certainly wanted me to.” That was a lie, but she certainly didn’t want to discuss Reed. That had been a touchy topic, even back before Tantaline. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.” And probably not making a very good impression.
Ervin was silent for a moment. “Like you said, it’s a coping mechanism. We’ll all find different ways around the pain.”
“DO you maybe want to talk for a little while?” She asked. It had been a long time since she had been this awkward around someone. She wasn’t sure exactly why. She could name a dozen reasons-the fact that she had been suspicious of him when he came aboard, the fact that she had openly lied to the crew, the fact that he had called her out on it, him covering for her in the same breath, even potentially attraction.
“What’s there to tell? I had some connections, was trained from the day I could figure out how a tablet worked to be a warrior, and got shipped off to a Kynaki military school as soon as they could do it. I was honestly okay with that though-I didn’t have to deal with any of that Mil-Ind politicking, I could just blow up my problems in a flight sim whenever I felt like venting. Never really had many meaningful friendships, as in Spartoi schools, they do a rather effective job at making sure everyone there knows that the only reason someone’s there is because of mommy or daddy, even if it’s not true.”
Kim nodded. “The Republic has a real issue with nepotism in the military. From the rank of Captain on up, our officers are almost entirely there because of their connections. Their subordinates were one of the finest fighting forces the universe has ever seen, but... Maybe that was all it took? A few bad decisions at the wrong times, and no more Terran species?”
Ervin shook his head. “That might have contributed, but... They fight damn well. We’re good, but their fighters are superior to our drones, smarter and faster. From hearing Ensign Silver-she was in the Marines-talk, they’re even more intimidating in hand-to-hand combat.”
Kim glanced away. “That honestly burns even worse. Having been defeated in a fair fight just makes it even more evident that there’s nothing we could have done about it.”
“If I may change the subject for a moment, Commander, to something equally disturbing but in a slightly different manner... We’re the last Human ship in the universe. Our species is functionally extinct. Well... There’s instances of various populations surviving for hundreds of years with less founding individuals. Even Terran populat-.”
Kim held up a hand. “Yes, that’s a fact of life, Ervin. Please though, the end of the world was two days ago. We, collectively, have bigger concerns than repopulation.”
He nodded. “Apologies, Commander. I just want to make sure that’s something that we’re thinking of.”
Kim shot him a glance. “To be perfectly clear, Deck Officer Norton. We, as in Kimberly Shan and Ervin Norton, are not thinking of this. We, as in the commanding officers of the UTFS Warbler, are. Is this understood?”
“I apologize if you ever thought that the first meaning was what I was insinuating, Commander. I’m perfectly familiar with the Fleet’s regulations, Commander, and wouldn’t dream of violating them.”
Kim stood, trying to find something else to do other than talk to Norton. Thank you for killing the moment. She thought. It was still over half an hour till Reveille, but at least Norton took the hint that he wasn’t wanted anymore, and left the Bridge.
Sighing-honestly, they had been having a pleasant conversation-she kicked back in her chair, and began to draw up the day’s duty roster.
Makoro awoke, surrounded by the sounds of snoring in the Ensign’s Berth. There was something out of place though, something he hadn’t heard since the day he had been ‘Selected’... He could hear crying.
He slipped off of his bunk, hitting the floor softly, feeling the cold metal beneath his bare feet. Quietly, he walked over to the curtain that separated the male and female sides of the room, hesitating for a moment, then opening it slightly. Mary Wentworth, one of Makoro’s fellow pilots, sat on the side of her bed, head buried in her hands, sobbing quietly. Cassidy Freeman sat next to her, an arm around her, both of them wrapped in a blanket from Freeman’s bunk across the room.
Makoro rapped softly on the wall, and she looked up.
“I can’t sleep.” She said. “I’m so sorry.”
Makoro smiled. “It’s no trouble at all.” He gestured towards the hall. “Why don’t we stop into the Mess, get something warm in you?”
Freeman nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’ll do you some good, Mary. Let’s go.”
Wentworth and Freeman stood, the former’s eyes bright with tears. Makoro swiped the door open, and led them to the Mess, rummaging in a cabinet for some of the drink packets they kept on hand for situations such as these. “Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?” He asked, holding up an assortment of packets.
Wentworth didn’t say anything, merely sitting down on one of the metal stools that went around the edge of the room, but Freeman spoke up, saying “Two Coffees, please. Cream and lots of sugar.”
Makoro nodded, starting up the water heater. The shipboard coffee was, as that beverage invariably was, disgusting, so he grabbed himself a tea packet, placing it next to the two packets of coffee mix, as he searched for mugs. “It’s been a very interesting few days, hasn’t it?” He asked.
“Yeah.” Mary said, pulling the blanket tight around her.
“Would you like to talk, or should I just get you a drink? I’m perfectly fine with just being your barista while you have a conversation about deep truths.”
Mary actually laughed at that. “No, no... I shouldn’t be this way. No-one else is. I’m sorry.”
