On the desktop screen the latest feed from the Federation News Service continued, though the sound was muted—not that he’d have heard it had it been playing.
Through the viewport he stood at, stars were stretched into long streaks of silver and white as the old freighter passed them by at a leisurely warp factor six. But like the news feed they didn’t register on him, instead his eyes were fixed on his own reflection in the transparent aluminium as his brain tried to process what he’d just seen.
Rowan Novak, captain of the Cyllene, knew that he should’ve been having some sort of response after what he’d learnt but there was just a feeling of numb indifference. The rational part of his brain told him that he needed time to process it—after all the loss of a parent would always be a shock. Though growing up Verity Harrington had been more of a manager than a mother, a corporate woman to her core she had focused more on the family business than she did on her three children. The only time he could remember ever getting any personal attention from him was when he pulled out from the Rigellian Institute of Economics and instead gotten into Mars University’s social science programme, her absolute disgust at him not pursuing the path she had set out for him was enough to warrant an actual in-person meeting, albeit in her office across her desk as though she was dressing down an underperforming employee.
Of course Hercules took their mothers’ side, tearing him a new one almost as soon as the door to her office closed. The favourite son did what was expected of him, graduating at the top of his class from Harvard University and joining the company at the management level without spending a single day on the floor. Minerva tried to play referee, as always, though just like always it came to an abrupt end when he had walked out not wanting the hassle of yet another fight, which Hercules tallied up as another win for him.
He'd gone on to graduate in the middle of his class with a joint masters in xenoanthropology and xenoarchaeology, but rather than go on to get his PhD he’d signed onto a new excavation on the outer fringes of Federation space, giving himself some breathing space from his family. It was on that trip that he became fascinated by the crew of the civilian research vessel, and with a little persuasion he managed to get some on the job training in ship operations. It wasn’t long before he learned the basics of piloting and astrogation, as well as spending time in engineering pestering the crew with questions—of course he knew the broad strokes of warp drives (his family did run one of the largest propulsion research and development companies in the quadrant), but it was all the smaller details that he wanted to find out about such as recalibrating an ODN processor or scrubbing EPS manifolds.
He was on the dig for only six months before opting to leave. On the transport back he made himself more useful, mucking in wherever he could before sending off his application to the Federation Merchant Navy Training Centre. This earned the ire of his mother and older brother once more, though this time he never returned home, instead heading straight for Tellar. He gained high marks in almost every field and became fully certified as a deck and engineering officer, and began his life as a ‘merchant mariner’ and for the first time in as long as he could remember he was genuinely happy.
Of course, his family connection followed him around, it was a hard burden to shed—had he been the sort he would’ve used his name and the family business to open doors for him, but he didn’t after all he was off his mothers’ script for how his life was to be so he wanted it to be his life. He spent a few short years building up his experience, learning all he could and putting it into practice, even getting the chance to head up his own department and then qualifying for mate duties. Throughout this time he was in irregular contact with his family, mostly Minerva, though on occasion Hercules would call to gloat over his success after being appoint Chief Operating Officer (no surprise there).
He was Second Mate on the science ship Shelash, dreaming about procuring a ship of his own, when he’d received the call about the sudden illness of his father, Oliver. Telurian plague was incurable and acted quickly, but he’d managed to get back home to see his father one last time. Like her children, Verity seemed to have little time for a husband, though she had made sure the best treatment was made available to him, though all the doctors and nurses could do was keep him comfortable.
In a full hazmat suit, he’d been able to sit at his father’s bedside one last time, though gone was the kind smile peeking out from behind a thick beard, the green eyes that twinkled with mischief as he’d regaled his youngest with stories of great myths and mysteries from the past—being a social historian, Oliver Harrington had plenty of tall tales to keep him enthralled. His father was able to speak to him one last time, resting a hand on top of his gloved one and telling his second son how proud he was of him for choosing the life he wanted. The following morning, Oliver has passed away.
It was right after the funeral that Hercules had pulled him, near enough literally, into his office. The elder Harrington berated his prodigal brother, speaking of the disgraces that he was bringing the family and how he either needed to learn his place and give up his spaceship hobby or renounce all claim he had to the family business and fortune.
Hercules was the spitting image of their mother, whilst the high stress and pressure of needing to constantly be the golden child was aging him quickly. He was the face of their father, though minus the beard, and with his father’s last words still ringing in his ear he made his choice. His brother had clearly known what decision he’d made before issuing the ultimatum, as he had the paperwork already drawn up. With a single thumb scan, his shares in the company were bought, his claim on any future inheritance was rendered null in void, and any power he might once have held within the company was expunged.
