First Command (8 page)

“Who are you?” the Monk said

Straightening and speaking as formally as possible, Jonathan answered,

“Jonathan Marcus Pavel, Son of Alexander Pavel, Lt. Captain Solarian Navy, and soon to be Commander of the Republic of Solaria Navy Ship
Titan
.”

“I don’t know you… go away.,” The Monk answered and shut the door.

Jonathan knocked again, and again the Monk opened the door and asked who he was. This time Jonathan only gave his name and rank, again the monk said, “I don’t know you… go away,” and shut the door. Again, Jonathan knocked this time only giving his name, and again the Monk shut the door. Jonathan knocked a fourth time. The Monk opened the door only this time when asked who he was Jonathan replied,

“A poor, mortal soul seeking protection for a voyage through the empty spaces between the skies, where angels fear, and demons flee, and only men such as me dare tread.”

This time the Monk opened the door wide as it could go “Enter and pray.”

Jonathan nodded and strode past the doorman into the vestibule of the temple. There he found one of the cubbies where he left his jacket, hat, and shoes. Outside this place, men held rank and title, but here they were all equal. Entering the inner sanctum, Jonathan was confronted by a familiar sight where the sanctuary was enclosed by an inner wall that was only eight feet tall. This was in contrast to the forty-foot ceiling. The inner wall was a mosaic of star patterns cut in various shapes with no two being exactly the same. The ceiling was plain save for the single carving of a compass rose directly above the altar. The room was lined with small statues all exactly a foot high placed at eye level on pedestals. The statues were images of the various holy men and deities of human history. Jesus, the Buddha, Confucius, Mohammed, Abraham, Isaac, Ishmael, Shiva, Zeus and many others. At the center of the room stood the altar. This was a plain stone circle that surrounded a twelve-foot statue of a robed figure the sex of which was ambiguous and whose face was covered by a veil. There were several people in the sanctuary, but they all ignored each other because in this place a man was alone. Where Jonathan entered there stood a row of boxes, each containing coins of a different metal. Most men reached for the first box that held brass, the metal of the merchant. A few grabbed copper the metal of the craftsman from the second. Jonathan reached into the third one and withdrew two iron coins, iron being the metal of the warrior. Each coin had an image stamp on one side. One bore the likeness of Michael the Warrior Angel, the other Mars the Roman god of war. On the back of each coin, the inscription was the identical phrase in the long, long dead language of Latin - “
Bellum ut Deus gratiam” 
“May the god of war favor you.” Jonathan closed the coins in one hand, and approached the alter kneeling before it he recited a prayer. “To you God by which ever name you wish to be called, bless me now in my endeavor. Let me chart my course well, steer clear of dangers and return my crew to the place they call home.” Pausing for a moment Jonathan continued the next part of the prayer for the first time, “If it be your will, we fall in battle. Guide us to the house of our fathers, for we have wandered far and wide in the empty places in between, and if our bodies never lay in earthen ground may our souls at least find rest.” Kissing one of the coins Jonathan placed it upon the altar and kept the other in his pocket “A token of my faith to you Alpha and Omega, Creator and Destroyer, All Powerful and All Powerless, may we who are about to sin through war be redeemed in your eyes.” Jonathan went to both knees and touched his head to the floor. He rose and left the sanctuary collecting his clothes and leaving through one of the side doors. It was interesting to some academics that a huge number of Spacers, a profession that had began as a trade dedicated to science, were by in large a deeply religious lot. The Temple of Stellanauta, which Jonathan had just left, was a favorite of spacers and most of its order were former Spacers themselves. Academics wrote papers, books, and dissertations on why people who lived and worked in space were so prone to religiousness. Their theories varied widely, but Jonathan tended to agree with the Stellanauta’s interpretation, which was what their doctrine was based around. Men were small, small things in a Universe whose vastness and wonder was immeasurable. Living up there in the great expanse of nothing where whole worlds could be reduced to tiny dots dancing in sun beams, it was comforting to believe some deity was watching over the mortal souls of men. What that deities name was, its gender or which human doctrine or faith was most accurate was beside the point. The Stellanauta strove to be a place where millennium of man’s faith could be simultaneously acknowledged and ignored. As far as Jonathan knew, it was the only religion whose answer to any question was ‘we don’t know.’ Keeping to the traditions of the faith, Jonathan didn’t look at the coin in his hand till he was out of sight of the temple then when he pulled it from his pocket and looked down he saw the hard-eyed visage of Michael Sword of Wrath in his hand staring back. Jonathan smiled. It was a good omen.  The Judeo-Christian believed Michael was the Angel who cast Satan from heaven. For a soldier who waged all his battles in what the ancient had considered heaven there could be no better patron. Clutching the coin tight in his hand, Jonathan hurried to reach the station in time for his lift. 

