With new meds, I can actually function for the last leg of the journey. Of course, my appetite is ruined and I get bad headaches all the time, but I can do my actual duties as a Commodore and command the fleet. Everything goes along well. The Diplo-Colonel and I ignore one another except when we need some work done or something grabbed for the other. I get closer to the crew, choosing to eat in the main mess rather than the officer's mess which I think is just a waste of space. I highly recommend to the onboard officers to eat in the main mess so we can convert the officers one to storage or something. Measuring it out, the space taken up for it is about thirty low-yield nuclear missiles or a bunch of ammo for various weapons batteries.
Rather than taking the many months long journey like I had done long ago when I first entered Alien space, we are making a direct route toward the destination we reached back then, the only place humans have yet to visit in alien space, and with that we only sent a few ships out there to distantly listen in and sometimes talk back to them. Somehow this has resulted in a degradation of relations which were non-existent. Overall this journey shouldn't be too horrible all things considered.
The Catfish only has a single observation deck. It looks like a small ridge along the dorsal part of the bow of the ship and is made up of some impressive ablating clear material. It really only has room for three or four guys at most and it's real role is for when the cameras are destroyed and someone can sit up here and sorta direct the ship usually for docking or basic maneuvering when the ship is blinded. The small observation deck also seals off from the rest of the ship when combat is going on because as cool as the clear material is, it's much weaker than the rest of the ship's armor. During one of our stops to recharge somewhere in the middle of deep space, I sit alone in the observation deck admiring the strange beauty of the void.
It's strange how dark space becomes when you aren't within a solar system. This location is in the completely empty void between stars bathing the fleet in endless and complete darkness aside from the light produced by ships' thrusters or the small navigation lights. The observation deck has no internal lighting leaving me alone in the dark. I sip on a cola and lean back in the observation chair enjoying the dark and peace. Every breath I take is deafening inside the enclosed space, the only other sound being a deep rumble from a nearby maneuvering thruster that sounds out every few minutes.
My peaceful solitude is interrupted by the entry hatch opening up and the Diplo-Colonel finishes climbing up the ladder. I sigh knowing that my relaxation time is now over, unfortunately. I don't say anything because I don't want to. She sits in one of the chairs behind me and her breathing adds to mine in the silent room. I continue ignoring her as I access the ship's systems with my implant and see how long we have until the next jump. It ends up being a few more minutes before all ships are ready. I sigh in disappointment and then ask,
"Alright...What do you want?"
The woman acts oblivious for a second until the silence seems to bother her. She then replies,
"I've just never been on a military vessel this long... I don't know what to do on board. You're the most senior officer behind some of the engineering crew, but they are technophiles so they always have something to pass the time with, and I'm not hanging out with the marines... even if the sergeant on board is technically the longest serving member of this crew. I just want to see what you do in your free time when you aren't holding in your guts."
I stay quiet for a moment before replying,
"This right here is a rare treat for me. I usually find myself working through these short breaks. I study charts, the mission, and past missions with similar goals, check ship diagnostics, and play simulated situations based on past combat data. I get this stargazing break because there is no data on these aliens other than the very short passing conflict we had during first contact. If I'm not working I'm either here, working out, or praying."
I hear her make a sharp breath inward in surprise at the last part. She asks,
"You're religious? I didn't take the drunken commodore as the prayer type."
I grunt and respond,
"Look into the stars... see their beauty and understand the intricate balance that their existence requires... that alone is proof enough for me. Plus... there is no such thing as an atheist when your ship is venting atmosphere and still taking fire. I won't discuss religion any further, it is against the Naval code."
She continues without missing a beat,
"So tell me about yourself, Commodore, there is so much your record doesn't tell... plus most of your file is blacked out. Even I can't see much of your past."
I shrug and answer,
"Well, looks like you'll continue not knowing much about me then. I asked for my file to be made classified, it was granted because I am friends with someone at the CIA. Plus there is something about me that does need to get expunged from records... regardless, I don't feel like telling you anything about myself."
She grunts in frustration before asking,
"Why do you dislike me so much?"
I turn around with a look of disbelief on my face before asking,
"Are you fucking with me right now?"
She shakes her head and responds,
"Well... no. I am simply trying to understand who you are. Asking why you dislike me can help me understand you better. Plus it's not like we have any bad blood..."
I laugh loudly at this statement and respond,
"No... I can't say I dislike you. I don't like you, but I don't dislike you.
I don't like you because you not only questioned me in front of my officers but also it wasn't reasonable. It's one thing to say something like that in private, and it may annoy me but I probably wouldn't have had a problem with it if we had been alone. Truthfully, I'm happy you're taking all the diplomatic duties, thats a weight off of my chest! The problem is that it was in front of everyone. Also, what would make you think I don't have bad blood with you?"
She furrows her brow and responds,
"Well, you showed your displeasure and arrested me, that's even with my disrespect... if that's what it was.