Another very important thing happened that day, he stopped using the name Ulysses Harrington, opting instead to go by his middle name and his fathers’ surname before marrying into the Harrington dynasty.
He said simple goodbyes to his brother and mother, hugged his sister and wished her well, then left his home for the last time. He hadn’t returned since, nor had he been contact by any of his family. With the money he’d made from his brother buying him out, he had more than enough to buy his own ship. Though he could easily afford a flashy, brand new ship, he took his time before he stumbled onto the Cyllene a forty year old Boslic freighter that had clearly seen better days, but she was sturdy and reliable, with plenty of character—the moment he’d laid eyes on her he knew she was the ship for him.
With a ship of his own, he could go out and make a life for himself that he could be happy with, the sort that had made his father proud. In the five years since he’d bought her, he’d tried to do some good in the quadrant, whether that was taking the low paid jobs no one else wanted but which could mean so much for those that needed it, or working with charities to help refugees displaced by war or famine, amongst the usual fares of hauling routine low value loads from one sector to the next or taking on passengers looking to make a fresh start elsewhere.
Of course the type of work was only one way he tried to make a difference the other, perhaps more crucial one, was in who he hired as his crew as they were aboard his ship, his home. A few he’d known from his days in the Federation Merchant Navy, but most were strangers when they met, of those some were just looking for any sort of work though there were those looking to escape their past, ne never judged— so long as there were no warrants out for their arrest and they knew the basics of ship operation he was willing to give them a shot. A few hadn’t worked out, but on the whole he’d managed to pull together a crew he could depend on, a new family of sorts, one of his own making.
When he’d bought the old freighter, her computer was wiped and there were no markings on the hull to say what her name had once been, so he’d had to name the ship—something many old spacers would tell him was bad luck, but this ship was getting a new life just like he was. Having grown up on Ganymede Station, the headquarters of the family business, he knew about every moon in the Jovian system and had chosen Cyllene as she was the smallest and most overlooked of all of them.
With the new name came a new dedication plaque, a feature not normally seen on non-Federation built ships, but it was his ship and he wanted to make sure she would never again lose her identity. Engraved at the bottom of the plaque was an often misquoted biblical line, that summed up just what the Cyllene and her crew meant to him:
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Behind him the door enunciator sounded, making him blink and shake his head as his train of thought was broken. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his warm exhale making the cool viewport fog up, before turning to the entrance.
“It’s open,” he called.
The panel whispered open to reveal Jessica Smith standing in the corridor, her fingers absently drumming on the underside of a datapad. The ship’s medic was the newest addition to the crew, though her cagey and withdrawn manner made her a hard one to get a read on. He knew there was more to her than met the eye, her service jacket was clearly hastily fabricated—it might’ve passed a cursory inspection, but he always made sure to check into these things. Though he couldn’t find out just what the truth behind her was, there were no signs of a criminal record and she was a thoroughly trained medtech—the best he’d ever come across.
“Come in, Doc,” he said with a polite smile.
She hesitated a moment and then stepped inside.
“What can I do for you?”
Smith quickly held out her tablet. “Since we’ll be docking in a couple of days, I’ve put together a list of medical supplies we’re getting low on, Captain.”
He winced a little at the use of the overly formal title, he’d never liked them and managed to get the rest of the crew to either call him by his name or something that was a little easier on his ear. He’d told Smith this when she’d come aboard, though she still stuck with the formality.
“Thanks,” he replied as he accepted the datapad. “I was planning on asking everyone to get their requisition requests in by the end of the day. I’ll make sure we get all that you need.”
“Thank you,” she stated with a curt nod. She hesitated another moment, as though she was waiting to be dismissed, before quickly turning and heading back out of his quarters.
Once the door closed behind her, he couldn’t help but mutter to himself, “She is an odd one.”
He shook his head once again. Her visit reminded him that he had plenty to be getting on with, he could piece together how he felt about the death of his mother later. Setting down Smith’s PADD on his desk he looked at the monitor once again, which was repeating the headlines as such he saw once again the story that had him so contemplative:
Verity Harrington, CEO of Yoyodyne Propulsion Systems, dies from Iverson’s Disease.
