Samson had done his best to separate the ship’s name from its previous owner. Arlen’s body had already been spaced, after a brief funeral service that endeavoured to be respectful to all traditions, not knowing what, if anything, Arlen had believed in.
Kushnir had cleared away most of the blood, having drawn Samson’s mental short straw, but he was still at it, and Samson was doing his best not to watch. He wondered if he would ever be able to give an order for onerous duties without feeling guilty.
‘Good,’ Captain Stettin said over the comms channel. ‘We’ll bring the cargo vessel back to Capsilan with us. Keep Harper, Kushnir, and Vachon with you as prize crew. Price and his Marines as well. You never know how many hidden compartments there are on that ship.’
‘Very good, Captain. The ship’s systems are functional, but they aren’t in the best shape,’ Samson said. ‘If we’re able to power up properly, we could fry a lot of them. If I’m honest, I don’t know how much life she has left in her.’ It pained him to say it. If he got her back to Capsilan, she would be condemned as a prize, and as the officer who brought her in, he would get double the usual lieutenant’s share. Plus, having commanded a prize crew would go on his permanent record, as would his involvement in recovering unidentified, possibly alien artefacts. That might even be gazetted. He needed to rack up as many entries on his record as he could, to push down the mention of his ignominious posting to the Frontier that was currently the top entry. None of it would matter if the Bounty’s reactor exploded when they tried to power it up, though.
‘All right. Send over the items you found. If the ship fails, we’ll transfer you all back here and scuttle her. In the meantime, do your best with her. Everyone aboard will appreciate a little prize money, so let’s try to make it happen.’
‘Aye, Captain,’ Samson said, wincing. He wanted the money as much as anyone, but for him there was even more to gain. He had to haul himself out of the hole he was in, one step at a time.
‘Is this your first command, Lieutenant?’
‘It is, Captain.’
‘Congratulations. Good luck.’
Samson took a deep breath, and another look around at the squalor about him. Kushnir was finishing up with the blood, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. It would take a full clean-up crew hours to get just the bridge up to naval standards of cleanliness. That wasn’t taking into account the maintenance required. The lights flickered, power conduits hung from their junction boxes with tape wrapped around their ends, and the entire ship looked as though Arlen had thought engine-grease brown was the perfect colour to decorate with. Scuttling her in deep space would be the kindest thing for everybody, but he was determined to bring her in.
Samson gripped the armrests and looked over the control stations on the bridge. Only a matter of weeks before, he had thought his naval career was over, but now here he was, so far away from home that his mind could barely begin to comprehend the distance involved, sitting in the command chair of a prize ship, and trying to work out what to do next. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was nervous. The moment he’d been dreaming of his entire life—his first command—was here, and he didn’t want to make a mess of it, to power the ship up too quickly and vaporise it and everyone on board. Or get lost. That would be an embarrassment that would be very hard to live down. The only consoling thought was the fact that as it stood, there was little he could do to damage his career any further.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the crates to the shuttle and over to the Sidewinder. You all heard the captain’s orders. Mister Vachon, keep an eye out for anything broken that looks like a quick fix, and fix it. I think we can safely remove helmets and rely on the ship’s environment—’ He cast Harper an enquiring look, and she nodded. ‘So let’s do that, but set your suits to refill their supplies so they’re ready to go if needed. Keep your helmets close, just in case.’ He wondered if he was saying too much. He was the youngest on the ship, and in command purely by virtue of his Academy education. He reckoned less was more, and it was time to leave them to do their jobs. ‘Let’s be about it.’
Samson took his helmet off and set it on a stanchion next to the command chair. He turned his attention to the command consoles attached to the chair’s arms. Their screens were smudged and grubby—either Arlen had sweated engine grease, or he hadn’t washed his hands very often. It was difficult to make out what was on large sections of them, so he clearly hadn’t cared too much about that either. Cleaning equipment wasn’t included in the standard boarding kit, and the gloves on Samson’s suit weren’t made from the best material for wiping things. He pulled one of them off, and grimaced as he wiped the screens with his palm, which slipped along the grease until he cleared enough to make them usable. He wiped his hand on his suit, glad that the navy-coloured material didn’t show it too obviously, then started to look over the information he needed.
The power systems were first. He didn’t need to see an infographic to tell him they were running below what was
