Massoud (Massoud Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  “Oh. Yes, ma’am. Thank you. There are so many things to figure out. Really a lot. Most of the time I feel like I’m making a mess of things.”

  “That’s normal, and the crew will try to test you too, even though they went through the same thing when they were new recruits. You’ll mess up sometimes, but don’t be discouraged. Take it all with a sense of humor and the crew will respect you. As a matter of fact, you’re doing really well.”

  “Oh, thanks ma’am. I’m glad you think so. I never know for sure.” The girl’s face lit up with gratitude and relief.

  Massoud wondered whether she was a wise enough woman to give such counsel. Hadn’t she been the newbie just a short while ago? How quickly she had become old and dried up. There was genuine satisfaction in making Detzler feel better; but she wished she too could receive a few words of encouragement to renew herself. She truly felt the need.

  A few hours later, she was dining at the captain’s table, noting the absence of Takei who generally attended on lentil-soup-night, his favorite since his son had concocted a mix of spices that made the soup ‘zip’. Tonight, however, he had chosen to coddle his engines. Massoud did not see the necessity of such attentiveness but had arranged for his soup to follow him, nonetheless. The two remaining diners supped in silence, a common experience for them. The captain did not engage in trivialities, and Massoud did not pursue barren conversation. However, after some time, Massoud ventured to give her companion some advice.

  “Captain, if you don’t mind me saying so, I think it would be a good idea for you to spend more time with the crew over the next few days.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “The crew is rattled. They hate it when the ship goes dead. Seeing Takei spend all of his free time with the engines doesn’t help. When he nursemaids the new engines, everyone feels nervous. I think if you mixed more with the crew, you’d be a reassuring presence. You always give the impression that nothing unnerves you. I think that’s what’s needed.”

  “I will take your advice in this matter. Issues of crew morale are better judged by you. However, I cannot say anything that has not already been said to provide reassurance.”

  “That’s not the point. Simply being seen, being available, is important.”

  “If you say so.”

  They returned to silence for a few moments, but Massoud was tempted into conversation again.

  “Captain, don’t you feel there is something odd about this voyage? Something a little off?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Well, it’s just a feeling. I can’t pin it down really. The engine trouble was unexpected, but that’s not what’s bothering me. I think that would be nothing, if it wasn’t for lots of other little things.”

  She paused, but the Captain did not ask the obvious question, so she continued unprompted.

  “Little things—like more pinholes than usual, like the crew dynamic being different, like Speck sticking with Painter, like the coffee tasting wrong, and the chief being grumpy. Also,” her eyes were now glued to the dining table, “you are holding your bowl with your free hand.”

  The captain cast a glance at the noteworthy hand. “I do not understand your point, Massoud.”

  “You never have both your hands above the table unless you’re cutting food. Everything is just a little bit off.” She leaned back, dropping her utensils, and looked at the captain as if she had discovered him committing a despicable crime.

  The captain wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed both of his hands below the table. “Massoud, I have judged you to be a person of good sense. I trust I am not mistaken. I can only assume that you too are unsettled by the engine outage. Everything else is unremarkable. The placement of my hands is irrelevant. The Constance is old, and leaks are a natural consequence of aging. Speck’s behavior has always been inconsistent. The quartermaster recently changed coffee suppliers. Takei’s discontent is caused by homesickness. In short, the problem is not with the ship or crew, Massoud, it is with you.” Massoud flinched and the captain continued. “You have been told, during numerous performance reviews, that you tend to be too close to your subordinates. A degree of separation is required for effective command. There is some latitude in determining an adequate degree of separation. However, even allowing for such latitude, it is clear that you have shattered the barrier that should exist between a commander and crew. Your behavior, during shore leave, has diminished the respect you can expect. It will be a challenge for you to recover your professional standing and the crew’s esteem.”

  Massoud flushed with embarrassment at this pointed criticism. The captain had never dressed her down so directly, and, in this instance, she had foolishly prompted him to do so. Perhaps she needed to hear his censure aloud to acknowledge her mistake. If so, she regretted the need and said contritely, “You are right Captain, I brought this on myself. I will not make the same mistake again.” He nodded impassively.

  They finished the remainder of the meal in silence, while Massoud contemplated her situation. She had not shared how disjointed her emotions had become, and the nebulous discontent that accompanied them. And yet, despite that, the captain had correctly identified the root of the problem lay within herself. Her priority must be to compose herself. Everything else would fall into place if she could achieve that.

  As the voyage progressed, Massoud made a conscious effort to present an exemplary image to the crew. She measured her words, tucked her uniform, and followed her schedule as diligently as if she were trying to make a good first impression. She was deliberately more reserved in her interactions with her shipmates and was inching back to the standing that was appropriate to her rank. However, no matter what professional progress she made, her internal unease, her sudden dissatisfaction with her lot, remained. It was hers to struggle with alone.

  The steady pace of her duties was disturbed towards the end of the second week of the voyage when she received an unusual summons to sickbay. Arriving, she found both the doctor and captain there. A pair of more unlikely companions could not be imagined.

