Entering the loading yard, Lux was greeted by the familiar sounds of shouting and physical exertion, courtesy of both the station and field engineers conducting final checks or loading the last bits of cargo. The main source of all the shouting alternated between some guy with a clipboard, probably the dock chief, and a marshaller ensuring that no one got ran over as the Crusaders for the wave of departures after theirs were moved out of the way. Controlled chaos was probably the best way to describe what transpired here every morning before first departure.
Accustomed to maneuvering the yard, little attention was paid to Lux as she strode over to loading dock 4 where Crusader C248 sat silently in its bay. Going around back of the class three cruiser, she scaled the portable ramp into the cargo bay where the occasional grunt could be heard. There she spotted Cade strapping the remainder of the cargo into position and fiddling with dunnage bags. If Lux didn’t know Cade she might’ve thought he hadn’t noticed her presence, too busy dutifully testing the tautness of each of the straps. But since she DID know him, Lux chose to answer his snub by forcibly inserting herself into his morning tasks. In this case by sitting her ass down on the dunnage bag he'd made to reach for.
"Good morning to you too."
Lux made sure to let the sarcasm drip from her statement.
"Is it?"
A terse reply from the man who suddenly acted as if he didn’t need the bag she was sat upon. Typical male behavior.
"Nope. Some kid nearly made me spill my hot chocolate, and now my bestie is treating me coldly despite the fact I dragged my ass all the way down here to offer some company!"
"Last I checked that dunnage bag didn’t have my name on it, and you're not even in uniform yet. Which means you haven't swung by your locker. And if you haven't swung by your locker, it’s safe to assume you haven’t so much as glanced at the manifest. Company my foot. Your actual intentions for being here revolve around your need for an abridged version of it before departure."
Lux simply stared at the broad-shouldered young man, ill-equipped to counter his extrapolation.
"I'll have you know that I did glance at the manifest."
Lux folded her arms and crossed one leg over the other in a show of defiance.
"I just didn't comprehend its contents nor confirm it was the correct manifest to begin with.”
Lux proceeded to hold out an open palm.
“I'll accept my apology now Fahlenbolt."
[Cade Fahlenbolt, 19, Engineering Division]
As predicted the mention of Cade's family name spurred an appearance from the vein on the side of his forehead, accompanied by the sound of teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw. She was probably the only one in existence who could get away with using that name. Not that Lux was eager to test such theories. Cade did have a stupid amount of practical strength after all, although he seldom called upon it. That was one of the major differences between them. She always needed to be reined in when things got heated.
"C'mon don't be mad, I'll give you some rando's ID that I found in my pocket this morning. See, neat huh."
Lux waved the ID in front of him and added a smile for good measure. Thankfully her attempt at making peace seemed to resonate with Cade on some level as he let out a sigh and plopped himself down on the crate across from her.
"Keep your or whoever’s ID, but let it be known I'm only cooperating because the circumstances of this convoy are more convoluted than usual. So just make sure you pay attention. Most of this will apply to your job more than mine."
Lux made a show of resting her chin on both hands and looking over at him with large blue eyes, reminiscent of a child settling in prior to a bedtime story. But before Cade could actually start she seemed to digest the implications of his most recent statement.
"My job? This related to ROE? I hope not, but they wouldn’t request me for delicate crap like that would they…wait, whose the CC?"
"If you'd just let me explain we'd get to all that!"
Cade ran a hand through his tufts of light brown hair, he needed to calm down. The use of his family name had riled him up more than it should.
"Let’s start with the basics. At 0830 hours a convoy consisting of four class three Crusaders will depart from Station Rouad for Station Belveer. It’s located in the city of New Kantler, a city state belonging to the Northwestern Commonwealth whose expressed uncertainty at remaining under the Luridian umbrella as of late. Our expected arrival is set for between 1500 and 1700 hours."
"That's a lot of wiggle room for what should be a fairly straightforward route."
"Well there’s a reason for that, two in fact. Both of which are creating a great deal of uncertainty for the higher ups. One being the nature of the cargo and the other relating to the circumstances surrounding New Kantler's recent institutional shift in political ideologies.”
