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The Earth Space Transit Dock (ESTD) hung vast in its orbit around the Earth. No facility came close to its enormity or its facilities. Ships of all classes used the ESTD; some even found a permanent home there.
The last of the O’Neil cylinders named Tamstone Cylinder. From the observation window, young women looked out across the gulf of space at the ESTD.
At twenty-three, the service's youngest fleet captain is the youngest in the service's history to command a CAG-Nomec 2032 Interseller freighter. Jade McConnell worked for Stanner’Tec Freight Lines, the largest such company in the Civilian Mercent Fleet.
The Star Raptor was clearly visible. Assigned the same berth, number eleven, when docked at the ESTD. The underside of her hull illuminated the pale blue of Earth’s atmosphere. Was The Place McConnell truly called home?
Laid up for eight long months. Her ship, the Star Raptor, was in for a mandatory cycle of repairs. This, along with her ship being without a load, were among her many pet peeves.
Amongst others are the so-called ‘Jackers’ a term used to describe people connected to the hive mind.
In its infancy, people literally jacked in using a jack cable that went into a port at the base of the skull.
Time went on, and technology improved. They replaced the jack and port with a smaller patch-like device at the base of the skull.
This "hive mind," as it was called, was a collective consciousness. McConnell herself had a link device, though she only used it occasionally at work.
Born on Earth Captain McConnell detested it and longed for peace. Earth had too much noise, like sentient robots and the rest, to make her retire to an out-of-the-way asteroid colony in some sector few had ever heard of.
McConnell had not seen her mother in years, who was queen of her tribe in Tanzania. Her sister by adoption, Lux, was the princess of that tribe. In reality, Lux could have been anything. Because her intelligence rating is unmeasurable. Though she thinks of herself as average, Lux, if they summed her up, would be elegant, graceful, and painfully beautiful to look at. Wise and radiating power without needing to express it.
For Fleet Captain McConnell, paying a visit as soon as she could was a priority. Though passing through quarantine. (at three months' duration) was not something she liked,
In the year 6050 AD, it was unusual for there to be any traditional monarchies left. The Am-Waw-Nee-Ko’nah People had existed since the Middle Bronze Age (1500–1200 B.C.). It accorded them the status of a specially protected group. Meaning they could hunt (without exceeding quotas) and exercise other traditional practises.
The time had come; enough was enough.
The morning of August 4th was overcast and grey. There was a light breeze outside, enough to move lighter tree branches. Not enough to make it cold: 'Vid-Com on, Freighter Command New York,' she said.
‘Freight Command, Kamson Speaking’
Eric Kamson, pushing 60 Would have been a racist back when that was a thing, thinning on top with the universe's worst comb-over.
'Ah, Fleet Captain McConnell, Nice ta see Ya, what a pretty sight you are too, me tired eyes!'
Fleet Captain McConnell couldn’t believe she’d gotten loaded with Eric Kamson. Three years prior, they had found him on the Star Raptors Bridge. Kamson was not supposed to be on the bridge of any ship. Captain McConnell acted within her rights. Contacting dock security, he was-removed and suspended for a month.
If Fleet Captain McConnell had a choice, She’d blast him out of an airlock, but since pollution of space was illegal, she decided against it. Staring blankly into the Vid-Com, Fleet Captain McConnell replied.
'Tired eyes, is it now? I must have heard that one a million times or more!' ‘Now, about my ship, the fine crew that fly her and the lack of loads for her fine-hold other ships, except mine, find loads. For some unfathomable reason, we don't. 'What, as they say, gives?' said Fleet Captain McConnell.
'Let me add, I have an adopted sister; I believe you know Lux?' She’d be happy to take you hunting. You have a head start, then she comes after you with a fine, and should I add, deadly, spear. Which she is more than an expert in! So pretty, please.
‘Ok, OK, no need for harsh words; just a jessin’ with ya’ Kamson said.
"Qwi-bae No’Com’mo Nay’Domo en'say," Fleet Captain McConnell replied in the language of her mother’s people.
Kamson looked confused and said, 'What was that? It sounded nice.
 'I said," Fleet Captain McConnell replied, "may your count of remaining days be many, and may the twelve look kindly on the path you take.'
While waiting for Mary, Fleet Captain McConnell examined the large holographic information display behind her, desiring information from the space weather service about sun activity, solar flares, and coronal mass ejections, with their electromagnetic properties and high-energy particles could disrupt sensitive electronics, but not right now, when everything was quiet.
With that, the Vid-Com flicked over, and Fleet Captain McConnell saw the only other member of the Am-Waw-Nee-Ko’nah people to work in the interstellar shipping business.
Mary St. Michel (tribal name: Mary’Nanmo)
Fleet Captain McConnell responded, "Ak-Namb-bae Kum'bè'Diè' em'de."
Mary St. Michel responded, "Qumbe" Na Ka' Nac'estè Jade Tumbè.