Rowan Novak deactivated the terminal and stepped out of his quarters.
*****
END
Through the viewport he stood at, stars were stretched into long streaks of silver and white as the old freighter passed them by at a leisurely warp factor six. But like the news feed they didn’t register on him, instead his eyes were fixed on his own reflection in the transparent aluminium as his brain tried to process what he’d just seen.
Rowan Novak, captain of the Cyllene, knew that he should’ve been having some sort of response after what he’d learnt but there was just a feeling of numb indifference. The rational part of his brain told him that he needed time to process it—after all the loss of a parent would always be a shock. Though growing up Verity Harrington had been more of a manager than a mother, a corporate woman to her core she had focused more on the family business than she did on her three children. The only time he could remember ever getting any personal attention from him was when he pulled out from the Rigellian Institute of Economics and instead gotten into Mars University’s social science programme, her absolute disgust at him not pursuing the path she had set out for him was enough to warrant an actual in-person meeting, albeit in her office across her desk as though she was dressing down an underperforming employee.
Of course Hercules took their mothers’ side, tearing him a new one almost as soon as the door to her office closed. The favourite son did what was expected of him, graduating at the top of his class from Harvard University and joining the company at the management level without spending a single day on the floor. Minerva tried to play referee, as always, though just like always it came to an abrupt end when he had walked out not wanting the hassle of yet another fight, which Hercules tallied up as another win for him.
He'd gone on to graduate in the middle of his class with a joint masters in xenoanthropology and xenoarchaeology, but rather than go on to get his PhD he’d signed onto a new excavation on the outer fringes of Federation space, giving himself some breathing space from his family. It was on that trip that he became fascinated by the crew of the civilian research vessel, and with a little persuasion he managed to get some on the job training in ship operations. It wasn’t long before he learned the basics of piloting and astrogation, as well as spending time in engineering pestering the crew with questions—of course he knew the broad strokes of warp drives (his family did run one of the largest propulsion research and development companies in the quadrant), but it was all the smaller details that he wanted to find out about such as recalibrating an ODN processor or scrubbing EPS manifolds.
He was on the dig for only six months before opting to leave. On the transport back he made himself more useful, mucking in wherever he could before sending off his application to the Federation Merchant Navy Training Centre. This earned the ire of his mother and older brother once more, though this time he never returned home, instead heading straight for Tellar. He gained high marks in almost every field and became fully certified as a deck and engineering officer, and began his life as a ‘merchant mariner’ and for the first time in as long as he could remember he was genuinely happy.
Of course, his family connection followed him around, it was a hard burden to shed—had he been the sort he would’ve used his name and the family business to open doors for him, but he didn’t after all he was off his mothers’ script for how his life was to be so he wanted it to be his life. He spent a few short years building up his experience, learning all he could and putting it into practice, even getting the chance to head up his own department and then qualifying for mate duties. Throughout this time he was in irregular contact with his family, mostly Minerva, though on occasion Hercules would call to gloat over his success after being appoint Chief Operating Officer (no surprise there).
He was Second Mate on the science ship Shelash, dreaming about procuring a ship of his own, when he’d received the call about the sudden illness of his father, Oliver. Telurian plague was incurable and acted quickly, but he’d managed to get back home to see his father one last time. Like her children, Verity seemed to have little time for a husband, though she had made sure the best treatment was made available to him, though all the doctors and nurses could do was keep him comfortable.
In a full hazmat suit, he’d been able to sit at his father’s bedside one last time, though gone was the kind smile peeking out from behind a thick beard, the green eyes that twinkled with mischief as he’d regaled his youngest with stories of great myths and mysteries from the past—being a social historian, Oliver Harrington had plenty of tall tales to keep him enthralled. His father was able to speak to him one last time, resting a hand on top of his gloved one and telling his second son how proud he was of him for choosing the life he wanted. The following morning, Oliver has passed away.
It was right after the funeral that Hercules had pulled him, near enough literally, into his office. The elder Harrington berated his prodigal brother, speaking of the disgraces that he was bringing the family and how he either needed to learn his place and give up his spaceship hobby or renounce all claim he had to the family business and fortune.
Hercules was the spitting image of their mother, whilst the high stress and pressure of needing to constantly be the golden child was aging him quickly. He was the face of their father, though minus the beard, and with his father’s last words still ringing in his ear he made his choice. His brother had clearly known what decision he’d made before issuing the ultimatum, as he had the paperwork already drawn up. With a single thumb scan, his shares in the company were bought, his claim on any future inheritance was rendered null in void, and any power he might once have held within the company was expunged.
