CHAPTER II: COMMANDER CASSANDRA EMERIC

Satellite Defense Platform Verdun

Orbiting Nova Sumer, Protectorate Capital of the United Planets Coalition

December 13th, 2771

Andra felt her stomach curling up into her chest. She always hated waiting rooms, regardless of what she waited for. Principal’s offices as a girl, doctor’s offices as a young woman, Mundane Judiciary courts. There was just a tension they emanated, like g-forces rocking up her body — even when these appointments usually preceded a display of exemplary grades, peak physical condition, or the dismissal of a speeding ticket. She’d never even gotten a speeding ticket, yet the prospect of a waiting room baked her like an oven. And being in a waiting room in an orbital artillery platform thousands of miles above Nova Sumer’s surface? Yeah, her hands and feet were sweating a little. Her joints ached. She blinked a little too hard. Every instinct in the back of her head screamed to get up and move.

The usual fare.

Not that she minded the view, though. Some people don’t like viewports on spacecraft, still thinking they’re made of regular glass, maybe. The transparent alloys that composed viewports in vacuum-worthy craft were stronger than steel, that particular aspect never gave Andra half the anxiety that sitting and waiting did. In fact, the view was probably what kept her seated: the sun painted the edge of Nova Sumer like a gold fingernail, and long trails of cotton clouds dragged across its face. Feeling so small let her exhale her stress every few minutes. Relaxation flowed down from the top of her head into the soles of her feet — only to immediately jolt back up when the door alarm buzzed and a Lieutenant poked his head in.

"Commander Emeric?" He asked, polite but droll.

Andra’s head shook a little as she came back to reality and stood up. Her athletic build, deceptive height and fiery green eyes made the Lieutenant look up at her with a little more attention. Standing before another naval officer with a task ahead, her anxiety locked into steely resolve. As he hesitated, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?" She asked, inquisitive and genuine, but her poise and stance unwittingly authoritative.

"No, Commander," the Lieutenant stepped fully into the doorway to stand at attention. "Right this way, Commander."

Once he turned, she smiled sheepishly to herself as she followed, unaccustomed to her title, still a little taken aback by its constant mention. That was, however, to now be expected — subordinates were compelled to end sentences directed at a superior with their listed rank, a simple ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ would be an unacceptable lapse in discipline. Andra knew this of course, but the rank had only been hers for…what, three days now? She followed the Lieutenant down the grids of smooth, open walkways looming over acres of staff at desks and computer consoles, leading to a tactical hub at the forefront of the station. Beyond that, the starry expanse watched them through transparent alloy panels like a vast audience. She passed technicians, ensigns and uniformed officers of various ranks, most of them giving her courteous and respectful nods, but she felt them watching her back as she passed by. Once in a while she’d pass other Commanders, and though of equivalent rank to her, at age 27 she looked conspicuously less comfortable in her dark blue uniform. She put on a confident face, however, holding eye contact and nods as long as appropriate.

After a winding road of walkways and elevators, she and her escort found themselves in the heart of the platform, the smooth steel giving way to brutalist concrete, like a walk back in time. Gone was the top of the line marvel of aerospace engineering, now back in a bunker fit for Earth’s original Cold War.

"I’m sure this level looks quite antiquated," the Lieutenant began, anticipating her curiosity. "It’s because—"

"It’s a Cradle. All pre-Reform era vessels have them. A cement chamber in the heart of every steel bunker, ship or orbital installation."

The Lieutenant hesitated. "Yes, because—"

"The cement is lined with Aldynium, to intercept radio waves from entering the…" she trailed off, leading to her own answer, "Lieutenant, am I reporting to the Nerve Center?"

"Yes, Commander."