I simply thought I was being assertive and making sure they understood I was in charge of the diplomatic aspect. I mean there is no way they would think I outrank you..."
It takes me a bit to process what the fuck she just said. I mean the bad blood part makes sense, can't complain about that part, I guess we are even. The problem is her mental gymnastics. I sigh as I mentally dig through all the information I have access to about the Diplomatic Corps. After a moment I can answer,
"Okay... that may be how you make power plays in the Diplomatic Corps, all those backhanded meanings and whatever. I don't understand it and I may need to do some research on it, but that's not how the Navy works."
I completely spin my chair around so I am facing her, despite her clearly being unable to see in the near-total darkness of the observation deck. With a sigh, I explain,
"We are in a Naval vessel, in a naval fleet. I am the highest commanding officer of the navy in this fleet. Not only that, but I am also a Joint Command guy which gives me some more respect from the Marines. We are dozens, if not hundreds of lightyears from the nearest person higher in rank than me. With FTL communications it would take days for us to receive any orders and that will be in Morse code. As far as everyone but the science crew is concerned I am basically God made manifest. What you did in front of my officers is practically heresy.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
The biggest problem is it completely destroyed your reputation with the crew and the officers. Even through my sickness I've heard the whispers and have received multiple DM's from the officers letting me know how little they think of you. First, you showed up late to the meeting I called. In the Navy, you show up to those unless the doctor has you literally strapped down in bed. Second, you interrupted my speech and tried to assume control of my meeting, that is not okay, just straight disrespect. Lastly, I've heard you've acted high and mighty to career officers and NCOs. That is a big No-No. Even if you were Navy, you are too young, despite your higher rank their age grants them a level of respect even from us of a higher rank."
She nods along listening and then explains,
"I see. In the Diplomatic Corps, it is a constant game of trying to become higher or better than someone. Old age is a disadvantage, not an advantage, and acting anything less than high and mighty is a sign of weakness and should be taken advantage of.
Can you send me a write-up of the Naval code of conduct, if there isn't an official one then please can you give me some material to review?"
I sigh with a slight smile, sending a DM to an old NCO on board to compile the cultural norms on board a Naval vessel. He answers in the affirmative before I continue to my next point,
"There is one more problem. If you haven't noticed there are no other paradise worlders on board... well maybe with the machine cultists but they are categorized differently than the rest of us."
She looks in my general direction with a questioning face and then asks almost angrily,
"Is... is Planetary Discrimination a massive problem on board your vessels?"
I shake my head and answer,
"No... and it's not just my vessel. Since I'm guessing you've never been off your homeworld I will let you in on this secret.
No one respects Paradise Worlders. They value them, but there isn't much respect. Even the safest and most temperate Agricultural planet offers far greater dangers and trials than the paradise worlds. Not only this, but the base quality of life in a paradise world is about what an upper-class individual will live in most other worlds. Everyone, even the most bleeding-hearted people, has some sort of discriminatory mindset against those from paradise worlds, especially with specific genetic lineages."
She rubs her chin and responds,
"Genetic lineage... I am half Arphodite and half Sirine... what does that mean for me?"
I truly couldn't tell what her genetic lineage was, all I knew was that she was from one of the aesthetically pleasing ones, considering she is an utterly beautiful woman. Now certain aspects of her make sense, especially her nearly intoxicating voice.
Through time planets will develop their own individual genetic lines, unless they are a massive hub of travel and immigration. Every planet that has been inhabited for over 150 years tends to have a genetic trend. Some planets even have specific genetic traits edited into the genome of those who live there in order to adapt them to their new home. It's usually not extreme, mostly skin and eye color as adaptations to the intensity of the star above the planet, but some planets do require more specialized genetics. This was a problem in the past, but eventually, there was a "standard" for humans. This is a standard that keeps genetic mods from getting out of hand, especially when it's an entire population and there is a certain level of deviation that is allowed before the person is no longer considered "standard". Marines are not in this standard. Generally, if mods create an average height above 6'5 or below 5'4 it isn't standard. Any special abilities are not standard like camouflaging skin or bioluminescence. Weight is a little more difficult, but the density of muscle is a big part as no one cares about fat. This standard was actually developed for interplanetary athletic competitions but eventually became a medical thing. The only non-standard mods that are overlooked is bone-reinforcement which decreases the chance of bone breaks, and vision mods so long as they do not grant any form of optical zoom. Of course, editing out genetic diseases is considered standard.
