Kendra Oldham pressed the call button next to the captain's door. She got no response, which was odd. Seabourne was a light sleeper, too light in Oldham's opinion. The Captain was not an exceptional ship handler, but damn if he didn't have a happy talent for working at full capacity on two hours of sleep a night, if that. For the passengers, he was always perky, friendly, charming, and full of energy. Even if he was in bed, he would have bolted awake.
She tried again. "Enter," replied a disconcertingly shaky voice.
Kendra walked into the captain's living area/office. Seabourne was at his desk, staring at his screen. His computer was less than a meter in front of him, but his eyes seemed focused about 1,000 lightyears beyond it. Kendra temporarily forgot about the emergency maintenance the number 3 reactor would need the next time they were in port and set the pad with her report down on Seabourne's desk. "Captain... are you ok?"
"I just condemned close to 2,000 people to death."
The Martinique, the "lost" liner out of Baden Baden that turned up in Unioner hands. Officially as a ship's first officer, Kendra wasn't privy to the discussions of the OS&C board of directors. But as first officer, she was also a confidant for her captain, and the normally beaming OS&C chairman looked tired behind the desk of the Breezewood's commander. Kendra's job was to keep the equipment of the ship functioning, and that included its Captain.
"They demanded $1 billion," justified Oldham. "We've never ransomed a liner for more than $200 million, let alone one that was about to retire and was being run by an independent franchise rather than by the corporation proper." Such decisions were always easy to analyze when you weren't the one making them.
"You sound like Crooke. In any event, it's a small consolation to their widows."
"Actually, the Martinique was carrying mostly families so worst case scenario there would be few dependents left behind."
Seabourne's eyes shot to his first officer, confused at the heartless line.
She shrugged, "I watched Florian double check the calculations for the expected survivor payouts. The fact of the matter is that the Martinique and her passengers simply aren't worth what they are demanding, and we are under no legal obligation to pay it."
"Damn it Kendra," said Seabourne, his anger snapping him away from his screen. "I don't care about what I have to do, I'm losing sleep over what I should do. If I had to do something, there wouldn't be a dilemma, just a course of action. But now, hundreds of people are never going home because heaven forbid some digits on an IC server go down more than they should. We have the fake space money to pay them, but fake space laws people with fake space titles won't let me."
"A billion dollars is hardly fake money."
"Turn the life support off for five minutes and see what the collective wealth of those aboard Breezewood does to turn it back on. All wealth is an illusion, Kendra, a means to an end, nothing more. If it is not being spent and enjoyed, then what is the purpose of it all? And if we aren't spending it to even save lives, then what is the purpose of society if not to take care of those who can't take care of themselves?"
Kendra tried a different tactic. "If it was an IDF Lucullus that had been taken and they demanded a ransom, would you have felt obliged to pay?" "Of course not, they're not my people, though if IDF came calling for assistance I'd do what I could."
"Within reason," she countered. A pause.
"Within reason," Seabourne agreed.
"This is no different. The Martinique's captain paid for the privilege of flying our colors. He did not pay for our protection, nor did he fall under our corporate command. He wanted full power over his ship, which means he, and the Unioners, ultimately have responsibility for what happens."
"Am I not guilty because I could have stopped it and chose not to?"
"Do you think those Unioners would take your money and retire happily? Of all the people in the universe, terrorists the most likely to take your advice and spend that money. On ships, guns, weapons, things to terrorize thousands more. Would you bear responsibility for financing decades of Unioner operations?"
The argument seemed to stick with Seabourne, so Kendra pushed the attack in the ensuing silence. "If they demanded a single credit, of course we would be fools not to accept. We negotiate with pirates as a matter of doing business. Florian budgets in into the ship's operating expenses, the Imperials even subsidize it! But this is an unreasonable demand, made by an unreasonable man intent on doing unreasonable things. That we have to take the least worst solution available to us does not make you a bad Chairman, and neither does feeling bad about it so long as it does not keep you from your duties."
Seabourne gave the first officer a cold glare. "That I have to take the least worst action, Kendra. Your name isn't on that document, but perhaps that's too subtle a distinction for a career first officer to pick up on!"
Oldham said nothing. Hurt by the words, hurt more that Seabourne was hurting enough to lash out. She showed none of it.
Seabourne sighed. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."
The captain settled back in his chair, seeming to age a hundred years in the process. "I just wanted to publish a magazine, Kendra, to sign autographs and not... death warrants. Captain is the only title worth a lick of spit as far as I'm concerned. Director is putting on airs. Even Editor-in-Chief is just words on a letterhead when you're a newsroom of one. When I took the top job, I was surrounded by vipers that were all gunning for it and you know what I said? I said that I'd do it until I got killed or they found someone better."