She was twenty-nine, built like a statue from ancient times, and could have been a throne guard in Fleet Captain McConnell’s mother’s tribe but chose this life instead.
'Long time, no hear, Fleet Captain McConnell; how're tricks?' St. Michel said in her usual fashion, 'I know what you’re about to say and how you’ll respond, but I’ll ask anyway.
Fleet Captain McConnell’s response was instant. ' Hi Mary; You never want to see any of my tricks, of which there are many. To answer the other part of your enquiry: board, broke, ship laid up, crew asking questions I cannot answer, and higher ups asking when I’m putting out again, I need a load... So, ah, what gives?
'Oh, and before you say there are none, there is Article 39 of the Third Aims and Louis Convention on the Movement of Goods in Interstellar Space: "States."
'Under Article 2, Sub-Section 2F, all fleet captains so employed for the movement of loads through interstellar space, given free access to such loads as may be available.'
Under Article 12, Paragraph 225, Subclause L/102a:
"It shall be a crime under this convention (as ratified)." Any interstellar freight company must deny or cause by accident, design, or other such accordance—therefore, grievously allow, or by inaction of the same. Deny any Fleet Captain in the same company's employ a load of equal rank and quality as any other Fleet Captain in the same company's employ for the same and equal purpose.' Fleet Captain McConnell said, Who’d studied the regulations since she was five years old?
"Hated to have convention stipulations thrown around," Fleet Captain McConnell's St. Michel said, apologising for the mix-up.
"As you know, you’ve been out quite a lot recently." Your ship was long past due for its Section 321-39 Part D, which is now complete. I am assigning a load, but it’s taking time, that’s all.
For those not in the loop, Section 321-39, Part D: A Mandatory Safety Overhaul, is something all interstellar class ships must undertake every three years to meet the requirements of their space worthiness certificate, which is required for things like docking clearance and gaining insurance.
Then why in all that’s dammed did someone not give me my Section 36A notice and assign me a temporary ship? "Are crews allowed to work and earn a credit or two?" Fleet Captain McConnell said, on the verge of losing professionalism altogether:
"True," said St. Michel, trying to ease the situation. "That is something you do as well." They’ve got other expectations too, like seeing their families sometimes and having a break.
"Fleet Captain McConnell, your impressive achievement of moving many loads within just three months surpasses the expected performance of any other Fleet Captain who might have taken two years to attain it. Although this time around, you were away for two years. To be frank, we believed you were deserving of a break. Evidently, it was an error, as you are evolving into what old hands refer to as a "star dreamer," where you cannot exist without immersing yourself in a combination of silence, beauty, and danger. I understand, I comprehend. Fleet Captain McConnell said...
'Listen! St. Michel, since we’re of the same tribe, nay, the same village, I’ll put it like this: Fleet Captain McConnell said
In the Book of the Nameless Ones, Chapter Three, it says, 'By countless, boundless stars shall I walk.' Until the day I ascend and stand in the hall of shadows with my sister, The thirteenth queen of the hyena clans: shall she be wiser in her aspect and temper the other twelve? I work not for wealth, nor for fame, nor for things that will not benefit my tribe or kin. nor embarrass my queen, whether in the village or far away. I am her daughter, and the tribe is my mother, and I must always have a thunderous voice so that I am heard and understood.
'Thank you, Sister, for bringing me home; I forgot my tribe and my queen.' Your sister, Lux, is she well? Fleet Captain McConnell, I shall double down and get things moving! What is it now, five months?' St. Michel said.
When St. Michel said these words, she had a look of genuine gratitude and love on her face. Reflected in both the tone of her voice and the way her eyes shone.
It had been a considerable amount of time since she had left her home village. Her obligations to her tribe slipped from her memory. The utterances of Fleet Captain McConnell abruptly transported her to her childhood memories of living in the village. The knowledge and teachings she gained from the wise woman of the village.
St. Michel felt, as Fleet Captain McConnell spoke that verse, more than a little hollow on the inside.
"Eight, Sunday morning of this week," Fleet Captain McConnell said.
Fleet Captain McConnell had been stuck in place for far too long, and she was quietly suffering.
That things had taken so long. Almost a year this time really distressed and angered Fleet Captain McConnell greatly. She felt most at peace in space.
Yes, there were the usual obligations to the client, to the company, and to her crew. Maybe, even to her, none of that mattered as long as she could be where she loved, and that place was space.
Lux is currently spearheading a complicated negotiation in the southern region of the kingdom on behalf of the queen, which involves various intricate customs and practises, such as ceremonial and traditional dances specific to that tribe.
She has it all in hand; she learned all that perfectly. By reading old texts when she was sixteen, going as far back as she could. 'The elder's council of that tribe cannot believe how respectful an outsider is for the old ways.'
Outside Fleet Captain McConnell’s window, the day moved ever onward. The slow tick of time seemed to be contradicted by the racing shadows on the ground.