I had no problems following church doctrine. I was very surprised and pleased that it was taken seriously on board this ship, since from what I understood, the regular fleet was more notable in its breach despite their nods to formality. “In God we trust’ was still a part of the regular vernacular for the UPF, and every assembly was preceded by a prayer, and swearing your service oaths on god was system-enforced.

But the reality was, outside of the primary world, and into the fringe, God was more of an inconvenient fiction than a final arbiter and guarantor of shared morality. The slaver worlds, which were allowed into the UPF, were even rougher, ridiculing shared morality and pushing the entire ‘we are becoming gods’ ideology that cultivating could lead to. It didn't help that their predominant religion actually encouraged treating 'nonbelievers' unethically.

During the first diaspora from old Earth, and even the settlement of new worlds, the vast majority of enterprising explorers, delvers, and raiders were predominantly male. The men of Earth that remained considered this a good thing, as the rebels, malcontents, and those unhappy with the status quo of rising global power were quickly shuffled off into exploring the ‘new frontier’ and things like polygamy and polyamory, fueled by a MUCH higher number of females that valued security and family that remained, became the norm instead of the exception. It was a dream come true for the elites who had been trying to turn the entire planet into their neo-feudal fiefdoms through wars, propaganda, and political manipulations for generations.

This led to an interesting problem. Once Earth discovered and started to exploit the system, a new power arose… a cultivator, once they left Earth and began to develop their power, was almost like a superhero back on old Earth. They lived far longer, were capable of superhuman feats, and spent most of their lives without women.

That, needless to say, led to some bad situations. Old Earth rapidly lost relevance compared to new powers in the galaxy, powers fueled and maintained by basically lonely, adventurous, rebellious, and desperate men.

Many solutions were attempted, from a female ‘tithe’ that never really worked and made conscription seem like paradise in comparison, to banning cultivators from returning to old Earth. Wars were fought, slavery became popular again, and the new Empire rose on the backs of angry and unhappy explorers who tended to live a very long time and become extremely powerful.

And then, miracle of miracles, genemodding rose to prominence. A huge number of new options opened up, from entirely male colonies of ‘new men’ who could settle for artificial reproduction amid a strictly homosexual lifestyle, to certain breeds that could reproduce far in excess of their needs, almost entirely female like the nymphs. Each of those solutions raised its own problems. The ‘men going their own way’ colonies quickly succumbed to the worst excesses of ennui and unrest, eventually dying out to be replaced by a more traditional model, and Nymphs were… a population problem waiting to happen.

The dryads were an even worse problem, created by a certain media corporation as ‘influencers’ to use their beauty and nearly limitless lifespan in order to be controlled propaganda machines. For the horde of desperate males that remained, dryads were almost a plague of manipulation across the worlds. They were custom-designed to be loyal only to their agenda and corporate owners and were the first spark for what became the gene wars. Unlike nymphs, dryads could be male or female, and the male versions, while much rarer, were perfectly positioned to become sociopathic rulers with their beauty and innate manipulation.

The church itself, in a wave of popularity following the diaspora and suppression of socialist insanity, had its own plan. They created the perfect woman, a powerful and helpful companion for the lonely man, endlessly loyal, both adventurous and craving family and security, mostly asexual during their youth to prevent some of the excesses that still plagued humanity, and gifted with steady personalities and a huge potential for affinities that they passed on to both male and female offspring.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Within two generations, the users had figured out how to manipulate and exploit the newly approved and church-sanctioned maenad sub-breed for endless ethical violations, and the gene wars had begun. And to be fair, except for a few colonies of Maenads who escaped to the most inhospitable worlds we could survive, we were the ultimate losers. Dryads were relegated to the history bin, nymph colonies died out as their male populations declined into nothingness, and Maenads disappeared into the fringe for their own self-defense, only showing up as occasional specialty items on slaver worlds.

Countless specialty genemods were utterly annihilated, and ‘new humans’ were outlawed. Genetic pre-selection for the elites still existed, and most negative reinforced recessives were stomped out, but since cultivation could ‘purify’ even normal, unmodded baseline humans, a new wave of genetic purity became the norm. Specialties that could survive otherwise inhospitable worlds were still popular, like orcs and goblins, but after the self-styled overlords of humanity had been defeated, the technomancers, an uneasy truce existed between the various subspecies of humanity.