  “Massoud, we have a problem here,” the doctor announced with a hint of peevishness.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to brief you on a medical situation that will affect ship’s operations.”

  “Aren’t we a bit too far out from base for the flu to suddenly appear?” Massoud was referring to the most common reason for a ship’s physician to make such dire pronouncements.

  “I wish it were that simple. I really do.” The doctor shook his head, his frustration obvious. “I need to report that the captain will suffer a debilitating medical condition in a week or so. You’ll have to take command at that time.”

  Shocked, Massoud instinctively reached to place a comforting hand on the captain’s arm, before remembering decorum dictated otherwise. At least among the senior officers, she should try to maintain appropriate comportment. Her sympathy was wasted on a man restricted to reason, anyway.

  “I’m very sorry, Captain. Will you recover? Can the doctor treat you?”

  The doctor answered, with a singular lack of sympathy. This seemed odd, even allowing for the want of camaraderie between the men. “The condition is temporary and will last approximately seven days. The captain will remain medically confined under my direct supervision.”

  The captain was to be locked down. Surely, the doctor would appreciate having him at his mercy and under his control. Dr. Foster should have been in a better mood considering the power he was about to acquire.

  Massoud pondered what questions she could ask about the captain’s condition without violating medical confidentiality.

  “Will you be well enough for me to talk to you about ship’s operations during this upcoming confinement, Captain?”

  “No. I will be mentally impaired and in no condition to provide any commentary or advice,” he responded explicitly. “In fact, I recommend that you and the crew avoid sickbay during this period. There ca
n be no benefit derived from such a visit.”

  “Mentally impaired?” she exclaimed before collecting herself. “Oh, I’m sorry Captain. I’m just a little surprised by all this. I don’t mean to be intrusive.”

  “Questions are appropriate.”

  “I see.” Massoud paused for a moment. “And you expect, um, symptoms to appear in about a week. How accurate is that prediction?”

  “It could be a few days either way,” answered the doctor.

  “In addition,” the captain continued, “if, at any time during this interim period, you observe something in my manner that indicates I am, shall we say, losing my mind, you must take command. Order me to report to sickbay and have Speck escort me, if necessary. You must not hesitate to act. That is a command, if you need such validation.”

  The doctor shook his head in agitation. “This condition was entirely predictable, Massoud, and you should know that I will be making a formal complaint when we return. The captain should not have taken command when he knew this condition was imminent. It was totally irresponsible of him.”

  “A formal complaint! What do you mean? The captain has never been irresponsible in his life. I think you may be overreacting to this, Doctor.”

  “Unlike the captain, I think you should come and visit him when he is ill. I think you will understand my point when you see the nature of his condition. This business will coincide with our arrival at Seven B. It will totally disrupt operations and I, for one, will not be able to fulfill my scientific duties while I tend to the patient. And you, Massoud, will have double duties. We simply cannot expect to complete our survey work during the allotted time. It will be excessively disruptive. My work will be neglected.”

  Massoud’s mind burned. Scientists are such prima donnas!

  “Deal with it, Doctor,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear that your negative attitude adversely affected the treatment of your patient which, I must remind you, will be your first priority and duty. We are on a fleet mission, not a pleasure cruise. Personnel are expected to deal with adversity.” She was all but hissing.

  The doctor turned red and the captain had the good manners to look away, feigning ignorance of this reprimand.

  Massoud tempered her voice and said, “Thank you for the briefing, Doctor. I am sure we will be discussing this again. Captain, it may be appropriate for us to review operational plans over the next day or two, to allow for easy transfer of command.”

  “Of course,” was the response.

  Naturally Massoud wished her captain to be in good health, but she was quietly pleased with the opportunity to gain real command experience, even if only for a week and on a routine mission. It would enhance her record and weigh heavily in her promotion review. It might even counterbalance some of the negative comments she was expecting from the captain.

  She intended to deflect the doctor’s intent to file a formal complaint, which was merely an expression of his intractability in her opinion. The fleet allowed personnel to serve in space while they grew new organs. Wasn’t this a similar situation? A sick organ could fail at any time and the ship’s surgeon had to deal with that. In practical terms, what was the difference between organ failure and Capt. Teloc’s mystery mental illness?

  Over the next few days, the captain made himself available to discuss the survey protocol. The process was routine, and she had been through it several times before. Nonetheless, she studied the logistics as if they were a totally new subject to her. Everything would run perfectly, if she had to bamboozle the universe into compliance.

  After arriving at the survey planet, the crew would designate a North and a South pole based on the planet’s rotation. They would then set an orbit around the equator, gathering the same data collected by the ship that had originally discovered Delta Alpha 7B. If it was confirmed that the planet could support known life, the rest of the survey would proceed. If the planet was uninhabitable, the survey ship would return to home base. That had not happened in decades; preliminary scans were now so accurate that false discoveries were rare.