This finally stifled Andra’s gait. The Nerve Center was a separate deck from the bridge, many levels below the maintenance and control stations. It was was an Executive Command level — a place where admirals, N.O.I.R. directors, senators, diplomats and legislators would stay when aboard. The most secure part of any United Planets vessel, they were almost separate bases of their own, complete with their own security staff and officers, expressly forbidden from fraternizing with primary crew. The bridge dictated the movement and direction of the vessel, but word from the Nerve Center could — and often did — directly overruled them. Andra found herself so lost in her own theorizing that she staggered to a stop, narrowly avoiding bumping into the Lieutenant as he plugged away on the keypad to a bulkhead, made of a blockier, thicker metal than the rest on the Verdun.

A slow clank echoed from the bulkhead, a heavy lock releasing and letting the iron plates slide backward to reveal a new figure. He was an Abrax, his tannish-gold complexion, flat bifurcated nose and long, nearly glowing green epicanthic eyes made for a regal, but dispassionate face. His tuft of coarse, waxy hairs were pushed back along the slight point of his skull, a sleek and angular profile that paired well with his dark green officer’s uniform with inlaid armor at the shoulders, brandishing no rank of any kind.

Abrax tended to be private and terse, but Andra could pick up quite a bit just by him standing there: uniform, but no rank, and wearing body armor in the heart of a military defense platform?

Intelligence Agent.

His sudden appearance seemed to unsettle the Lieutenant, but he nonetheless snapped to attention. "Cipher, I—"

The Abrax raised a long, swift hand. "Well done, grunt," his voice flowed, soft and patient like a languid stream, "That will be all."

The Lieutenant swallowed, then nodded and left.

The Abrax folded his hands behind his back and gave a respectful nod. "Commander," he greeted formally. "I am Cipher Orozin of the Naval Observation and Intelligence Regiment. I am to escort you the rest of the way."

Check, she thought. Intelligence Agent. Andra maintained her posture and stance, unsure of how to greet a N.O.I.R. officer with a rank she hadn’t heard of, and simply returned his nod. When their eyes met, her displeasure at his condescension towards the Lieutenant was plain. Rather than address it, he simply turned on a heel an strode into the Nerve Center, Andra following in-step. She was willing to be more casual with the Lieutenant, but if this officer saw fit to look down on and dismiss, she couldn’t give him any timidity. In fact, she paced a step faster, coming up nearly shoulder to shoulder. They would be shoulder to shoulder, were Andra not several inches taller than him.

"You are fighting the urge to scan your surroundings," he stated, "Are you not, Commander?"

Andra controlled her reaction. Abrax, she remembered, were notoriously inscrutable, while they found other species’ emotions and expressions ‘ostentatious.’ She held her head forward and kept her face relaxed. "No more than normal," she replied, pointedly leaving off any rank or ‘sir’ on the end of her sentence. If he didn’t feel it necessary to state his rank to her, he didn’t have proper officer’s training, thus she owed him no propriety.

"Have you been within a Nerve Center before, Commander?"

"No."

"Yet you were so shaped by one."

She nearly faltered at this, but held control. Not just perceptive, she thought, intrusive, too. Andra had never been in a Nerve Center, but one loomed high in her life. The Nerve Center at the heart of N.O.I.R.’s Forward Operating Base on Halcyon, where her father had his fateful confrontation with Malim Kagan. That little box of concrete altered the course of her life forever.

"I didn’t think Abrax were fond of irony," she said, ignoring his prodding question.

"We are not," he returned, intoning plainly that he wasn’t pleased. "You will have to pardon my bluntness, Commander," he caught his lapse, "Irony is born of contrast between word and outcome. My culture use them in amicable formation. I find that irony is how humans try to find humor in failure."

Some apology, she thought. Abrax were historically risk-averse, the ‘play it safe’ species. Logical, analytical and linear thinking made them unparalleled technicians, but a lack of curiosity and gall made them less than ideal scientists. After all, it takes a daring mind to throw chaotic elements together just to see what happens. Hence, one of the largest hurdles that humans and Abrax found in their early meeting was their respective journeys into the cosmos: they had only become spacefaring once their home world’s ecosystem naturally grew less hospitable for them due to solar flares, and had the proper time and resources to mount a full exodus. Meanwhile, humans consumed most of their planet in the short-term, then in the span of three decades in the 20th century, went from barely having rocketry to hurling themselves out into space…just because it was there. Several Abrax leaders feared the whole of humanity may have been insane.