Another very important thing happened that day, he stopped using the name Ulysses Harrington, opting instead to go by his middle name and his fathers’ surname before marrying into the Harrington dynasty.
He said simple goodbyes to his brother and mother, hugged his sister and wished her well, then left his home for the last time. He hadn’t returned since, nor had he been contact by any of his family. With the money he’d made from his brother buying him out, he had more than enough to buy his own ship. Though he could easily afford a flashy, brand new ship, he took his time before he stumbled onto the Cyllene a forty year old Boslic freighter that had clearly seen better days, but she was sturdy and reliable, with plenty of character—the moment he’d laid eyes on her he knew she was the ship for him.
With a ship of his own, he could go out and make a life for himself that he could be happy with, the sort that had made his father proud. In the five years since he’d bought her, he’d tried to do some good in the quadrant, whether that was taking the low paid jobs no one else wanted but which could mean so much for those that needed it, or working with charities to help refugees displaced by war or famine, amongst the usual fares of hauling routine low value loads from one sector to the next or taking on passengers looking to make a fresh start elsewhere.
Of course the type of work was only one way he tried to make a difference the other, perhaps more crucial one, was in who he hired as his crew as they were aboard his ship, his home. A few he’d known from his days in the Federation Merchant Navy, but most were strangers when they met, of those some were just looking for any sort of work though there were those looking to escape their past, ne never judged— so long as there were no warrants out for their arrest and they knew the basics of ship operation he was willing to give them a shot. A few hadn’t worked out, but on the whole he’d managed to pull together a crew he could depend on, a new family of sorts, one of his own making.
When he’d bought the old freighter, her computer was wiped and there were no markings on the hull to say what her name had once been, so he’d had to name the ship—something many old spacers would tell him was bad luck, but this ship was getting a new life just like he was. Having grown up on Ganymede Station, the headquarters of the family business, he knew about every moon in the Jovian system and had chosen Cyllene as she was the smallest and most overlooked of all of them.
With the new name came a new dedication plaque, a feature not normally seen on non-Federation built ships, but it was his ship and he wanted to make sure she would never again lose her identity. Engraved at the bottom of the plaque was an often misquoted biblical line, that summed up just what the Cyllene and her crew meant to him:
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Behind him the door enunciator sounded, making him blink and shake his head as his train of thought was broken. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his warm exhale making the cool viewport fog up, before turning to the entrance.
“It’s open,” he called.
The panel whispered open to reveal Jessica Smith standing in the corridor, her fingers absently drumming on the underside of a datapad. The ship’s medic was the newest addition to the crew, though her cagey and withdrawn manner made her a hard one to get a read on. He knew there was more to her than met the eye, her service jacket was clearly hastily fabricated—it might’ve passed a cursory inspection, but he always made sure to check into these things. Though he couldn’t find out just what the truth behind her was, there were no signs of a criminal record and she was a thoroughly trained medtech—the best he’d ever come across.
“Come in, Doc,” he said with a polite smile.
She hesitated a moment and then stepped inside.
“What can I do for you?”
Smith quickly held out her tablet. “Since we’ll be docking in a couple of days, I’ve put together a list of medical supplies we’re getting low on, Captain.”
He winced a little at the use of the overly formal title, he’d never liked them and managed to get the rest of the crew to either call him by his name or something that was a little easier on his ear. He’d told Smith this when she’d come aboard, though she still stuck with the formality.
“Thanks,” he replied as he accepted the datapad. “I was planning on asking everyone to get their requisition requests in by the end of the day. I’ll make sure we get all that you need.”
“Thank you,” she stated with a curt nod. She hesitated another moment, as though she was waiting to be dismissed, before quickly turning and heading back out of his quarters.
Once the door closed behind her, he couldn’t help but mutter to himself, “She is an odd one.”
He shook his head once again. Her visit reminded him that he had plenty to be getting on with, he could piece together how he felt about the death of his mother later. Setting down Smith’s PADD on his desk he looked at the monitor once again, which was repeating the headlines as such he saw once again the story that had him so contemplative:
Verity Harrington, CEO of Yoyodyne Propulsion Systems, dies from Iverson’s Disease.
Rowan Novak deactivated the terminal and stepped out of his quarters.
*****
END