Then are the designer genetic lineages. These are creations made for very specific roles or jobs. These are largely illegal as it's unconstitutional to deny someone opportunities in life based on gene editing. While it's one hundred percent legal once a person is a consenting adult, there is some argument that editing is quite limited at that point, even with the reactivation of stem cells and the use of artificial wombs in adult size. There are some religious exemptions to this, but those are on thin ice. The designer lineages of course still exist as some continue to reproduce only with similar lineages in order to maintain "purity". The Arphodite and Sirine lineages are examples of Paradise World designer lineages. The Aphrodite being very beautiful, without blemish, and having wonderful proportions, make up most actors in film and nearly all fashion models. The Sirine somehow were granted genetically perfect voices. While not hypnotic like the monster they get their name from, almost all major musical artists in the last three centuries have been of this lineage. Due to enhanced lung capacity to help with singing, they are pretty good divers too. The Sirine also seem to be good orators and make for great public speakers. When these two mix together it creates the perfect diplomat, a pretty face mixed with a hauntingly beautiful voice.
They aren't discriminated against for what they do, or their looks, but what they represent, even if it's not their fault. For one, they physically have trouble dealing with harsh environments in which people look down upon them for being fragile flowers, they also have a standard quality of life that is considered strictly upper class in even some of the nicest agricultural worlds, and finally, their lineage is a relic of a rather dark time in human history. All these things aren't strictly the fault of those within these genetic lineages, but sometimes they really do live up to stereotypes and make it hard to not dislike them. It's also not like every other planet is poor and the standard quality of life is bad elsewhere aside from the shittiest of planets, it's just that paradise worlds tend to have really nice standards, at the cost of tax dollars. So everyone dislikes them, to some extent. If you haven't met one, you are envious and dislike them, after you meet a few dozen you learn it actually is in their culture to be assholes. They are practically a whole race of spoiled rich kids.
I sigh and explain to the woman,
"Both of those are fine enough, and I do not allow open discrimination on my vessels. The crew and the officers are allowed to dislike you for what you are, behind closed doors and in their heads, but when on duty that is a punishable offense as it is against the naval code. All it means is that you'll be fighting uphill when it comes to gaining their respect. While they will be obedient to your orders, they won't respect you until you earn it. Plus you're young and not navy, so good luck.
I will try my best to keep the peace, but you have to help yourself to help me. It's not a matter of liking you or not, it's a matter of discipline."
She nods and thinks for a moment before asking,
"You seem to command a lot of respect with the officers and crew... but you're quite young. How is this? Other than being Navy."
I laugh fairly hard and respond,
"Oh shit I forget sometimes most of my personal information has been classified or expunged from records... I'll say this, I'm sixty-four."
She stares at me in confused horror for a second before asking,
"How in the hell..."
I respond shortly,
"Classified mostly, but I am from one of them savage worlds, and bred to survive."
She nods in understanding. There are many classifications of rocky planets, nearly all of them colloquial. The three actual classes are habitable, meaning they are capable of carrying life, then are dead worlds which are planets whose cores have stopped like Mars. These planets are static and are usually cold and dead but are capable of being terraformed for lots of money and decades of time. The last class is primordial which are planets that are still forming and stabilizing, these are usually uninhabitable for long-term human habitation due to their ever-shifting nature.
A savage world is a type of habitable planet known for being incredibly hostile to human life for many reasons while still maintaining a fully diverse biosphere. My home was a special case even among the other rare and special savage worlds. Regardless any genetic lineage designed to thrive and survive on these planets tends to be quite hardy, but are still of course standard humans. Although my kind has two special things, one is very long lives with a maximum of 200 years being the max-age we know of, but past 120 we begin to decline in health quickly, even with modern medicine. The second is a slight adaptation of our eyes allowing some sensitivity to infrared light. While it isn't full night vision, it is supplemental to our rather keen normal visible light vision. It helps us see in low-light environments and sometimes see certain colors and patterns better than others.
She goes to ask what line I am from but I interrupt her with a quick statement,
"Let's head back to the bridge. We are about to shove off again."
She tries to speak but quietly follows obediently as we march through the clean and clinical corridors of the vessel...
I stand on the bridge as the big screen counts down the time left in this final translocation. I keep calm and say to the crew,
"Prepare for contact upon jumping. Do not power weapons or do anything threatening. We are guests here and we are putting our best foot forward. Let the Diplo-Colonel and the science team do all of the talking and we should be fine. We are glorified taxi drivers on this mission... hopefully. "
There are murmurs of affirmation and the sense of apprehension is palpable in the air. Everyone is nervous about meeting aliens for the first time, and after many of the officers shared my medical report, they are worried about the hostile environment surrounding us.
5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
Destination reached
The screens turn back on and we are in deep space, but within the same system, I found myself in over five years ago now. We take a moment for all ships to enter the system before I give the order to fire up the Alcubierre drive and head toward the predetermined meeting place.
I flick my metal fingers again, rather than the satisfying scraping sound there is instead the gentle flick of cloth as I am wearing gloves in my full dress uniform. I pull at my tight collar and adjust my tricorn hat. As the stars lengthen in front of us I prepare to meet extraterrestrials another time... hopefully I don't lose a limb this time...