The Calaphis was normally a cargo vessel. She wasn't the fastest ship or the most heavily armed, but she could carry a whole bunch of stuff. That's what made her current mission so unusual.
The ship was on her way back from a typical deployment to Pluto Station, a scientific research facility. Ships traveling to Neptune were rare. Only one ship went to Pluto, and only once every five years. Pluto Station had only one export: data. That's why it was so strange that this time the Calaphis was bringing something back.
The cargo they were bringing back was not in the hold, but rather the brig. It had been discovered over a year ago that one of Pluto Station's residents was none other than former Propaganda Minster Yaron Coatchleve, a wanted war criminal. Apparently, though, not so wanted as to be sent for by a faster ship. Being held in solitary confinement for the past year had led the former Propaganda Minister to madness, and with that madness bouts of screaming that did little for the crew's morale.
Quartermaster Thelma Marcus was particularly displeased. Not so much with the situation, but with the crew's handling of it. Most of the basic crewmen couldn't care less and this was what had the lieutenants worried.
The crewmen were too young to remember the time after the Colony Wars, but not the lieutenants. They had seen how quickly regimes like the Republic could turn from order and peacekeeping to vengeance and chaos. The end of a war is meant to be the end of violence, but even after the Republic's victory, it was another two decades before the bloodshed ceased. Most freemen operating in space, having a distaste for war and violence, turned to a moral code of Antebellum – treat all as before the war. To exacerbate problems, Captain Atlas chose not to inform any of the crew of the situation before arriving at Pluto.
Lying half asleep in her cabin, Thelma was aroused by the percussive clack of the ionic pulse drive. It was the seventeenth pulse, which meant the ship was finally up to cruising speed and it would be only another three months before arriving at Neptune. It was going to be a long three months because there was a ration on sedatives, with most of the ship's supply going to the prisoner. If it were up to Thelma, she would be the one sleeping through the screaming instead of him.
"Well," she said out loud, "if I'm going to be awake, I might as well have a cup of coffee."
She made her way towards the galley.
She hoped it would be deserted, but of course no one else had any sedatives either. If sleeping was the number one pastime on the Calaphis, talking was number two. As always, the discussion was being led by the ship's senior engineer Sam Hemlock, who everyone called Boxer on account of his theory that every concept in engineering was a variation of a box and would often refer to the Calaphis as a "very elaborate and ornate crate".
Sitting at the table with him was Crewman Jeffery Arthuse and Crewman Beth Polaris. Arthuse was Boxer's apprentice, but recently Thelma had nominated him for the position of Master's Mate and he was currently under evaluation. Beth Polaris was a native of Neptune and this was her first assignment out of the Academy.
The very sight of the galley only made Thelma's head pound worse than it already was. Nothing but curved steel bolted to the floor. Grey on grey on grey. Just another reminder that the ship was nothing more than a bottle of air slipping through the void and certain death of space.
"If I had known we would were going to be carrying a prisoner," said Boxer, "I would have stayed on Neptune!"
"You would not have," said Arthuse. "You just would have started complaining four months earlier. But you're getting no arguments from me. The guy is a war criminal. I wouldn't shed a tear if he had to spend another five years in solitary on Pluto waiting to be picked up. I could do without the screaming, but the power tools drown it out well enough."
"That's not the point, Arthuse," said Boxer. "The point is that it is not for us to say what this man deserves. There is a reason we haven't had a prisoner on this ship in over twenty years. This is a ship of freemen, and freemen don't keep prisoners."
"Better be careful what you say, Boxer," said Arthuse. "Polaris here might look like a green cadet, but she's really a spy for the Republic!"
Polaris made a face like a vole in a spotlight before Arthuse assured her it was only a joke.
"Speaking of spies," said Boxer, "maybe instead of eavesdropping on us our quartermaster would like to join the discussion."
Thelma, who had been leaning against the mess counter, took a sip of her coffee before taking a seat with the others at the table.