Charlottes, the long-lost descendants of heavily outbred dryads, were becoming more prevalent and accepted, and dwarves were so inoffensive and useful, and frankly unattractive except to other dwarves, that they were popular in the service industries and even fleets. However, their general inability to gain affinities other than earth and metal, and resistance to technology, limited both their popularity and their threat.

But the church remained. When you belonged to a species that would do ANYTHING for the ‘right man’, even if that man was a jerk who raised you as a slave and raped you into a forced bond, there had to be some kind of stabilizing factor, and for most maenads born in their reclusive colonies, that was church doctrine. The Ten Commandments. Set in stone, immutable, and backed by God himself, it protected our sanity and helped us avoid the worst excesses of our potential mates, and the fact that we could choose to end our own existence with a thought, an unintended consequence of monkeying with our affinities, it was a natural retreat.

It probably didn’t help that more than ten percent of maenads were born with the potential to be even worse nightmares than the original technomancers. At least two major affinities were the rule, not the exception, and if we were the types to grow powerful independently, we had the potential to become worse monsters than could be imagined. That was OUR boogeyman.

***

The berthing that Princeton led me to after my little faceoff with the XO wouldn’t really qualify as a communal berthing at all. It had a common area, but each of the bedding areas had sliding walls that could block off the bed and a small section of floor with a locker and desk from the rest of the room. Compared to what I had seen, the T7 ship was relatively roomy, with enough space to give people a modicum of privacy, which made sense for a co-ed ship that might have cruising times that could be measured in years.

Miss Princeton… I found out middies were not supposed to be referred to by their rank, but rather most officers except the specialists, the captain, and the XO were supposed to be referred to as ‘mister’ and ‘miss’, was not exactly stuck up, but she seemed acutely aware of the differences between enlisted and officers in the hierarchy. Her answers were curt, informative, and concise whenever I asked her direct questions. Her attitude also had a mild flavor of distaste, and it was obvious that whatever she was doing now, she had probably grown up in a family of wealth and power.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Possibly admiralty heredity, or maybe even old Earth baseline. She had this kind of assumption that whatever she was, she was simply a better sort of person than us. It might have been because of her purity and a racist upbringing, but more likely it was because, as of right now, I was in a roughly unfinished state that made me a bit of an eyesore. She was definitely prettier than I was, and knew it, which meant that she was higher on whatever sort of social totem pole existed here outside of rank and cultivation status. Not an unfair assumption, since I looked like a stretched-out half-goblin cookie.

She was a midshipman, recently boarded about a month ago while the ship was undergoing a full refit, and was on the navigation path. Not a Pilot, which was a non-command specialty programming commission, and not a half-baked coxswain like us drone pilots were, but a navigator, someone who helped chart and decide where the ship would adventure next, a path she was quite proud of since it was the only way I could get her talking freely.

If the other 6 command officers on board died or were rendered inactive, technically ship’s command devolved to her. The chief engineer, doctor, quartermaster, and pilot were much higher ranked than she was, but their ranks were not considered ‘flag’ commands, a distinction that was a little confusing to me, but then, I was fine with being a drone pilot and potentially an explorer.

Navigator, Captain, XO, flight commander, first lieutenant, and drive commander were all positions I would have to learn to fill myself if I wanted to become a single-ship or exploration commander. To be honest, I think it was more about who the admiralty and the captain trusted to take command in an emergency and follow the admiralty’s stated objectives, rather than any actual ability or talent for command. Maybe she was related to the Captain? That would make perfect sense, especially since she was only 15, too young to legally enlist or attend an academy.

Midshipman was apparently a way for potential young officers to gain much-needed experience and training in being a line officer, which, considering the male-dominated nature of the fleet, might have been all to the best.

I had read a book once about a child who was groomed to become an admiral to defeat a fleet of insects… insectile alien invaders seemed to be a common theme, probably because of how utterly alien they seemed… and I had to call scrot on it. No matter how brilliant and uncorrupted a young child may be, no matter how much tactical genius they might possess, young leaders lack judgment, scale, and most importantly, introspection. Throughout history, ‘brilliant young leaders’ made amazing conquerors, but always, without fail, overreached their abilities, ambitions, and judgment and eventually ruined their civilization.

Basically, a young mind without the tempering of maturity became little better than a well-designed Synthetic Intelligence, and my current job only existed because synthetic intelligence had lousy judgment, and always would. Twitch reflexes do not a commander make, but they could certainly help a drone pilot. If I were to ever assume command, I’d have to expand my attention outside of the cockpit. I would admit I was probably decent in a limited engagement, but there is a universe more to command than limited engagements.