Nevertheless, his condescension wouldn’t be abided any further. He hadn’t stated a proper rank within military hierarchy, and continued to disrespect not only her but fellow staff. If he was an officer, he was proving a poor one. So, against her better instincts, she did something about it.

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"Do you hold a naval rank, Cipher Officer?"

"No, Commander."

"Do you hold a legislative title?"

"I do not, Commander."

"Then keep your assumptions to yourself. I’m not under oath to be polite."

Orozin slowed a step. Clearly he was used to people being intimidated by his perception. He recovered and silently kept pace with Andra until they reached the end of a concrete corridor, another steel bulkhead. The doors slid open, revealing an executive conference room: concentric black desks flanked by descending steps, to a central holo-table. The occupants of the holo-table evaporated Andra’s newfound confidence:

At the head sat Indira Brahmbhatt, Secretary Chief of Staff of the United Planets Legislative Assembly, and beside her, Senior Fleet Admiral Durham Calloway of the United Navy. Andra felt Orozin’s eyes on her as her body locked up, but she snapped into a firm salute right after.

"Madame Secretary," she said. Though the Senior Fleet Admiral was the top rank of all the Navy, the civilian chair held higher authority within the United Planets, thus she was expected to address her first.

The older woman rose, sharp eyes, bronze skin and inviting smile not hindered by the aging of power. "Welcome, Cassandra," she said warmly.

Admiral Calloway stood as well, his legendary muttonchops exactly as advertised, thick pillars of salt and pepper hair rustling as he gave her a slight nod. "At ease, Commander."

Andra lowered her hand and descended the stairs as the Admiral gestured to one of the seats across from them. As she settled in, she saw Orozin out of her periphery, standing straight a few feet from the table. Damned space cats, she cursed to herself, didn’t even hear him move.

"I’m sure you’re curious as to why you were called here," Secretary Brahmbhatt began. "I can give you the relief of knowing we come with glad tidings."

"It’s an honor, Madam Secretary."

"The honor may well be ours, Commander," Calloway added as he activated the holo-table. Twinkling blue lights wafted off the smooth, black table top and coalesced into a familiar sight: Doubtless Resolve, the Achilles-Class Heavy Cruiser that Andra served aboard as First Officer. "The Doubtless Resolve acquitted herself with grace, and your conduct in her moment of crisis was not unnoticed."

Andra’s lips pulled in as she recalled the incident. Folding her hands in her lap, she nodded awkwardly. "I must admit I wasn’t prepared for that specific incident, Fleet Admiral."

"The moments that define us are always those we’re least ready for, Commander," Admiral Calloway reassured.

"I have read kilometers of reports on the event," Secretary Brahmbhatt shook her head slightly, "But I should like to hear it again in your words, if you please."

Andra looked at her uneasily for a beat, then swallowed. "Of course, ma’am." She looked down at her hands, recalling the hard day. "Worley Integrated had wanted to build worker housing on the moon of Han Hollard, then establish a travel lane for their workers to pipe directly down to the mines. But they hadn’t done proper environmental prognoses before they built their settlement domes. They didn’t know how long hurricane season would last. After a week of floods, the United Navy dispatched the Resolve under Commander Tatenda to aid evacuation, provide medical care and re-establish power…but uh…" she trailed off, blinking hard. "Apologies ma’am, it’s just…a lot happened all at once…"

Secretary Brahmbhatt’s brows furrowed and she opened her mouth to no doubt reassure, but Orozin’s cold tone interrupted. "You missed your rendezvous," he answered Andra, "Emotional compromise waylaid your arrival." Andra’s stomach dipped somewhat, eyes fixed down on the tabletop.

"Cipher," Calloway said sharply, "Mind your decorum."