"First off," said Thelma, "you being loud, Boxer, does not make me an eavesdropper. Secondly, I'm going to have to confiscate your flask, Crewman Arthuse."
"What makes you think that I have a flask?" asked Arthuse.
"Because if I am going to sit here and talk about everything that may or may not be right in the universe, then I am going to need a drink. Polaris is too green to be carrying a flask. If Boxer has a flask, then by now it is empty or else he wouldn't have asked me to sit down. Since I am sitting here, it means someone is going to pour me a drink, which leaves you, Arthuse," said Thelma.
Arthuse pulled a chrome flask from his coveralls and handed it to Thelma. All the while Boxer laughed and scratched away at his white curly beard. She took a sip of what was a distinctly sour mash corn ethanol now mixed into her coffee. It wasn't a sedative, but it was the next best thing.
"It's really quite simple," said Thelma, "the Republic exists whether you like it or not. That's just a matter of fact. Cargo is cargo. You'll be more than justly compensated. None of the freemen principles of law are being violated. It's a simple case of uti possidetis, a matter of situation."
"So we're a prisoner transfer ship now. Glad to hear it. I'll start converting Bay 1 into a full sized brig. Where do you want to put the torture chamber?"
"Come on now, Boxer, are we having a discussion or are we building strawmen?" snapped Thelma. "You know that this is an outlier."
"The first time is always and outlier," replied Boxer.
"Listen, Boxer," said Thelma, "is it not true that a job should be done in the best way possible?"
"Aye, it is true," said Boxer.
"And is it not also true that in order for a job to be done in the best way possible that it must be done by those who can best perform the task?"
"Aye, that is also true," said Boxer.
"Since the Republic had the best soldiers in the galaxy, were they not best suited to win the war?"
"That they were."
"And as Yaron Coatchleve's work only led to the defeat of his own people, is he not best suited to be a prisoner?"
"You could say that. But you're stretching your point."
"Okay, fair enough," said Thelma, "but is the Calaphis not best suited to transport anything from Pluto to Neptune?"
"Indeed it is. It could be done by no other," conceded Boxer.
"And is the current crew not the best crew to operate the Calaphis?"
"I would assume so, for if it was not, then we would not be its crew but instead others would be," said Boxer.
"And could anyone engineer this ship better than you, Boxer?" asked Thelma.
"No. No one could."
"Then, is it not your responsibility to transport Yaron Coatchleve to the custody of the Republic?" Thelma slammed her hand down on the table. The boys in engineering sure knew how to make a drink.
"If the parts have a function, so must the whole," said Arthuse. "Looks like she's got you dead to rights, Boxer."
"Not necessarily..." replied Boxer.
Arthuse and Polaris let out a chuckle at that, but Thelma was less than amused.
"And why the hell not, Boxer?" Thelma asked.
"While I appreciate your approach, Thelma, that is the box within the box within the box. Obviously you meant to appeal to my personal philosophy, but you get too focused on the finer details and get distracted from the biggest box. While a task should be done by those most able to produce the best possible result, do not assume that just because a task can be done, that that task should be done."
"Oh? You don't think it should be done? Fine." Thelma stood up. "Up everyone! That's an order! Unless you want to share a bunk with Yaron Coatchleve, get your arse out of your chairs follow me."
Despite the grumbling, the crew knew better than to ever call Thelma on a bluff, because she never did.
They complied and soon made their way towards the brig.
"You will stand down, Lieutenant!" Thelma was shouting at poor Lieutenant Xeno, who only simply wanted to do his job, which isn't easy when a superior officer is telling you not to do it. The brig was nothing more than a small room with a smaller room inside of it. Xeno felt rather claustrophobic with just himself in the room. The addition of four personnel made it even worse. No one could take a breath in there without bathing in the stink of another person.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you know I cannot do that without orders from either Captain Atlas or Doctor Baccus, of whom you are neither, ma'am."
Thelma was pretty wasted at this point, but not wasted enough to wake up Captain Atlas. So instead she called Doctor Baccus, who arrived shortly.
