The Lost Stories: A Series of CoSmic Adventures

Lost Opportunity

In my long and distinguished career, I have seen many admirals snarl, scowl, swear, and shake their heads in disappointment. But I'd never seen one this angry before.

“This is a disaster, Kollins,” Admiral Potrowski said, spitting in his anger and pounding his clenched fist against the desk in front of him. “This is an unmitigated disaster.”

“I agree with you, sir,” I said, wiping away spittle that had landed on my forehead. “When we found the ship, I was bedridden—ill with a nasty virus. My first officer was in charge; it was his decision to bring the lost ship back to Earth. Had he chosen to consult with me, even in my state, I would have advised him to escort the ship back to Other Side space, as a show of goodwill.”

The admiral shook his head slowly, seeming to calm a little with each swing of his neck. “If only, Captain.” With a tired and wistful sigh, he added, “We really lost an opportunity here. Returning that ship might have helped put an end to this bloody war.”

“And isn't that what we all want, Admiral?”

My words seemed to snap the admiral out of his pensive mood. Standing up, he said, “You're captain of the DeVille, Kollins. You must be held accountable for its actions.”

“Of course, sir,” I said, cursing the admiral silently but colorfully in my head.

“You and your crew will remain in this system until the Board can think of an appropriate punishment. As you can imagine, we've got our hands full doing damage control for this disaster you've brought on our heads.”

“Yes, sir.” I turned to leave.

“Captain.”

I turned around slowly.

“Don't worry about your first officer,” the admiral said. “This blunder of his won't soon be forgotten.”

“He's young and inexperienced,” I said, deferentially. “I hope the Board takes that into consideration when deciding his fate, sir.”

“You're a good captain, Kollins,” the admiral said, softening a little. “But don't allow your affection for this Winston to take you down with him.”

With a nod, I turned once more and walked out of the admiral's office.

My senior staff was waiting for me at the Tiberia, a bar in Luna City that catered mostly to officers of the Board.

Their expectant smiles faded as I walked through the doors, my shoulders drooping and a sour look on my face.

“Bad news?” Winston said.

“I don't know,” I said, suddenly slapping him on the back and smiling as wide as my lips would allow. “Would you consider it bad news that the Board is so thrilled with our capture, they're rewarding us with some vacation time?”

With a cheer, the senior officers raised their glasses in my name and I graciously suffered their pats on my back.

“Listen,” I said, turning very serious. “They'll need to make a show of disapproval. The Other Side has spies everywhere, and if they thought the Board was happy with this capture—which they are, they are!—that might cause the Other Side to escalate this war before the Board is ready for them. Just be aware that anything you hear is for show only; deep down, the Board is thrilled with us.”

Again they raised their drinks and again they cheered my name.

When the other officers were gone, Winston turned to me with a very serious look on his face and said, “I was wrong, Captain.”

Despite his time with me, Winston had never learned the crucial lesson that one never admitted it when one was wrong. “It takes a big man to say that,” I said. “Good for you and forget about it. I know I have.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“We all make mistakes, Winston. The important thing is to learn from them.”

“Yes, Captain,” he said. “I guess I was just anxious for peace—”

“Isn't that what we're all anxious for?” I interrupted.

“It is, Captain. But you were able to maintain your objectivity, and I allowed my feelings to cloud my thinking.” Winston was becoming very depressed, which usually didn't happen until he'd had a lot more to drink. “May I speak freely, Captain?”

I nodded graciously.

“Most captains don't make decisions all by themselves,” Winston said. “They consult, they listen to their first officers and advisers. They think things through. But you . . . you seem to know exactly what to do without talking to anyone else, and even when”—here he became very sheepish—“you're given bad advice.”

“Some may question my management style,” I said, mentally noting that Winston himself had obviously questioned it, yet another sign of his ever-present insubordination. “But I've learned an important lesson, a lesson you might learn too if only you read the Good Book.”

“Oh?”

“It's very simple,” I said. “I keep my own counsel; that way, I will always have the wisdom of a solo man.”