Ironically, I was taken to meet the chief engineer before I was to meet the flight commander, a tiny brown woman with pronounced epicanthic folds who insisted that I call her ‘Kimmy’ rather than ‘chief engineer Kim.”

“The XO tells me you have both engineering and magic sub-gifts. If you do, I am tempted to assign your non-training watches down here rather than on the bridge. Even if you go command path, engineering experience is the kind of mark a rising officer likes on their record,” she announced after Princeton had introduced me.

“Yes ma’am. Indirectly, but it’s a lot more suited to drone ops… I have no experience at all with engines, and what little I do understand involves shadowstep generators, not conjunction engines. Most thinking creatures don’t like transiting through shadow space, what with the nightmares and all, but they are perfect for drone controllers.”

She nodded, “But you know they are conjunction engines, at least. Conjunction engines cheat relativity so you can monitor normal space, which is important to a cleaner ship like this one. I want you to let me know if you sense something off about #3, compared to the others. I only have a minor metal gift, which is great for maintenance, but these things are pure tier 7 magitech.”

I nodded and listened, and listened a little more. After a moment, I looked around, found a clean spot on the floor, and sat down in a lotus position.

“What’s she doing?” Princeton asked.

Kimmy shrugged, “Probably meditating. The drives aren’t in her wheelhouse, so she needs to focus to detect something amiss.”

“Excuse me, Kimmy?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Can you put them on standby here? Warm them up a little? I know we are in the dock, but the essence bleed should be minimal.”

Kimmy nodded and started typing something on her UI band. After a few minutes, she smiled, “Yeah. We can put them in a maintenance run. Why, do you hear something?”

I sighed, it was barely flitting on the edge of my perception… something right on the edge of complex six like it was just a ghost. I emphasized my spiritual affinity, trying to catch a hint, and when the first rune ring energized, I caught it.

“You have a gremlin.”

Kimmy smiled, “I know, she’s sitting in front of me right now. That’s a hell of a lot of trouble to go through for a joke.”

I shook my head, “No, you have a real gremlin. A ghost in the machine. It’s hovering right on the edge of ring six, and I think it’s caught on the edge of the formation. I am not strong enough to pull it out, can you depower the entire formation?”

Kimmy scowled, “Yeah, but then we are going to have to hire a formation master to get it restarted. It will cost at least six figures.”

I shrugged, “You might have gotten too close to a derelict or something, and picked up a hitchhiker. It’s no wonder techs and sorcerers couldn’t spot it, it’s pretty weak.”

“Is that a problem?”

I shrugged, “To me, it would be… every time you jump, you send it enough power to keep it from dispersing and passing on, but not enough for it to rip itself free…. Which would probably badly damage the formation. I mean, it’s just a spirit, not a soul, but it might have memories and it’s trapped and tortured right now. Usually, that’s only a problem for mystic ion drives, but you must have run number six right through its physical location.”

“As far as trouble, yeah, eventually you are likely to be someplace close enough to an essence leak or someplace with a heavy aura, like a tyrant, and it will likely tear itself free during a jump. That will wreck the formation, and you will need a formation master to rebuild it, not just power it up. That’s your call, though… if you are going to be a couple of years of low-power flights, there might be enough time for it to work itself free without tearing up the array, but if you are going to be doing some heavy rift action… well… I don’t know. How bad would a drive failure, one of 6, be, if you were chasing or running from a tyrant?”

Kimmy grumbled, “Scrot, I was hoping you were going to tell me it was all in my mind. Onboard no more than two hours, and you are already costing me fat cash. Git. Come back for the third shift. I’m going to get a second opinion, but now that we have it localized the scan should be a lot clearer.”

I jumped to my feet and hurried out of Kimmy’s bay, a rather clean example of a secondary control room compared to what I was used to. “Crap, did I just make an enemy?”

Princeton smiled slightly, for the first time. “Kimmy? Hell no. She lives for problems like this. She’s probably going to have an array master here on the third shift so that you can double-check that the cling-on has bailed after the shutdown. But complaining is sort of her thing… if she’s buried halfway inside of a machine and cussing to make an orc blush, that means she’s happy and is going to be all smiles and compliments at dinner.”

I sighed. I knew that goblins were like that… if they weren’t complaining, they were bored and probably plotting something much worse, but Kimmy was a sweet little bundle of energy, and it was going to be strange trying to get used to that if I studied on engineering shifts with her.