Lux looked about ready to call it quits.
“I know, fun stuff."
In truth both factors were indirectly related, but Cade knew breaking it down into separate issues would make it easier for Lux to shift through the information necessary to her.
"Not that you or anybody outside of the NW Commonwealth would know, but New Kantler recently signed a highly controversial law joining the church and state. It's been a frequent source of debate for years but only built up the necessary support a few months ago after results from the recent LST fell short of the predicted marks by a wide margin."
"What the fuck is the LST?"
"Lurdian Standardized Test, started about ten years ago as a way to gauge the literacy and academic capabilities of the Expanse as a whole. But there were rumors going around that the Council of Development was being strong-armed by one of its sister councils into acquiring the unofficial census data of city states who might pose a threat in the future. As you’d expect they swept this under the rug by having the CoD offer financial incentives to those members who implemented the first attempt at a standardized academic code. Those incentives would increase if a city state possessed one or more educational institutions with scores in the ninetieth percentile."
"We never took that did we?"
"No we didn't. Federation Academies have their own academic code and testing system firmly in place. And despite being around a decade old the LST is still very much in its trial phase. It’s safe to assume administering the test to a demographic that doesn't particularly give a shit would skew the outcome of the results in a way that’s counterproductive to the aims of the CoD.”
“Sounds about right.”
”Bottom line, New Kantler's most recent testing scores came back lackluster to say the least. Resulted in a few concerned parties coming forward, and they attributed the outcome to a lack of discipline among the youth."
"Let me guess, the heads of church who presumably had a part in these ‘concerned parties’ preached the benefits of religious upbringings."
"Precisely, and one of the joint governments first moves is building new schools that will serve as pillars of academic and religious instruction. A move that groups opposed to the new law are adamant about stopping, or at least slowing until it can be revisited through proper channels."
"This has all been very enlightening—”
Cade rolled his eyes at Lux’s attempt at precocious word play.
“—but when are we going to double back to the first reason? All this political crap is beyond me."
With the sugar from her hot chocolate beginning to fade, so too did Lux’s attention span.
"Right, the cargo. I’ll make this brief since I can tell the political stuff did a number on you.”
Lux was skeptical her friend could keep that promise.
“The main religion practiced in New Kantler, it places an odd amount of significance around a particular breed of tree called Cinnabark. Hence they use the tree in the construction of their institutions. Churches notwithstanding."
Cade patted one of the crates behind him, indicating it was indeed full of this type of timber.
"Well I’ve never heard of it, meaning they’re not native to the west. Name come from the appearance?"
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
"Brick red and heavy as a mother, I would know having just loaded a considerable amount of it. To my understanding they grow down somewhere far south."
"What is with southerners and the color red? Sorry, off topic. We're transporting timber for the church schools."
Cade nodded.
"A lot of it, and it's not easy or cheap for them to source. Meaning the best for way for the opposing groups I mentioned earlier to buy time would be stopping the shipment."
"You think they'll hire outside help?"
"Possibly, it's also plausible that they position themselves strategically along the route to prevent the delivery."
"Protesting you mean, that would lead to some annoying delays."
"Delays that could provide the outside help with the window they need for the raiding or destruction of the cargo. If we’re talking worse case scenarios."
Lux sighed and fell back on to the dunnage bag.
"Your right, this will be a pain in the ass for me and the other security officers."
"Still curious about the CC we’ve been assigned?"
Lux raised a hand without sitting up.
"Don't bother, I'm ticked off enough as is. I'll save that bullet for later."
“Suit yourself.”
Cade stood and brushed himself off before turning his attention to a figure standing in the opening of the cargo bay.
"Excuse me miss, but if you insist on staying any longer we'll have no choice but to tie you down as part of the outgoing cargo."
The voice belonged to clipboard man, more commonly known as the dock chief.
"As much as I love the idea of giving Cade here more work, I'll pass."
Lux jumped down from her perch and exited the Crusader ahead of Cade.
"Don't let this guy go chatting up any more girl's chief. It would set a poor example.”