Kendra took in the captain's words before replying.
"For what it's worth, I sincerely hope they find someone better then. Eventually," she quickly added after seeing Seaborne raise an eyebrow. Cautiously, she continued.
"Though I fear they'd only find someone more... effective."
Seabourne stared at the highball glass on his desk. Three freshly chipped shards of ice stared back at him. He looked up at his second officer. Normally, a Rheinlander gleefully holding an ice pick in your office was cause for alarm. Seabourne was merely confused.
"It's ice."
"Pristine ice, Herr Capitan."
"And what," interrupted Kendra from her chair, eyeing an identically filled glass in her hand, "exactly makes this ice so... pristine?"
"Think of it this way," said an excited Florian, "Every shard of ice you've ever had has been processed through some planet's water cycle. Endlessly consumed and excreted and filtered. The finest bottle of Denver mountain spring water still had its atoms make those countless circuits. The molecules in your morning coffee was likely excreted by thousands of fish over the last couple of millenia before that particular batch of H20 found its way to the mountain ranges to be harvested and bottled."
"You don't have to go that far back," said Kendra. "Crew water is reclaimed from the guests. We drink their run-off all the time."
"Truth," said Seabourne, "there's a fair chance my last drink was inside you not too long ago. We don't buy our drinks, Florian, we only rent them."
"But you do not get it! When that ice cube melts, for the first time in your life, you will be drinking untouched water, water that has never known the lips of you or any other creature. Those molecules are the primordial remains of the formation of the universe itself. Earth was still cooling when that shard first froze, and it was waited silently for this moment. For you."
Kendra snorted. "We've been harvesting ice from comets for centuries. Cortez is literally full of them."
"She's right," said Seabourne. "Water supply was one of the side businesses that kept Orbital going through some lean times. I've had my share of comet ice before, including on this voyage more likely than not."
"Actually, technically not," chimed Kendra. "Our water stores were restocked on Curacao from terrestrial sources, we haven't had to do a comet run since we started flying the Paradise Limited routinely."
"Can I finish?" said a slightly more exasperated Florian. "Yes, you've had comet water, after it was filtered and processed and the ammonia and other impurities were allowed to outgas. You have never had comet ice. That shard in your glass is pure water with no other trace elements. You could melt it and use it for scientific experiments because we lack the sensors sensitive to record what impurities if any exist there. As far as we can tell, there is twice as much hydrogen as oxygen in that glass right now... and nothing else. Taste that shard and you are truly tasting the heavens themselves."
"So you commandeered a room service cart off some poor steward," said a skeptical Seabourne, "dragged this monstrous chunk of a comet through my ship, letting it drip on my floor, chiseled off a shard sending fragments all over my quarters, just to sell me on some really clear ice?"
"Pristine ice, Capitan. Pristine ice. I confess, the magic of the stuff is not in its atoms, it is in ourselves, and in the story it lets us tell."
"You're a charlatan," said Seabourne. "You're trying to sell ice to eskimos."
"What's an eskimo?" asked Kendra.
"It's an expression. And it's irrelevant. Maybe Shetland enjoys parading her little flim flam dance about with her elixirs, but I'd like to think we have better standards on Breezewood than to charge a mark-up on ice."
"Pristine ice," insisted a frustrated Florian before catching himself. "Look at it this way," the smile slowly returned as he took off his gloves and laid the ice pick on the large chunk of slowly melting comet. "We charge a mark-up for everything on this vessel. The air, the water, the food and drink. Do you really think your finest vintages are 1,000 times more 'wine-y' than your house red, just because we buy it by the bottle instead of the box? No, it is all mashed grapes and yeast. But we sell the experience, and the experience of uncorking a 10,000 credit bottle of wine is worth 1,000 boxes of the cheap stuff. That is why we have sommeliers, to walk us through why this particular batch of crushed grapes and yeast excretions so exquisitely matches the food we just ordered, making a meal that is far better than the sum of its parts. All I am doing is offering the opportunity to sell another experience to our customers. You know they would brag tremendously over having ice in their drink older than our original solar system."
"Should I put out a job posting for whatever the hell you intend to call an ice sommelier?" quipped Kendra.
"An ice-mmelier?" offered Seabourne.
"A glarçon, but that is not important, what is important is-"
"Wait, stop," said Seabourne. "There's a term for a waiter who specializes in ice?"