"Master Marcus! I am quite certain that you and your crewmates are highly intoxicated. What in your right mind would make you think I would release the prisoner to the care of your motley crew?"
"Thelma has a point to prove," said Boxer.
"And what point would that be?" Baccus asked.
"Well," said Thelma, "if I told you it wouldn't be a very effective demonstration now would it? Now, let's get the prisoner out here so we can get to it!"
"You know I can't do that," said the doctor, "and you know that Lieutenant Xeno can't do that either. Not until at least one of you starts making some sense. Now, how about instead of trying to harass my patient, I give you all something to sober up."
"Sober up?!" Thelma exclaimed. "Now, Doctor, I do believe you are attempting to start a mutiny! First you ration our sedatives, now you are trying to remove the one thing keeping anyone from going mad in this tin can! Lieutenant Xeno, I order you to place Doctor Baccus under arrest for mutiny!"
"You can't be serious, ma'am?" Xeno's voice was cracking from the stress.
"I am completely serious," replied Thelma.
"I will have to notify the captain, ma'am."
"You just go right ahead then," said Thelma. At least I won't be the one to wake him up then, she thought to herself.
"Xeno! You can't!" Baccus cried.
"Orders are orders, Doctor."
Arthuse grabbed Polaris by the elbow and began to pull her out the bulkhead door.
"Don't you dare go anywhere, Arthuse," said Thelma. "You and Polaris are both witnesses."
"Is it always this exciting around here?" Polaris asked.
"This is an outlier," Boxer said.
Captain Atlas awoke to the sound of the klaxon alarm and the flashing yellow emergency light above his bed.
Atlas rolled over and injected a stim stick into his thigh. It was the only real way to come out of a sedated sleep quickly. Within seconds his quarters turn from a blurry slit to a full blown hyper-realization of reality. He leapt out of bed slightly faster than his legs were ready for. He slipped into his EVA pants so he wouldn't have to bother to lace his boots and opened up the emergency communications channel.
"This is Atlas. Damage report!"
"No damage, sir. It is Quartermaster Marcus, sir, she's placed the doctor under arrest."
"Arrest? For what?"
"Mutiny, sir."
"God," said Captain Atlas, "I hate Pluto."
When Captain Atlas arrived at the brig the group was a sweaty, silent mess.
Atlas looked no better. His pants were the bottom half of an EVA suit, his top was a flannel pajama shirt, and, topped off with his captain's hat, they made him look like a fisherman in his waders who had gotten lost on his way to the river.
"Somebody better start talking," said the Captain, "or I'm going to throw the whole lot of you in the brig."
"Sir," said Xeno, who had enough sweat coming off of his brow to fill a hydroponic tank, "Quartermaster Marcus has ordered the arrest of Doctor Baccus on the charge of mutiny, sir."
"Yes," the Captain grumbled, "I got the memo already. How are you doing, Doctor?" The captain leaned against the door and peered through the little glass window where he saw Doctor Baccus taking Yaron's pulse.
"Just fine, Captain," replied the Doctor. "I had to check on my patient anyway. I think your crew might be a bit intoxicated."
"Alright then, Thelma," said Atlas, "on what grounds did you have the doctor arrested?"
"On the grounds of interfering with my task of stabilizing crew morale."
"Does the crew need stabilizing?" Captain Atlas asked.
"It will if I'm not allowed to do my job."
"Well then," said Captain Atlas while rubbing his eyebrows with one hand, "for the sake of morale and the sake of me going back to bed, Quartermaster Marcus has the command."
"You can't be serious, Captain!" Doctor Baccus cried from within the cell.
"I am very much serious, Doctor. I cannot have an unstable crew this far out from a habitable planet. Thelma has always been correct in the past and there are times I wish I had listened to her when I hadn't. So this time I am."
"But she's drunk!" Doctor Baccus contested.
"Everyone is drunk, Doctor, and it's no way to run a ship," Atlas retorted. "Thelma, do what you have to do, but it better be good, or you'll be in the brig next."
