Carpathian Forty-Three

Carpathian Forty-Three - Part 13

Tea is a ceremony, even in space. Even without the grand porcelain or bespoke pot. Ceremony is what you make of it, so long as you treat it with respect. Voclain keeps a cache of dried leaves, Oolong from Ganymede, a precious commodity on a ship where every gram of mass costs money to move. Captaincy has its privilege.

Long, thin, spacer fingers grasp the kettle handle, let water fall into it from the tap. Tea is one of the rare things that will get Voclain onto The Ring. It doesn't steep the same without gravity. They hold the kettle at an angle, the water falling oddly in the Coriolis gravity of The Ring. They hear the Velcro before they sense Stephen walk into the galley.

"Captain?" Stephen asks, seeing the spacer standing next to the kettle.

"We're meant to be resting, Stephen," they say.

"Walking meditation," Stephen says. It's plausible.

"Would you like some tea?" Voclain asks. Stephen nods, sits down at the galley table.

They wait in silence, the hum of the air handlers fighting with the burble of the kettle heating the water.

The Galley is barely large enough to hold all of the crew at the same time. There's a short table bolted to the floor and two short metal benches, small appliances for food, pre-packaged and vacuum sealed.

The kettle beeps, ending its heating cycle.

"How is Rhi?" Stephen asks. Voclain pours the water into a small pot, drops in a thumb of dried tea.

"Sleeping," Voclain says. "Finally. We slept together after Fort died." Stephen raises an eyebrow. "Slept," Voclain says, making clear that nothing else happened. "No, it's not professional. We aren't a particularly professional crew."

"I'm not judging, Captain. We are in an unprecedented situation."

The teapot steams quietly. The aroma fills the small space.

"We've both lost crewmembers," Voclain says. "I've read your file; you've lost more than most of us."

Stephen was part of the Lunar Chorus, the hive mind of Enhanced humans and Quantum Sentience. They gave it up, cutting themselves off from their family that was more than a family.

"Still," Stephen says, reaching for the teapot, "To lose Fort..." They trail off as they pour tea into the captain's old, chipped teacup. For themselves, they have a newer mug, generic, attempting to be white and failing.

"Corporate will break us up when we put in," Voclain says, looking into the tea. "This ship should have retired three cycles ago. Thak worked magic to keep us profitable and Rhi works magic to keep us flying. We've run out of magic."

"Let's hope not quite yet," Stephen says. Voclain grunts, sips at their tea.

"Let's hope."

They sit in silence, sipping their tea. Steam rises from the mugs lazily in the low gravity. It traces odd shapes in the Coriolis, spirals that float towards the air handlers.

"How is Miki adjusting?" Voclain asks. Stephen winces.

"I don't know. They're buried in diagnostics and integrating Fort's memories. I've pressed a little. I don't want to intrude. Disconnecting from The Chorus is... hard to describe. Like losing a mental limb? No. I can't describe it."

"It wasn't an easy decision," Voclain says.

"No." Stephen is carefully neutral. Painfully, obviously, carefully neutral.

Voclain lets the silence settle, gives Stephen space.

"I never knew silence," they say. "As part of the Chorus. It's noisy, but not in an intrusive way. Voices, thoughts, even being, all shared. Stephen was a distinct entity, but there were pieces of others running in my brain, memories stored there, feelings felt for Quantum Sentience that wanted to feel."

"I don't think I could deal with that. I like my silence," Voclain offers.

"It's different growing up with it. I never knew anything else."

"Would you go back to it?"

"No," Stephen says distantly.

The ship shudders slightly, a minor course correction, a bit of acceleration, a jostle.

"Miki, is everything alright?" Voclain asks their substitute Ship's Operating System. Miki is as omnipresent as Fort was, tied into all the cameras, speakers, and microphones in every compartment of the ship. All any of them must do is ask the air and Miki will hear them. It's a social norm that the Ship's Operating System doesn't mention the constant surveillance, and the crew doesn't ask about it.

"Sorry, still getting used to these interfaces. I'm starting on the braking simulation that Fort left me, practicing. Not all the interfaces of the simulation and the ship are disconnected."

Miki is practicing for the braking burn they'll need to execute in a few weeks. They're learning how to be a Ship's Operating System. Voclain's face flashes worry, then forced calm.

"Do you need any help?" Stephen asks.

Miki is their only hope of executing the braking burn, of settling into a rendezvous trajectory with Saturn, with Titan. If they miss, or can't perform the burn, they'll all starve in the cold darkness of interplanetary space.

"No. I've got it. It's just. Different. I've never been a ship before." They sound relaxed.

"Let us know if you need help," Voclain says.

"Understood, Captain," Miki says. They sound like Fort. Some echo of their former Operating System emerging through the memory transfer to Miki.

The tea has cooled. The steam no longer traces the odd path through the Galley. The scent of Thak's Mariner cake, sweet cherry permeates the space. Voclain shudders.

"I have Mariner Cake."

Stephen picks at the carpet with their Velcro shoes, competing with the whir of the air handlers.

"We have time. Miki can do this," Stephen says. It's not clear if they're assuring Voclain, themselves, or Miki who is always listening.

"I know," Voclain says, draining the remainder of their cup. "We just need some rest and some space from," they take a deep, controlled sigh, "Fort's death."

Stephen reflects, their face going blank for a moment longer than is comfortable.

"Yeah."

They get up to bus the tea set into the sink.

"Stephen," Voclain asks, "Why did you leave the Chorus?"

Stephen never talks about their decision to leave Luna, the Chorus.

Water runs in the sing. The cups click on the aluminium as Stephen cleans them.

"I'm not ready to talk about that. I'm sorry Captain."

"But it was voluntary, unlike Miki."

"It was."

Stephen shuts off the water, dries the cups and stows them in their cabinet.

"I don't know that it matters, but it was."

"I'm sorry this was the only way," Voclain says, as much to Miki as to Stephen.

Stephen turns, the Velcro on their shoes tearing into the quiet of the Galley.

"I'd like to get back to my meditation, unless there's anything else Captain." Their expression is deliberately relaxed.

"Of course, nothing else." Voclain says. They hold their expression neutral until Stephen has gone. Once the First Officer has Velcroed off around The Ring Voclain's head slumps into their hands, elbows propped on the galley table, exhausted.