  The survey would continue by shifting the ship’s orbit by a small degree, gathering high definition imagery across a broad spectrum, dropping probes into the atmosphere, gathering the resultant telemetry, and then repeatedly changing orbit until the whole planet had been mapped. The maximum displacement from the prior orbital sweep had to be just less than the imaging width. Walsh would pilot these changes. His role as a botanist would come later.

  Once telemetry started to arrive, the ship’s routine would break down. The scientists had a tendency to assess and massage the data day and night, ignoring their essential duties. Massoud would have to push personnel to complete their routine assignments. Takei often said it was like getting donkeys to do dressage. Massoud did not understand the reference, but she understood the meaning. Several intelligent people would be put on report, over the next few weeks, for stupidly omitting a life-critical task.

  After the orbital survey, there would be ground expeditions, samples taken, and soundings made. Massoud comprehended but a part of what her colleagues did but was responsible for making it all happen. The ground transportation, the provisioning, the tracking, the quarantines, these were all the responsibilities of the first officer aided by the purser. In fact, she had fulfilled these and all the command duties for this kind of mission before. The geologist was required to spend significant time on the surveyed planet and, as a result, she had controlled the ship on several prior occasions, only nominally subject to the captain’s command. There was no reason to expect her first official command role to be anything other than successful.

  In addition to logistical preparations, Massoud now watched the captain closely for any signs of irregular behavior. He appeared to be as collected as before. She disliked the idea of an ugly scene, in which she would have to eject the captain from his post with the consequent damage to his dignity. Optimally, she would catch his deterioration early and simply escort him, herself, to sickbay. Clearly, the doctor was being equally observant. However, the captain’s behavior remained impeccable.

  3. Destruction

  T he first twelve orbits of the planet were complete when Massoud’s duty watch ended in the early morning, ship’s time. Once relieved by the captain, she shared a few parting words with Evans, who was piloting for the upcoming watch. As she departed, she noticed the captain’s fingers tapping the console—it was a small movement, a sign of impatience, and glaringly out of character. She paused by his shoulder.

  “Is everything alright, Captain?” she asked quietly.

  “Get your rest, Massoud. I think you will have enough to do later.”

  “Understood. Please call if you need me.”

  Evidently, his indisposition would be apparent soon. She planned to send a message to the doctor to check on the captain while she slept, perhaps mid-watch. It was something she would do herself, but she was bone tired.

  Even before starting her watch, she had had to deal with Speck who had been aggravated by a trivial disagreement about shuttle loading. He had intimidated Chrostowski, backing her up against a wall, until Massoud’s shouted orders had penetrated his thick skull. Finally, he had desisted. He had been penitent, as he could sometimes be, and Chrostowski had been tolerant. “It’s just how he is,” she had opined. Nevertheless, Massoud would have to discipline Speck. It could be a fortuitous opportunity to have the sewage lines serviced. Maybe that task would cool his temper. However, for the present, Speck was confined to quarters, not restrained by a lock but by the public humiliation of her harsh words. He could not stay there; his labor would be needed as the survey progressed. Resignedly, Massoud decided to brief the captain on the situation later in the day, and then realized she might be briefing him very much later than that. Quite shortly, she was going to be the final authority on this ship, if only temporarily.

  Without wanting it, Speck had become Massoud’s personal rehabilitation project. The crew remarked that he behaved muc
h better under Massoud’s supervision than he had previously. It made her wonder what the hulking hothead had been like in the past. Speck often did listen to her—when she barked loudly enough—and he grudgingly accepted her authority, which did not enflame him as the authority of others did.

  Massoud ate a breakfast that was masquerading as porridge, and sleepily slouched back to her cabin. She had slipped off one shoe and had slipped one arm out of her tunic when an unexpected and overwhelming force flung her body against the wall. Dazed and uncomprehending, she stood uncertainly. Mechanically, she slowly put her arm back in her jacket. Still shocked, she detachedly observed herself returning her shoe to her foot. Then, with the turn of an instant, her head cleared, and her adrenaline kicked in. She was out the door, running towards the bridge, screaming at those she passed, “Report. Report!”

  Her shipmates were running in the opposite direction, but she pushed through them, determined to get to the bridge. The inertial dampeners were not doing their job; the ship lolled. It felt as if it was moving laterally at some incredible speed. Fragments of information were shouted at or near her.

  “We’ve been hit.”

  “…Escape pods…”

  “…engines…”

  “Go! Now!”

  It took an agony of moments to get to her destination. On the bridge, her eyes were immediately drawn to the external view screen and the grotesque technological mass that occupied most of the image. Evans was nowhere to be seen. The captain was hanging over the pilot’s console.

  “Captain!” she cried.

  “The engines are gone. Engineering is blown to pieces. I’ve ordered an evacuation. Get to the pods now!”

  “Let’s go,” she said, and then realizing the captain was still manipulating the controls, she added—yelling in the near quiet bridge—“What are you doing? We’ve got to go!”