Makoro shrugged. “You’re one of the only ones honest enough to let us see how they’re really feeling. The only other person I’ve seen doing that is our Commander.”
“It’s true, Mary!” Cassidy said, putting her arm around Wentworth again. “I’m keeping this all bottled up, Makoro is I’m sure, and everyone else almost definitely is.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard Hans Henrick talking to his sister about how lucky they were they just happened to be assigned to the same ship.”
Wentworth made a rude hand gesture.
Probably a bad move. Makoro thought. On both of your parts. “The thing to remember is that we’re all in this together. It’s the Warbler versus the universe, and the universe is winning.”
“The universe always wins.” Mary spat. “There are things you can’t escape... Death is one of them. Karma’s another.”
“Taxes?” Cassidy offered.
“Karma?” Makoro asked.
Mary shook her head, cracking a smile. “A fast enough stardrive and it’s funny how the first gets left behind. And maybe it’s not ‘karma’, but the universe seems to have a way of getting back at people for things. When you owe someone a debt, they’ll always collect, sooner or later.”
“I think I understand your meaning.” Makoro said. “We always seem to get our just rewards.” And maybe that means our species deserves this fate.
“The universe does seem to have a way of just being horrible to us though, regardless. Entropy doesn’t discriminate.” Freeman said. “Sometimes bad things happen to the good, the innocent, the undeserving.”
“Hell though, the Republic wasn’t undeserving.” Wentworth spat. “I’ve served it as long as anyone, but it disgusts me. The Republic’s been corrupt for as long as I’ve supported it. We had a chance, a real chance to remake ourselves and our species into something truly wonderful, utopic. That’s what the Republic promised when I joined, but... It’s just a system to consolodate power. The worst part is that I only now have the courage to say that, now that it’s gone. The Spacers were right. The best course was just to strike out on your own. It was demanding, but it gave you the certainty that you were right. You could sleep at night. The Republic was so much easier, but you can’t sleep.”
Cassidy put her arm around Wentworth’s shoulders. “I’m ashamed too. But sometimes you do what you have to do. I joined the Fleet as a nurse. I knew that the Republic did some horrible things, but thought it would provide an opportunity to do good. You said earlier that you joined it after it freed you from the Imperiata-you had every reason to believe that it was good then, and Tactical wasn’t anywhere near as evil as they are now-or, well, were before Tantaline and Saray-back then. We can’t always know what the exact consequences of our actions will be. All we can do is make the best choices we can, and hope it turns out for the best.”
Makoro heard footsteps-a young woman in a Middie’s uniform appeared in the doorway. Her namebadge said ‘SADIRA IBN CASPAR’-the rebellious one from the other night.
Caspar’s eyes darted around the room, taking everything in as she approached Makoro. “Should I go?” She asked, glancing to Freeman and Wentworth.
Makoro shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think that what we all need is a little more companionship, not less.”
Sadira nodded, stepping towards the water heater. “Is there any left?” She asked.
Makoro nodded. “Although it may be only warm by now.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She started humming as she leaned against the counter, preparing a doubly strong cup of coffee.
“We might want to save that.” Makoro observed.
She shrugged. “I doubt we’ll live that long.”
Makoro listened to the sound of her humming for a full minute, before asking, “What is that?”
She shook her head. “A song from the Recon Corp. Just an old shanty we sort of adopted.”
“I know that tune.” Mary said, looking up. “I thought I heard my Captain say, leave her Johnny, leave her. Tomorrow you will get your pay and it’s time for us to leave her.”
Mary took a breath, then launched into a chorus. “Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Sadira glanced up, surprised, then continued the song, her voice higher and clearer than Mary’s. “Oh, the sky was foul and the fuel ran dry. Leave her, Johnny, leave her! She shifted green and flew right by, and it's time for us to leave her.”
This two of them sang the chorus again, voices joining together. “Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Then Mary sang the next verse, voice slightly louder this time. I hate to fly on this old tin can. Leave her, Johnny, leave her! No grog allowed and rotten grub, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Makoro and Cassidy joined in the chorus this time, perhaps slightly out of tune, but getting most of the words correct. “Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her.”
Sadira took up the song again. “We swear by rote for want of more. Leave her, Johnny, leave her!”
As she continued, though, another voice cut in from the door to the Ensign’s Berths. “But now we're through so we'll be planetside, and it's time for us to leave her.” Richard Tvorik stood in the door, inhaling before saying “Final chorus-extra effort now!”
“Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the fold is long and the stars don't shine, and it's time for us to leave her!” This last time they sung whole-heartedly, at the top of their lungs, letting the sounds flow through them. Smiling as the sounds of the last syllable rung out, they glanced to each other, laughing and smiling.
Then a sixth face stuck into the room-Deck Officer Celia Abrams, hair and uniform ruffled, eyes tired. “People are trying to sleep!” She hissed, voice rasping.
Nodding, they each promised to be quieter for the next half hour or so before Reveille. That didn’t stop the smiles.
Whatever else might be, joy was no longer extinct.