"Ten credits says he made it up," replied Kendra.
Florian closed his eyes, sighed, and counted to ten. "The Gallic term for waiter is garçon, and for ice cube is glaçon, it was too good an opportunity to miss. And it subtlety ties the act of ordering pristine ice to Gallia and you know that our guests will literally and metaphorically eat that up, and who are we to correct any misconceptions they may develop?"
Seabourne turned his gaze from Florian to Kendra. "It's a good pun."
"It's a bad idea," replied Breezewood's first officer. "I know you're a sucker for good branding, boss, but a clever bit of French wordplay which goes over the heads of 95% of our customers does not a quality experience make!"
But Seabourne was looking at the small puddle of melted water at the bottom of his glass. The ice truly did seem a little more pristine, the water a little clearer, the glass a little colder than usual. He took a tentative sip of the water.
Both Kendra and Florian stared at the captain, who promptly kicked the glass back to get a small shard in his mouth which he crunched on. No one said anything until Orbital's director swallowed the ice.
"I'll be damned if that wasn't the most refreshing ice water I've ever had," said the Captain at last. Florian beamed as Kendra rolled her eyes. "Florian, go ahead and introduce the stuff tonight in the starboard lounge. Don't charge for it... yet. Let's just see what the passengers make of it."
"And get this thing out of my room before it melts everywhere!"
A smiling Florian clicked his heels together, nodded a brief salute, and walked the cart out of the room. He gave Kendra a wink as he passed through the door.
After the door closed behind him, Kendra shot Seabourne a raised eyebrow. "It really is pristine ice," replied the captain.
Florian Schwarz was sweating bullets and it had nothing to do with his uniform being uncharacteristically buttoned all the way up. Breezewood's hospitality officer and third in command had messed up, messed up bigtime, and he knew it. As he walked the corridors to the Old Man's office, he mentally rehearsed some possible explanations that might get him off the hook with his job intact. All of them seem to come up short. He got to the Captain's door and reached for the button, but the doors slid open before he touched it. He was expected, and he was being watched.
He closed his eyes, straightened his back, and slid back into the firm, disciplined Rheinlandic posture he had tried so hard to leave behind. "Heel clicking" Kendra always called it. Oh, he might rival Seabourne's easygoing smile with the passengers, but when people are in deep trouble they always revert to what had worked on their parents, and Florian's parents were proud Rheinlanders in every sense of the word.
"Enter," said a voice. He did so.
Seabourne was behind his desk, looking every inch the stern disciplinarian that he was most certainly not 99% of the time. The Captain much preferred the rum to the other two ancient maritime traditions, but would turn on a dime if something threatened his ship. An ancient Earth philosopher had once suggested that it was better to be feared than loved. Seabourne had read past that to the part where he recommended a good leader be both.
Standing next to him was First Officer Oldham, because of course Kendra wouldn't miss this for the world. She took to the formal look of a disciplinary hearing far better than the two gentlemen in the room. Her eyes were focused but her mouth betrayed a small smile. Florian hoped it was a good sign: Kendra loved seeing things backfire against her suitemate and fellow officer, but she wasn't cruel. If she's enjoying this, thought Florian, it means she thinks this will all turn out all right... eventually.
"Have a seat, Mr. Schwarz," said the Captain. Florian did so, Oldham remained standing. Just as Florian somehow made the casual way he left his uniform unbuttoned seem more formal, Kendra seemed most at ease while standing at her best impression of parade rest. "I need you to explain why you thought this," he indicated the papers on his desk, "was a good idea."
Florian gulped. Real paper. They printed this out. All of Breezewood's records were digital. The captain only kept a physical copy of the red letter days, for good or for bad.
The Rheinlander inhaled. "Are you familiar with the old Earth holiday of Easter, Captain?" "I daresay I am now." A weak smile snuck its way past Florian's lips. The Captain was angry, but the humor was a good sign. "One of the Terran religions believed that their god descended to Earth as a man, was killed, and was reborn. Easter was a celebration of that rebirth, tied into several pre-existing Spring celebrations of rebirth and fertility and the like."
"How does a god die?" interrupted Kendra. "Excuse me?" replied Florian. "It's a god, what do you mean it died and was reborn?" "I believe he was executed by nailing him to a tree." "They executed a god?" said Seabourne. "For what? Unpaid parking tickets?" "I don't know the theology of it all," said Florian, "I'm not a priest." The other officers snorted at that, and Florian permitted himself another small smile. "The point is, that over the centuries several other traditions got mixed in with the Easter ones. It was quite a big deal in the cultures that made up the Alliance. Well, except for Kusari's ancestors, but they're always the odd ones out."