Chapter III

Macran Station
, 200 Miles Above Levelflats, Solaria System, Solarian Republic

On board
RSNS Titan
DD-0023

January 26
th
841 AE  (2802 AD) 13:15 Local Time

Commander William Trendale was not a happy man. An unusual state of being for him because William Hamilton Trendale III was usually a jovial and easy going chap. Thirty-two years old, standing six foot five, weighing in at a lean 190lbs, with copper hair, green eyes and a complexion most worlds considered Caucasian, but on Solaria was thought of as pale. William Trendale looked, sounded and walked as Landed as was possible. Trendale’s physical traits were not unusual for a Landed, though a little more pronounced. Landed’s tended to be taller and fairer than Steaders, the benefit of their ancestors originating from the well fed, upper-class of the more developed nation states of old Earth, as opposed to the Steaders whose ancestors tended to hail from less developed, poor climes.  The Provos of course were a mixed bag. Their physical appearance could vary as wildly as the shape of the clouds in the sky. William Trendale was not happy because despite making the rank of Commander four years ago, he had again been passed over for promotion, and if that wasn’t enough the criminal incompetence of his former superior Aloise Green had left him under scrutiny from the Naval Provost Investigation Service and the National Police Bureau of Investigations ever since the
Hydra
scandal had broken. To be fair, Trendale had been suspicious of his former CO’s sudden interest in extra replenishment from local contractors, but he’d assumed it was some kind of Foreign Ministry scheme to foster good will with the local poo bahs. He certainly never suspected it was part of a criminal enterprise. Damn it! He was a Tactical Officer not a Policeman. Currently, William was overseeing the
Titan’s
refit instead of sulking in a bar as he had already done for the past three and a half months while his former Captain languished in a prison cell. Of course William had only been able to drown his sorrows when not dodging reporters, interviewing with investigators, and avoiding calls from his family. As if
Titan’s
very public shaming hadn’t been enough, on the journey back to Solaria William, still under investigation at the time, had been confined to quarters with all the other senior officers and NCOs while a replacement crew had conned the ship. Then yesterday, while doing his best to disguise a hangover and supervising some of the bloody refit, William had received a message that the ship’s new CO would be arriving within the next few days. No details, typical for the Admiralty. Having spent the morning in a funk, William prowled the ship endlessly. Since
Titan
had yet to receive orders or a new CO most of her officers should have been on leave. The message saying that a new CO was imminent was the signal to call them all back to the ship. Most had already arrived. The only one who hadn’t reported aboard yet was Walton Walder the ship’s Surgeon, and the new Quartermaster. The old one was starting a lengthy stint of hard labor with the former Captain Green. Currently though, the only people on board beside the officers were the yard dogs and a skeleton crew from the ship’s engineering section. The rest of the crew, those who lacked the seniority to jump ship, was on shore leave till the end of the week. This leave being their last hurrah before heading to space again.  William was in the forward gun battery chastising a terrified Technical from the Yard crew for a relatively minor safety offense, when his pager buzzed. Cuing the holo-projector in his neural implant, he brought up the image of a panicky looking Lt. Daimion Krishna, the Communication and Electronic Warfare officer who was currently on bridge watch.

