Markus stood on the bridge of the most famous ship in the galaxy, with his chin up and his chest puffed out. His uniform was similar to, but different from, everyone else’s in the Space Force. It was a special allowance for the savior of Seplic Four.
He stood there for another few seconds as the camera flashes continued, then he fell back into the captain’s chair, looking both regal and tired, as the members of his crew led the reporters off the bridge of the ship.
As they were leaving, one of the reporters shouted, “Would you care to comment on the rumors that the events on Seplic Four were staged?”
Everyone, including the reporters, stopped to look at Markus. Everyone had heard the rumors, of course. But few of them believed it. There had been almost three million people on Seplic Four. The idea that it might have been staged was… something more than absurd.
“I assure you that the events of Seplic Four were not planned,” Markus said, and the world returned to its movement, with his crew ushering everyone out of the room.
But Markus didn’t move for a long moment, and as he looked into the distance, he could almost see Seplic Four. Not the three million people who were evacuated in a remarkably short time, but the two ships full of people who, in the haste, had been destroyed. Almost two hundred lives that he hadn’t been able to save.
He didn’t speak to anyone. He just got up and walked off the bridge into the ready room and sat in silence at his desk. His body drooped as he looked at the images on the small screen. He usually stopped the slideshow after a handful of images, but this time he let it keep playing. A man in a military uniform, a young girl holding her pet cat, a recently married couple, an old woman, and a sullen teenager.
He was interrupted by a chime, and he closed the window, then said, “Enter.”
It was his first officer, Abbey Simmons. He had known it would be. She was the only person who had been serving with Markus when he had been at Seplic Four. She had been an engineer then, and her quick thinking to flood the Quantum Reactor on Seplic Four had given them the extra days they needed to get everyone off, and had gotten her promoted high enough to be Markus’s first officer.
“You can’t let them get to you like that,” she said before the door had shut behind her. He tapped the button locking the door, and once it was closed, said, “You can’t say that in front of people.”
“Everyone in the room saw that it got to you. None of them know why.”
“Perhaps it’s time that they did. It’s been six years. I had always thought it would die down by now.”
“You saved three million people,” Abbey said.
He stood up, anger flashing across his face, but then he sank back into his chair and said, “You know that’s not true.”
Abbey leaned forward to look him in the eyes and said, “No. It is true. Without you, those people would have died.”
“Without me, they never would have been in any danger, and the two hundred people in those ships would have lived,” Markus said.
“Captain, no one is perfect. You don’t blame the captains of the Driftwood or the Wayfarer for those deaths,” Abbey said.
“There was a lot going on, and everyone was in a hurry. They trusted to luck that they wouldn’t hit anyone, and were wrong. But not taking the time to track every ship would have slowed things down too much, and would have been irresponsible,” Markus said.
“I agree entirely. It’s almost like there was a massive storm coming, and people were going to die,” Abbey said.
“That’s different, and you know it. It was my call to harness the storm to boost the power to the Quantum reactor, and I gave you the order to keep it going even after it went critical.”
“And that saved lives,” Abbey said.
“Until it didn’t. If it hadn’t been for you…”
“That’s how it works out here, Captain. We all work together. I gave you some time, and you organized one of the largest and fastest evacuations in the history of the Alliance. Seventeen races, almost two thousand ships, transport to planets all over the galaxy, and all of it in four days.”
“I called for help, and the Alliance saved a lot of people. People that everyone, including you, insists that I get credit for. Meanwhile, two hundred people died, and millions of people lost their homes because of my mistake,” Markus said.
“They have new homes, and if you don’t think those two hundred people would have willingly given up their lives to save the rest, then you underestimate humanity and the Alliance,” Abbey said.
This was where their arguments usually ended, but this time the Captain turned the computer screen and hit the button so the images could appear. The first image was of a mother holding a child. “They’re all dead because of my mistake, and I’m treated like a hero. I should go tell them the truth.”
“And what does that get anyone? People need heroes. They see all the corruption, the back-room business dealings, the needless wars, and they need to believe that there is someone good and honest in the universe. They need to tell their kids to grow up to be like someone, even if that person isn’t entirely real.”
“So we lie to everyone?”
This time Abbey sat down, and she said, “You know I served on six different ships before I was assigned to this one. Six different captains, and if any of them had been here when that reactor began to go critical, a lot more people would have died. They would have tried to fix it themselves, or tried to cover up the mistake, or even just debated what to do. I saw you sprinting down the halls of the ship the moment it happened. Those few seconds may not have mattered a lot to everyone on that planet, but they certainly mattered to the two hundred thousand people on the Siren’s Call.”
“So I’m a hero because I called for help faster than anyone else,” Markus said.
“You’re a hero because you put the lives of people who you didn’t know above your own, and above your own ego and reputation.”
Markus allowed himself another ten seconds to wallow, and then turned the screen off again and said, “You had something you wanted to talk to me about today.”
“You’re going to have to get a new first officer. They offered me my own ship.”
Markus smiled, a genuine smile for the first time he could remember, and said, “That’s great. You’re going to do a great job.” As he spoke, he stood, extending a hand to the best first officer he had ever seen.
“I just hope that I can be half as compassionate, generous, and principled as my current captain,” she said, taking his hand. Then she added, “And don’t forget to check in. People may think that these publicity tours are easy, but I know how much you’re sacrificing to be here, and I’m proud to be standing by you in so many of those pictures.”
This story is in some ways inspired by the episode Jaynestown from Firefly. My favorite episode of the series. There is a line in it that goes, “I suppose everyone who ever got a statue made of him is some type of bastard or another.” It is, of course, true. Not because everyone who gets statues made of them is a bad guy, but because everyone is imperfect.
I was also thinking about the many writers who have made enjoying their work complex. From she who will not be named to Joss Whedon and Neil Gaiman I’ve had to make decisions based not only on their work, but on whether I am helping to hurt people by consuming their work while remembering that life is complicated and all too often the news is more interested in making you angry than telling the whole story.
Thank you,
Elton Gahr
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