Timofie Pueson may have been the Captain, in the strictest sense of the word, but Boro Stevin knew that the Forseti was his ship. Captain Pueson spent the majority of his time holed-up on the bridge, likely staring into the great black beyond; a pastime that would have left someone with a hungrier intellect starved to death. Not to mention that he willingly chose to never set foot inside a stasis pod. There were a handful of such weirdos on board, including the Thorian and the Techever.

Pueson’s captainly attention was largely limited to the dozen or so Navy personnel in the mostly Human crew, though he did seem to wear as a badge of pride each occasional debriefing or chance encounter in the galley with the civilian side of their operation. After each such meeting, Captain Pueson would go on at length about how even though this was first and foremost a military operation, it served to have an appreciation for everything that was going on aboard the ship. The fact that Pueson would muse about this in that soft voice that Boro considered unbecoming of a ship’s captain, always added a sprinkle of irony to this lecture, particularly coming from an otherwise tall imposing man crowned by a round head that was covered in short dark hair that seemed desperate to crawl away in every direction.

Captain Pueson was one of those dime-a-dozen officers of the ORC Navy fleet, contributing not so much to regression but at the very least to the stagnation of Human potential in the Known Reaches. Himself Boro saw primarily as the son of Admiral Avanthy Stevin, hero of the battle of Krevali that concluded the War of the Last Gasp. This made Boro an heir to the kind of bold leadership that could pave Humanity’s way through the stars. He therefore chose to bring more hands than mouth to this hands-on approach to the ship, preferring to seep like blood into every corner of the Forseti, sometimes even when it was on stasis rotation. The ship ran on a standard Navy schedule with a maximum of one week in pods and a minimum of two weeks out. Boro largely adhered to the regime, except for the occasional day that he spent mostly alone with the ship, away from the cranky civilians who were used to clocking themselves out for large chunk of a journey and, lacking discipline to keep themselves occupied for long periods of time, did not appreciate being forced to bend their schedules to the ORC Navy crew.

Despite the preference to free-roam his domain, even Boro was beholden to official mandatory duty schedules, which is how he found himself bidding a reluctant goodbye to Ory Sufai, the ship’s doctor, and Aimi Ishikawa, the head engineer, and heading from the galley down to the bridge.

When Boro entered the bridge, a domed room that had just the right space for the seven to eight individuals that were normally stationed there, with a recessed platform in the middle for the pilot’s chair, Captain Pueson barely moved his head in acknowledgement. “Commander Stevin, it’s been so long I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize you the next time I saw you.” It had been two days since Boro’s last bridge shift, though he supposed that when your surroundings change as frequently as that of a lonely hilltop tree, that would be the equivalent of half an eternity.

Still, Surch Guraty chuckled from the pilot’s chair. “The disguised prince returns from mingling with the common folk.”

The Captain gave his own version of a chuckle, which was more of a whispered wheeze, and went back to his work.

Boro crossed his arms and stood on the main floor, behind and slightly above Surch, studying the massive display at the head of the bridge, which was currently showing the sector map. Surch, who primarily flew fighters on sub-light engines for most of his career, found it unsettling that when skimming subspace on long hauls there was no frame of reference to be seen for the pilot outside the ship but a darkness devoid even of starlight.

“How are we doing for time?” Boro asked as the sector map zoomed out to encompass their destination.

“About four weeks out of Yshot Station,” Surch replied, his hand resting on one of the molded spheres in his chair’s armrests that served as his controls. “Which is about two days better than we were expecting. I haven’t flown anything that required so little in terms of manual course corrections. You could probably put me in cold storage right now and we’d still get to that wormhole right on schedule.”

“It’s easy to forget because it doesn’t look like much, but the Forseti is a credit to the ORC fleet,” Captain Pueson pointed out. Surch threw a conspiratorial look back at Boro. The Captain may have felt the need to pump the tires of the ORC, but with only one Wentry on board and no Fusirs, this was clearly a Human ship despite the odd incursion here and there from alien species.

“Only four short weeks, huh,” Boro said under his breath.

“Something troubling you, Commander?” Pueson asked.

“Not so much ‘troubling’, but a sense that the bridge is about to get a bit too crowded.”

“You talking about the Thorian? Seems like a decent enough guy,” Surch replied.

“For a Thorian,” Boro added.

“That goes without saying.”

Surch tended to share Boro’s belief that the non-Navy members of the crew were a nuisance foisted upon them as a result of political appeasements rather than sound military decision making, but unlike Boro, who believed it was a leader’s responsibility to make sure that even a nuisance should be studied and put to good use, Surch took the Captain’s approach, preferring to hole up in the “brain” of the ship as he liked to call it. This disappointed Boro, given that during their Academy days together Surch Guraty showed a lot of promise, but now on their first commission in years, Surch was merely the pilot while Boro rose as high as second-in-command.

“I have no problem with Mr. Mikarik as an individual,” Boro continued. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like him being here with us on a daily basis.”

“You’re concerned that we shouldn’t trust the Thorian?” Captain Pueson asked, as if Boro’s response would make any difference as to how this mission would be conducted.