Andra didn’t look up, but heard Orozin shift and cover himself. "Apologies, Fleet Admiral, perhaps I misinterpreted her pause. The intricacies of recalling emotional stress are not fully in my grasp."

"Add it to the list," Calloway dismissed under his breath. Ignoring the spy, Brahmbhatt leaned forward and laid a hand toward Andra, not making contact but a gesture of sympathy nonetheless. "Please, Commander Emeric."

Andra inhaled sharply at the mention of her surname, a pang of regret bringing her back to reality. She picked her head up and nodded. "Just before we entered Rift Space, we passed by Akarui IV while it was in a phase of solar flares. Normally we wouldn’t have been close enough for it to be a problem, but a small solar wind crossed our trajectory. The particle movements from the Rift Drive travelled back through the solar wind and accelerated the star’s protons. We became a conductor for its electromagnetic radiation. It fried all onboard electronics."

"And the insulated backup generator?" Calloway questioned.

"Functioned as designed, Fleet Admiral," she nodded, "Power was restored in a matter of seconds, but…" the words caught in her throat. She swallowed and forced herself forward. "Commander Tatenda had a synthetic heart. The flare…turned it off. We were coasting through Rift Space with barely restored life support and zero visibility, I didn’t notice until we dropped out of the lane. We called the medics and I administered chest compressions—"

"If I may, Commander Emeric," Orozin again interjected. Calloway shot him a warning look, but by his tone, the Cipher was more placative. "The older models of synthetic organs did not always integrate perfectly with original tissue. As such, chest compressions were advised against, as they could tear the artificial docking point."

Andra winced slightly. "He is…correct," she went on, ashamed.

“It is understandable,” Orozin went on, perhaps trying to be sympathetic — and ignorantly failing at it. “It was a largely human bridge crew, in times of crisis, only so much can be expected of—”

“I wouldn’t count out our presence of mind just yet, Cipher,” Calloway cut off firmly. “We fought in a war for 30 years against a technologically superior foe. Alone,” he glared at Orozin, “And we won. Without the aid of enlightened so-called allies.”

Andra swallowed, tension in the room thick like humid air. Apparently Calloway hadn’t gotten over the Abrax, Kashar, Gex and Neumerians’ stances of neutrality during the Tregian War. Perhaps reasonable, she felt, as it was technically before the United Planets were officially formed, and Tregian space only bordered humanity’s; the rest of the Skyfield’s spacefaring races were tens of thousands of lightyears away from danger. They gave logistical support and aided in reconstruction, but many among human leadership never forgot those that refused to stand by humanity’s side against extinction.

For his part, Orozin found himself with no counter. “…I apologize, Fleet Admiral, I was not aware that—”

“Orozin,” Secretary Brahmbhatt raised a sympathetic hand.

“Ma’am?”

“Why don’t you keep watch outside?”

The Abrax stood silent, unreadable face clearly rocked with confusion and…no, more than that, Andra saw.

Humiliation.

Orozin nodded humbly and saw himself out.

“I am so sorry, Commander,” Brahmbhatt redirected to Andra, “I’m sure this is painful enough for you to relive. But please, continue. You’d said Captain Tatenda’s artificial heart was damaged?”

Not especially, she thought bitterly. Every year I see another biopic about my father’s murder, I guess I was prepared for this.

“Uh, yes—Yes, ma’am,” she answered. “By the time the medics arrived, they couldn’t reintegrate the heart’s synthetic tubing to his aortic valve. He didn’t make it. We arrived at a hurricane and massive floods on Han Hollard after just losing our captain. As First Officer, I was given command and ordered our descent to begin relief efforts.”

"And accomplished them with flying colors," Calloway added. "Your coordinated evacuation and use of onboard armaments to create drain ways saved thousands of lives, Commander. I know it’s difficult, but you showed exemplary leadership and resourcefulness."

"With all due respect, Fleet Admiral," she shook her head slightly, "My Commander died because of me."