Lux could practically hear Cade's eyes rolling behind her as she exited the loading yard. It was time to get dressed for work.
*
Esma lost track of the number of times she’d combed over the manifest since receiving it the afternoon prior, some part of her adamant she’d missed something crucial. But no matter how many times she browsed the contents of the document the same uneasy feeling continued to plague her. Meaning it was time to accept the fact her current affliction was nothing more than a case of nerves. A simple problem with complex solutions.
In an attempt to alleviate that growing unease Esma began delving into the context of the convoy itself, only to find there was no shortage of political and logistical pother to unpack. A welcome distraction if she was expected to make it to departure time.
Compiling the manifest and a few other documents relating to activity in the region, Esma made her way out of the study hall of the dorm and towards administration. While not explicitly enforced, crew members were expected to drop their manifests and any other materials related to the convoy at one of the station's administrative counters. Administrative staff would then see to filing away any prudent information and destroying the rest.
By design normal civilians would have no way of knowing, but manifests actually served several purposes beyond detailing what and who were going where. One such purpose being a waiver that said the LCF couldn’t be held responsible for serious injury or loss of life during transit. Granted medical attention was guaranteed assuming the patient made it to the station of arrival in time. Between stations however, crew members had no choice but to rely on the field medic courses included in every security division personnel member’s academic curriculum.
Naturally Esma had gone about familiarizing herself with the ins and outs of LCF paperwork as part of her ongoing effort to avoid reality. And for the most part everything fell within her realm of expectations, including the extensive number of sections emphasizing discretion. She’d quickly deduced that these sections were primarily intended for personnel who carelessly leaked information from manifests ahead of departure, or those who’d completed their service requirement and choose to leave the LCF.
Not keen on being a propagator of the first, Esma dropped off her documents at admin before proceeding over to the assembly area. On the way she couldn’t help but fiddle with her uniform. Her nerves shining through again no doubt. But she did think part of making a good impression involved looking presentable.
Following that line of thought Esma had been rather critical when choosing from the LCF’s rather generous assortment of options relating to uniforms. As for obvious reasons that didn’t apply to station personnel, having uniforms reserved for specific divisions and ranks put crew members at a disadvantage during convoys. Because if Hussards could discern the experience levels and responsibilities of each crew member accurately, they'd be able to cripple crews by focusing their attention on specialist positions first. Increasing the likelihood of success for the party when approaches commenced.
Hence the decision to allow for the mixing and matching of various uniform options, granted everything shared a similar color scheme and aesthetic. Esma had settled on a form fitting gray jacket with light brown accents and a high collar. Underneath she wore a simple beige tank. The tactical pants and work boots she settled on were of a similar light brown color as well.
Beyond the individuality made possible by the litany of uniform combinations, the only unique aspect of her and any other crew members uniform was their belt. These federation belts displayed not only one's division, but their years of service, as well as qualifications earned through specialized training courses. Usually in the form of colored strips, badges or other insignia. In essence revealing everything about a given crew member’s recognized capabilities. Therefore Federation personnel were encouraged to keep their belts concealed under tops or jackets, for their own safety.
And while it was beyond Esma as to why someone would ignore this warning and willingly show their hand to potential enemies, it didn’t stop people from displaying their belts proudly on various parts of their person or uniform. Things such as using the belt as a headband, or strapping it around one’s neck, bicep or thigh.
Alternatively, there existed a great many on the opposite side of the spectrum who went to great lengths to conceal their belts. During coursework at the academy she'd even heard rumors of graduates who wore fake belts or inquired about procuring belts of the deceased and inactive just to secure an advantage.
In regards to her own belt, any type of speculation would be wasted with how painfully bare it was. Granted she'd still make an effort to conceal it all the same. Keeping it hidden should provide her more options down the road. The phrase “fake it till you make it” came to mind.
Future proofing aside, Esma found that the entire belt dynamic actually offered a unique opportunity to hone her discernment skills. For as long as a crew member’s belt remained privy, she’d have to rely on other aspects of their uniform or delve into the individual’s disposition to glean information about their potential capabilities. She would start easy, guessing an individual's division based solely on outward appearance. The tricky part would be finding an optimal location for fraternizing with crew ahead of convoys as waiting until boarding would make the exercise futile. Members of the security division would be armed, and engineers would give themselves away through their presence in either the bridge or engine room.