"Fair enough, Captain," said Thelma. "Xeno, release the prisoner to me. Doctor Baccus is not to interfere."
"Yes, ma'am," Xeno replied. He opened door and Doctor Baccus stood between Xeno and the prisoner.
"You wouldn't," said the doctor.
"Don't think I can't shoot you just because you are the only doctor on board. You can still perform surgery without a kneecap," Xeno said. All the tension was getting to him and he really wouldn't have minded shooting someone at this point, but he hadn't gotten to that point yet. The look in his eyes was enough to convince the doctor, who stood down from his position. "You're all clear," said Xeno to Thelma.
Thelma grabbed Yaron's gurney and wheeled it out of the brig. "Follow me, everyone," she said. "Everyone, that is, but Doctor Baccus."
Xeno shut the door on Doctor Baccus and the entire rest of the group, including the captain out of curiosity, followed Thelma and the gurney down the hall to the nearest airlock. Upon arrival, Thelma put the gurney along with Yaron Coatchleve in the airlock and shut the door.
"Alright now, Boxer," said Thelma, "if you think you have the moral high ground, go ahead and push the button. Flush your problems along with everyone's pay out the airlock. I'll take the responsibility, but you have to push the button. The choice is yours."
The room was so quiet that one could hear the drops of sweat hitting the floor.
"I'm not going to push the button," Boxer finally said.
"Are you sure? Because those are really your only two choices right now. You can push the button or willing transport a prisoner. If you don't push the button, then I don't want to hear another peep out of you about it or I'm throwing you in the brig too!"
"I'm not going to push the button," Boxer said again.
"Fine, then it's settled," said Thelma. With that she opened the inner airlock door and pulled the gurney back into the corridor. "I release the prisoner back into the care of Doctor Baccus, who is to be released, and I return command back to the captain."
It was a very quiet and tiring walk back to the brig. It had been quite an exciting hour for everyone. The doctor was relieved to be a freeman again and to have his patient back in his care.
"Doctor Baccus," said the captain, "I want you to hand out sedative packs to any crew member who wants one."
"But Captain," said Doctor Baccus, "if I do that, there may not be enough for the patient."
"Apparently, if you do not, Doctor, there may not be a patient to administer them to. Do as you are ordered, Doctor."
"Yes, Captain."
With a sedative pack in hand, Thelma made her way back to her cabin for a much needed nap.
When she finally awoke it was three weeks later. They were still another ten weeks out from Neptune and the ship's engines were humming steadily, with no sounds of screaming prisoners. She took her time preparing herself to inspect the ship. There was no indication that she would need to rush. After a few hours she decided to make her way to the galley and fix herself a coffee.
When she got there, a number of crew were dining. Then, they all stopped eating, talking, or doing whatever else they were doing and looked up at her. Then, just a quickly, they all looked down and started silently eating their food. I guess word got around that I'm not one to mess with, she thought to herself.
She got herself some coffee and a soy burger and walked over to the table where Arthuse was eating and sat down. Without saying a word or looking at her, Arthuse got up from the table and walked away.
How odd, Thelma thought as she finished her sandwich. After she was finished, she walked around the room trying to strike up a conversation with different crew members only to get the same response. Walking down the hall, she ran into Polaris.
"What is going on here?" Thelma demanded of her.
"I'm sorry," said Polaris, "I'm not supposed to talk to you."
"Why not?"
"I'm sorry," Polaris said again as she scurried away.
Finally, Thelma made her way to the brig where Xeno was again guarding the prisoner.
"Xeno, what the hell is going on here?"
"I guess no one told you. I didn't know if they were going to stick to that, but I guess they did."
"Xeno, what is it? Tell me!"
"It's Boxer. He's dead."
"He died?"
"He electrocuted himself with an arch welder."
"My god! Was he working drunk again?"
"No. It was self-inflicted... On purpose."
"Self-inflicted? How? Why?"
"He left a note. Apparently it was for you. It said, 'There is always another choice'."
[End]