"So a god comes knocking, and humans reply by nailing it to a tree but it comes back," said Seabourne. "Why is Breezewood now a flying menagerie that smells like a Baden Baden hot spring?" "Ah, yes, well, one of the traditions of Easter is an egg hunt." "Egg hunt?" "Yes, the egg is a symbol of rebirth or spring or something like that. So you take a bunch of eggs, color them pretty pastel colors, and then hide them for children to find." "So where did things go wrong?" "I... seem to be better at hiding eggs than small children are at finding them."
"To his credit," said Kendra, "he did a marvelous job investing those kids into participating in an ancient Earth ritual. They were desperate to find them. The puppet show was a nice touch." "Alright," said Seabourne, "so that explains the dozens of disappointed and crying children. What happened to the eggs?" "Ah, well, we hid 5000 of them and the kids found a little over... 150." "And the rest?" "Well, I felt the crew needed more motivation to spend their off hours hiding eggs, so we had a bit of a party while doing it and..." "And you have no idea where you hid them?" "Yes sir."
Kendra chimed in. "We've found a few dozen in the electrical access corridors, so the crew must have used their key cards to stash them in non-public places too. I would also like to point out that traditionally on Earth the eggs were hard boiled or had their contents removed, Florian. They were not colored and hidden raw." "That... was an oversight on my part," said Florian. "All right," said Seabourne, "so that explains the smell, what about the vermin?"
"Ah, right, well Easter tradition has that a rabbit hides the eggs for the children to find." "A rabbit?" "Yes sir." "Like, the fluffy big eared creature?" "Yes sir." "...they're mammals, aren't they?" "Yes sir." "Are they... what's the word, platypus and echidna things?" "Monotremes?" suggested Kendra. "Bingo! Yes! Are they mono-thingies? Egg layers?" "No sir." "So... where did a bunny get the eggs?" "Unclear, sir, but the literature is quite vocal on it all. Easter is represented by bunnies." "With eggs." "Yes sir. I believe it has to do with the fertility rituals that got absorbed by the holiday." Seabourne's eyes narrowed. "How many bunnies did you bring aboard?" "500 sir, one for each child." "And where are these 500 now?"
Florian breathed in, "When the egg-hunt went... pear shaped, the children got impatient. Eggs were thrown, the bunny coral became compromised and the rabbits made a break for it. Apparently they're burrowing creatures." "Apparently. And where are these 500 rabbits now?" "It took some wrangling, but we managed to account for all 500 of them." "All 500?" "Yes sir." "You're sure?" "Counted them myself, sir. They're quite docile when scared." "Well then," said Seabourne, "care to explain this?"
The captain opened a drawer and extracted a small brown rabbit. He dropped it on the desk. The creature kept perfectly still aside from its short, rapid breaths. Seabourne raised an eyebrow at Florian. Florian sank a few inches into his chair. Kendra stifled a laugh. The rabbit pooped. "I may be rusty with my old Earth traditions," said Seabourne, "but I believe the proper phrase for pulling a rabbit out of one's hat is 'tah-dah'."
Florian sighed. "Rabits are known to breed rather quickly and frequently. They breed like, well, like rabbits." "Some of them must have been pregnant when we brought them aboard," said Kendra. "And, as adorable as they are, they're chewing the wiring. We've found three of them electrocuted to a crisp. If they get into a critical system, they could cause a short at an inopportune time." "Solutions?" asked Seabourne.
Florian perked up. Blame looks to the past, the future was a much more comfortable place. "Ah, well, I'm sure Kendra could isolate and vent each compartment in turn. We'll just have to then find the bodies since obviously nothing else is going to come along and eat them." "I agree with the plan except for the choice of pronoun, Mr. Schwarz," said Seabourne. "Sir?"
"We are not going to find the bodies," said the Captain, his signature smile taking on just a hint of something darker. "You are. As of this moment, you're relieve of every duty other than bunny mortician. Kendra will tell you which compartments are ready for inspection. While you're at it, clean up any eggs you find." Florian considered this turn of events for a moment, and realized he wasn't being fired or demoted, just being given the chance to make things right, albeit in an incredibly unpleasant fashion. "Yes sir." "You're dismissed, Florian, good hunting."
The Rheinlander got up and walked to the door. "Florian," said Seabourne. "Yes?" "You're forgetting something." Schwarz turned around and saw the captain pointing at the rabbit on his desk.