Communication Officers like her would also spend the brunt of their time on the bridge, but they generally convened at the assembly hall ahead of everyone else anyway. Once again not a requirement per se, but it had its merits. Mainly the chance to greet the Head Communications Officer and go more in-depth on details from the manifest. Things like weather, traffic, check-in frequency and route topography. All information a competent CO needed to have a handle on.
Figures a mistimed commute and obsessing over what to bring onboard would delay her arrival until it was too late to attend said meeting. With any luck her inadmissible tardiness wouldn’t rub any of her seniors the wrong way.
Now passing through the mostly empty assembly hall, Esma entered the departure yard where four Crusaders stood proudly awaiting departure. Releasing a deep but shaky breath, she struggled to recall which Crusader she’d been assigned to.
"What's your Crusader number?"
Esma flinched at the unexpected verbal stimulus and unceremoniously jerked her head in the direction of its source. And there to her immediate right stood a woman in a field service uniform favoring fewer layers and a darker palette. Above which sat a gentle smile tucked beneath burgundy locks. Thinking on it this would have been as good a time as any for Esma to attempt her mental discernment exercise. If only she could somehow manufacture the mental capacity to do it. But it was already taking her far longer than socially acceptable to provide an answer to an otherwise straightforward question. She swallowed.
"It’s C248, I've been assigned to be the Communications Officer onboard Crusader C248."
"Ah, so you’re the new girl. We missed you at the meeting earlier."
Esma internally groaned at her inability to conduct herself professionally this morning. Her regret was short lived however as her mind began running down the crew roster from the manifest. It occurred to her that of the four COs assigned to this convoy, only two of them were female. Her being one, as for the other...
"And you must be the Head Communications Officer..."
"Flannery Prentice, it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Villard."
The veteran CO extended a warm hand. A hand Esma accepted firmly.
[Flannery Prentice, 29, Communications Division]
"You weren't waiting for me were you. I'd hate to have wasted any more of your time."
Flannery waved her off.
"You're fine, I was actually waiting for the Convoy Commander and caught you in the process. And don't mind missing the meeting earlier, it isn't as if it’s mandatory. Though it would probably do you some good to attend a few in the future."
It almost felt like Esma was being scolded by a parent for some minor transgression. Not that she had personal experience to draw from on that front. This woman didn’t even seem old enough to have children, rather her tone indicated a familiarity with managing perverse individuals.
"Did you have any questions for me before departure? Maybe something you would have wanted to confirm this morning?"
Did Esma have any questions? Probably, but something about the way she'd been asked struck her as odd. A leading question perhaps? To see if her tardiness stemmed from a lack of awareness. Was there something from the manifest that required confirmation? Unless…had there been a new development?
With the political climate of New Kantler being what it was, it was plausible to assume their scheduled delivery for today had invited stronger reactions than normal among dissenting groups. It could very well be that new information had arrived out of Belveer ahead of departure informing of such reactions and the threats they posed. If that was the case, it's possible the route would have to be altered at points to circumvent forms of resistance. Wait, best not get ahead of herself on pure conjecture alone.
"Is there any new information out of Belveer we need to be weary of?"
Flannery smiled at the young woman's inquiry. She could practically both see and hear the gears turning inside the brunette’s head. A good sign.
"There isn't. But that's subject to change as we proceed further along the route. But for the sake of conversation, how would you go about assessing new information?"
Esma eyes drifted to the side and she chewed the inside of her cheek, considering the question.
"We'd need to be careful about conforming to new information too readily. It could be a strategy to delay or lead the convoy into a disadvantageous position. "
Flannery studied Esma for a moment, then nodded. Having found what she was looking for. She gestured to the Crusader on the far right.
"Crusader C248. One of the girls will need to check you for contraband before boarding.”
Her senior sent her along with a smile and a thumbs up.
“Let's do our best out there today!"