"Absolutely not," Calloway defied. "Commander Tatenda was a great man, and a friend. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get him back, but that is not your fault. You can’t control solar winds, you can’t slow down ionized molecules and you can’t dissipate radiation."

Andra reluctantly met his gaze. “…I suppose not, sir."

"Durham is right," Secretary Brahmbhatt nodded warmly. "All you did was what you thought best in an impossible moment. That’s all that can be asked of you. It may never feel like you truly won, but you deserve to be recognized, on behalf of those who are still with their families today because of you."

"And with the family you hail from," Calloway commended with a small, proud smile, "That’s no surprise!"

That was it. Andra’s stomach fully sank. ‘With the family you hail from.’ All her hard work, her discretion, her sacrifices, jettisoned in one sentence.

"That was another question, actually," Brahmbhatt continued. "Since your years at the Academy, you’ve gone under a different surname, yes?"

Andra locked up nervously. "That was all totally above board, ma’am. I coordinated with the dean of admissions and all of my CO’s, I didn’t perjure or falsify any—"

“It's alright, Commander, it’s fine," Brahmbhatt raised a hand, "I was simply asking why? I imagine being Ambactus Emeric’s daughter could have helped greatly with your start. You could have gone directly to officer’s school, why did you use an alias?"

Andra swallowed again, piling on the mound of led now in her belly. Because everywhere I look, I see his face, she wanted to scream. Because his shadow was already hard enough to escape. Because nowadays he’s everyone’s father instead of mine, she thought as loud as she could, but the words never left her mouth.

"I wanted to earn my way on merit, ma’am," she finally answered, "And I didn’t want to disappoint anyone expecting me to be as great as him. I’m just…me."

The two of them chewed on this for a long moment before Calloway leaned forward. "That’s entirely fair. It’s a helluva thing to live up to, and I promise no one is asking you to. Your father came along in a time of war."

"A darkness we’re grateful to be rid of, and we are rid of it sooner because of him," the Secretary reassured, "The time of heroes like him is gone — he was the last and greatest of them. Thanks to his sacrifice, now we send our navy to build bridges, not blockades."

"And that’s precisely why you’re here," Calloway brought up a data-pad and touched it to the table, transferring a hologram of a massive, industrial looking Orion-class Carrier overhead. "We’re giving you command of the Twilight Reverent, first of a new generation of redesigns. We’re retrofitting our heavy assault carriers for first response and disaster relief."

Andra forgot her guilt and shame for a moment at the sight of the glowing starship above her, light dancing off her eyes. "I…uh…thank you, Madam Secretary, thank you Admiral! Wha…what’s the heading?"

"We’re calling it a good faith tour," Brahmbhatt smiled as she stood. "You’ll be running the major star ports along the Fringes where the United Navy’s presence seems lacking, letting them know we don’t intend to forget them."

Her stomach sank again, sensing where this was going. This wasn’t a mission, it was a propaganda circuit.

"And what better optics for it than to send our newest ship, captained by an Emeric, no less!"

There it was. The whole reason she’d been promoted. She’d acted in a moment of crisis, and her real name popped up. The navy couldn’t possibly waste this potent a resource to legitimize their rebranding. ‘We’re a peacekeeping coalition instead of an armed force now, here’s the heir to humanity’s greatest hero to prove it!’

She felt sick.

She tuned out the Secretary and the Admiral as they went over extensive details of her new crew and the specific stops of this ‘good faith tour,’ her mind noted all relevant details but filed them away for later as she fought an overflowing well of disappointment and anxiety.

You can’t do this, she thought to herself. Tell them they have the wrong person. You’re compromised by grief. You’re having domestic issues. You have gout. Whatever it is, you can’t make it work. ‘No thank you, ma’am,’ that’s it. Concise, respectful, professional. ‘No thank you, ma’am.’

"So," Brahmbhatt concluded, hands spread theatrically, "What do you say?"

No thank you, ma’am.

“It’d be an honor, ma’am."

Damn it.