With Surch and Pueson, Boro may have been a bit more unrestrained in his answer, but there was one other individual on the bridge, the Parsk Nahur. The weapons specialist hovered over his console meekly, despite his height, though he loudly announced his presence with the heavy perfume he used to mask his species’ incredibly offensive aroma. Two massive cheek pouches rested on his permanently hunched shoulders and stored and absorbed slowly dissolving food within their fleshy confines. Between this, their lack of hair, and the open nose through which they talked, the Parsk Nahur were not the most pleasant experience to be around. Pueson stood right over him, and Boro wondered how he could stand it. Whoever thought assigning a Parsk Nahur to a bridge position possessed a twisted sense of humour that Boro almost admired.

“I know Mikarik has been vetted to death by those far better at judging character than me,” Boro preempted the pacifying assurances he knew the Captain was ready to sling at him, “but having him here, looking over our shoulders, breathing down our necks. He already makes most of the crew nervous, and having him up here isn’t going to help much. Meslina will certainly be less than pleased.”

“Officer Meslina is a professional, and I’m sure she will handle herself professionally whatever the circumstances. And I would expect the same from you, Commander,” Captain Pueson said in his usually hushed tones, making it impossible to determine if this was an actual admonishment.

“I would expect the same from myself, Captain. But I have my own responsibilities to this crew, which is why I want to be on the record that I’m not happy with this arrangement.”

“We’re not here to be happy.”

“And that’s one of my biggest problems with the Navy, honestly,” Surch chimed in. “If Boro is on the record over his complaint, I want that one to be mine.

A non-committal smile crossed Captain Pueson’s lips. “Thank you, Lieutenant Guraty. What we’re here for is the mission, and you know as well as I that we’re not going to navigate through the expanse of the Thorian Empire without insider knowledge, even while ghosted.”

“That’s just it.” Boro continued, “I still don’t think we need to needle right through it. With enough provisions we could’ve skirted around the edges of Dead Space and no one would be the wiser. No Thorians to worry about on the outside, and certainly none to worry about on the inside.”

“You’re fully aware that we don’t have the luxury of that kind of time.”

“Yes, I’m fully aware that the science team is worried that the wormhole might close before we get there and they have a chance to play around in it. A science team full of Iastret, mind you, who’re not the ones who have to keep this ship together while we’re carrying a fox in the henhouse.”

Whatever the Captain had to say in response was interrupted by the blare of the intercom which the Parsk Nahur flicked on with his fleshy finger.

“Pueson here.”

“Captain, this is Dr. Sufai. I’m in the galley and there’s a uh … disagreement and it might end up needing my attention, so …” As if offered as evidence, the intercom caught the clang of metal in the background, and Pueson turned to Boro.

“Do you mind taking this one?”

“Not at all.”

Surch turned around in his chair and looked up at Boro. “Leaving us so soon? Look at you, it’s like your whole day is ruined.”

Boro only smiled wider at the accusation. “I’m sure this won’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Maybe not, but the paperwork will. Glad it’s you and not me.”

“You sure you don’t want to come up with me, be an extra witness?”

“Nah, I’m good right here.” Surch patted both the steering spheres and turned his attention back to the screen.

Pilots. Boro couldn’t understand it – how they could sit all day in those chairs, but I guess that’s why they made them even more luxurious than the ones set aside for the Captains.

Other than the more utilitarian parts of the ship, like the bridge and the engine room, the Forseti did its best to make its inhabitants forget that they were even on a starship. Heavy-duty blue carpets layered over laminate flooring lined the public areas of the ship, while plasticized wood paneling covered the bulk of its interior walls, giving the reinforced wood a slight sheen but otherwise to an undiscerning eye passing for unmodified material straight from the homeworld. Screens depicting passing scenery were fitted into the walls like windows, creating the illusion that they were not actually hurtling through the bleakness of subspace.

Unlike long-haul passenger liners where most were expected to put themselves in stasis, the Forseti had personal cabins for each crewmember that made efficient use of space but were decorated with the same faux-windows and a few drought-tolerant plants. Boro tried experimenting with a static landscape, but knowing that he was on a constantly moving object made for an unsettling effect.

On today’s visual menu were purple and green flats speckled by lakes of varying sizes. If Boro had to guess, they were soaring over Mrabr, the Mraboran homeworld. It wouldn’t have been Boro’s first pick as he preferred to bask in something closer to home.

As Boro took the elevator back up to the galley, Boro wondered what could have went down there in the short amount of time that he was gone. By and large, everyone still seemed to be coexisting peacefully. Though it wouldn’t have been Boro’s ship if he hadn’t been aware of a few conflagrations of tempers over the past couple of weeks. A few days ago, he had received another call from Sufai, whose voice on the other end of the line was beginning to make him jumpy. What he found was Tuka Rose, one of the maintenance crew, with bruised knuckles and a swollen thumb, tight-lipped about what had punched his hand that badly, so all Boro managed to gather was that some form of card game had been involved. Boro didn’t push it – at least they were still trying to cover for each other.

Perhaps the situation up in the galley wouldn’t be as bad as he imagined. The Doctor didn’t seem terribly phased when she relayed the news, and she struck him as someone who would be phased easily – slight of build and with a voice that made the young face seem even more inexperienced, he figured she would be particularly sensitive to the friendly ribbing that came as second nature to more hardened Navy types.