“Captain on deck,” the young man sitting at the navigation console said curtly, straightening in his chair. The rest of the bridge crew barely reacted, instead continuing to stare at their screen readouts, jot down notes, or, in one case, doze off. The atmosphere in the room was dull; the air still and stale. It was almost silent, only the occasional cough or the buzz of a computer interrupting the quiet. The young man’s shoulders slumped as he noticed his comrades’ apathy.
“At ease, Mr. Culling,” Captain Wallace muttered as he strode over the bulkhead’s threshold onto the bridge. He stifled a yawn, instead choosing to stretch his arms towards the ceiling. He could feel his spine pop at the exertion. “I’m glad at least someone still cares about ceremony after all this time.” He gave the young navigator a pat on the shoulder before turning towards the command chair. He gave out a disappointed sigh as he spotted a tray of half-eaten food paste resting on the seat.
“Sorry, cap,” a female voice spoke up. A woman in her mid-thirties stepped past him, brushing her shoulder against his. “Let me get that.” She picked up the tablet and unceremoniously chucked it into a corner of the deck, where it clattered loudly against the steel wall. The sudden sound seemed to shock the remaining command crew back into awareness. They jumped, looking around uncertainly.
“That should get you some attention,” the crewwoman whispered as she passed the captain again, returning to her console. The captain smirked after her before taking his seat.
Getting comfortable, he looked over his crew. Four men, one woman. All of varying ethnic, social, and economic backgrounds. All of them his family for the past five years. There was Mr. Gustav Braumann, communications. He nodded towards the captain before returning his dark, sunken eyes towards his screen, absentmindedly scratching his scruffy beard. His job had essentially consisted of relaying crew messages towards their respective home systems via narrow-beam transmissions for the past half-decade. There had not been any direct communications for him to manage since they left.
Then there was Mr. Sota Iwamatsu, engineering. His post had been a lot busier, staying in constant communication with the engineering team, maintaining the ship throughout its journey. He had spent most of his time learning every detail, discovering every quirk, and studying ever nook and cranny of the ship. By now, he could probably fix any issue that might arise blindfolded. He gave Captain Wallace a polite bow and went back to reading one of the ship’s many manuals.
Third, there was Mr. Nathan Culling, navigation. He was one of the youngest crewmembers aboard at only twenty-six years. Many still made fun of him for ‘having just hit puberty,’ but everyone respected him. He had proven to be an excellent helmsman over the years, always eager to do his job to the best of his ability. Even now, on this quiet return journey, he gazed intently at his console, making sure their course was as exact as could be. Wallace allowed himself a rare smile. The boy had a lot of potential.
Next was Mr. Emanuel Juaré. Presenting the polar opposite of Mr. Culling, he was the oldest man on board. His hair was an unkempt, grey mess, his face covered in badly maintained stubble. Resting his head on his arms and his arms on his screen, he snoozed. The captain couldn’t blame him. Ever since they embarked on their return journey a year ago, Juaré had little to do. His survey drones were packed tightly away in the cargo hold, collecting dust. Why he even bothered to show up on the bridge anymore, no one knew. The old drone pilot could just as well spend his days sleeping in his bunk.
Finally, there was Ms. Melissa Cartly, sensor ops. Also, Wallace’s second-in-command. She carefully studied her readouts, scribbling diagrams and notes onto a good old pen-and-paper notepad. Next to Iwamatsu, she was – in the captain’s opinion – the most reliable person on the ship. Calm, professional, and to the point, she had done an excellent job at collecting every bit of data from the vessel’s extensive sensor array that she could. It was in large parts thanks to her that the expedition had turned out to be such a great success. Her performance also made her immensely popular with the otherwise rather isolated team of scientists and researchers that they carried on board.
Captain Wallace sighed. How five years could have passed in near claustrophobic proximity to each other without the two cliques of crew and passengers assimilating was beyond him. He knew the researchers were busy with their workloads – after all, cataloging an entire new system was a tremendous effort – but he wasn’t sure whether he even knew them all well enough to call each by name, and there were just fifty people aboard the Astraeus.
He shrugged to himself. It shouldn’t matter to him. He had his crew – his family. And he had had the pleasure of spending nearly five years in their company, getting to know each and everyone of them as well as anyone could. Twenty-eight competent individuals, all experts in their respective duties, all cut from the same dedicated, adventurous material as Wallace himself. Each one of them had proven themselves to be an invaluable member of this small community.
The researchers and scientists on the other hand… Captain Wallace was certain they were all good men and women, dedicated to their jobs and willing to do what it took to complete their assignments. But they were just so damn busy all the time. The only ones he had ever had any lengthy conversations with were Dr. Haas and Dr. Milroy, the two heads of the research team. The rest were little more than strangers to him. Strangers on a comfortable but small vessel that had been on its own for five years.
Wallace shook his head. Scientists.
“Status report, everyone,” he announced to his bridge crew, straightening up in his seat.
“We’re still precisely on course and due to enter the system in twenty-eight days,” Mr. Culling piped up immediately. “We will pass right between the Kiribati field and the Palau cloud.”
Wallace nodded his approval. “Engineering?”
Mr. Iwamatsu turned to face the captain. “The reactor continues to maintain an output of eighty percent maximum performance. Engines one and two are running well within their parameters, as always.”
“And engine three?”
“Under routine maintenance, it should be up and running in roughly two hours.”
“Excellent, Mr. Iwamatsu.” Wallace hesitated a moment, smiling to himself. “Mr. Braumann?” The bearded Rheinlander sighed, looking over his blank console screen.
“Same as usual, captain. Nothing to report.”
Wallace chuckled. “Very well, Mr. Braumann. You may take the day.” Braumann rose from his seat, politely nodded towards the captain, and left the bridge. Captain Wallace turned in his seat to face Mr. Juaré, still slumped over his console, quietly snoring away. He started to address the old man but thought better of it. The drone pilot wouldn’t have anything to report anyway, as he hadn’t for the past eleven months. Instead, the captain turned towards Ms. Cartly.
“Sensors?”
His first officer kept her eyes on her readouts, replying, “Nothing new to report. I’m still helping Dr. Milroy and her team catalog the sensor data we collected in the Oort cloud.”
Wallace wrinkled his nose. “You’ve been at that for nearly five months.”
Shrugging, Cartly responded, “Yes, cap. The doctor still insists that the microparticles we picked up may be of organic nature.” She turned to face the captain, a sly smile on her face. “I still think it just looks like space dust.”
Wallace tapped his fingers on his seat’s armrests, thinking to himself, before jumping up out of it.
“Very well. Keep at it, everyone.” Nodding to his crew, he turned and marched off the command deck and down the narrow corridors towards the research team’s labs.