“What.” William said harshly taking note the Yard tech took the opportunity to flee.

“Begging your pardon sir, but I’ve received a message from our new CO.” Krishna replied barely keeping it together.

“Yes, speak up man. Has he let us know when he’ll be arriving?” William asked redirecting his frustration from the Yard tech to the hapless Lt.

“Um, the message says with Captain Pavel's compliments he will arrive at precisely 13:30 hours.”

Glancing at the chrono display in the corner of his HUD, William suddenly started to panic himself. The new CO was arriving in less than fifteen minutes, which gave William fifteen minutes to throw together a shore party. Turning and bolting down the passageway toward his quarters where a fresh uniform lay, William switched to audio-only with Krishna.

“Alert everyone onboard and have the Bosun grab some marines and spacers. I don’t care if they’re from this ship. We just need bodies for a shore party. Put them in whites and get them lined up.”

“Aye sir,” Krishna’s voice replied.  “Sir, isn’t it undress uniform for welcoming a new CO?”

William didn’t know off the top of his head. He’d never welcomed a new CO aboard ship before. All his previous postings the Captain was already well entrenched, or William had arrived shortly after them but never before. He didn’t have time to look up the regulations. Blast this new Captain! One of the unwritten rules of Navy courtesy was that at least an hour’s notice was needed to be given before the arrival of a superior officer. It gave the receiving officers time to get everything ship-shape.

“No, it’s full-whites. I’m sure. Get yours on and get down to the main hatch straight away.”

William hung up before Krishna could reply already opening the door to his quarters and throwing on his full dress whites as fast as humanly possible.

At 13:30, Jonathan Pavel in his undress khakis, with his neatly pressed cap, and with his luggage in an automated cart following him, pushed off the dock and floated up the 90-foot length of the umbilical cord which connected the RSNS
Titan
to
Macran
Space Dock 3. Grabbing the handle at the other end, Jonathan swung into the main entryway landing as gracefully as a professional gymnast. A Bosun’s pipe played the traditional melody, as Jonathan turned to the assembled officers and men. The site startled him a bit. The shore party was arrayed in perfect parade formation. There was a line of about thirty Spacers on the left, and a small squad of Marines on the right with Officers lined up in front of the spacer, however instead of the undress uniform as they should be, the entire formation was in full dress uniform. Officers and spacers in white and gold with peaked caps for officers and berets for enlisted and NCOs. The Marines were in their black jackets and white trousers with white caps. Jonathan absorbed the situation for a moment, and walked directly to the tall copper-haired Commander. The personnel file Jonathan had reviewed on the lift up identified as William Trendale the ship’s senior officer and Jonathans new XO. Trendale seemed to have suddenly come down with a case of severe sweating, but was doing his best to keep his face impassive. Saluting, Jonathan spoke, “Permission to come aboard sir.”

Returning the salute, Trendale stumbled on the reply, “Um huh permission granted sir.”

“Thank you” Jonathan said giving no indication he noticed Trendale’s mistake.

Breaking the ornate wax seal on the parchment he’d received in Admiral Key’s office, Jonathan addressed the assembled officers and men. “Attention now,”

Jonathan read the parchment “I Lt. Captain Jonathan Pavel, do hereby take command of RSNS
Titan
effective immediately upon these orders being read. Signed High Admiral of the Fleet Marcus Ho, Cosigned Minister of Defense, Jian Orbuckle, and approved by Tomas Banjour Premier of the Solarian Republic by the will of the people and the consent of the Senate.”

Turning to Trendale Jonathan saluted, “I relieve you sir.”

“I stand relieved sir.” Trendale replied.

Jonathan turned once more to look past the Marines and Spacers stating, “I’m now in command.”

And with that in the same fashion that a Captain had taken command of every Solarian navy ship for the last three centuries, Jonathan Pavel was now officially master and commander of RSNS
Titan.