He frowned and raised his palms.
“Combat ops are my life. I don’t want to be a bureaucratic enabler of other, better warriors. I want to fly my Runner and jam my slinger so far up Henrick Witts’s ass that they classify his corpse as a cannon. I like being in the field. And yeah, blasting Vraba with an anti-ship round was just about the greatest feeling I’ve ever known… aside from smashing Mother’s neck. I’d do anything for another shot at a god.”
“I get you, I do, but—”
“But Malik is the obvious choice,” she interrupted.
The captain shook his head. “Yeah, because Doctor Jan issuing his wife direct orders is what I need in my life.”
“You need to respect them enough to let them figure that out.”
“He’s a combat medic and dreamweaver.”
She shrugged. “So what? He gets a major injury literally every time you deploy him.”
“You lost the same arm twice.”
“And I’m fine with that. Find someone else.”
He sucked in a breath and rose to his feet. “You know, this is exactly what’s wrong with you. You’ve always got to do it your way, and damn everyone else!”
“That’s what we call a redeeming quality! Right now, I’m struggling to see yours! You can’t just rip me out of my cockpit—my home—because you’re afraid of something happening to me!”
He grimaced. “Is that what you think?”
“Why else would you bring up my age?”
For the first time since she’d known him, he backed down. “I don’t know. I was just trying to add another data point to the mix. I don’t think you get how hard this job is without a trusted friend for guidance. The captain doesn’t share hopes and fears with the crew. That’s the kind of crap that gets them killed.”
“This isn’t about age. It definitely isn’t about my skill.”
He pointed to her, then himself. “It is, though. I think we can do this. You’re clever as all get-out, and I’m, you know, pretty much the greatest captain in the galaxy. We’ve got the toughest crew anyone has ever—look, it’s difficult without an XO I can be straight with.”
“You are so ridiculous. You want to promote me so we can be friends?”
“Yes! No! That’s not exactly it.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re the captain. Be decisive. Spit it out.”
Cordell paced around his table, hands clasped behind his back as though he were inspecting an upcoming battle sim. “Let me lay this plan out on its strengths…”
She waited patiently for him to name a single strength, and found herself checking the clock. After another lap of the table, he deflated. She was about to make fun of him when he spoke.
“It’s lonely.”
On an air base, they would’ve canned him for saying something like that. Toward the end of the war, he would’ve lost his commission and been assigned under someone capable of maintaining “sufficient decorum.” A person couldn’t be captain if they went around being sad about their pals dying.
“Captain…” She wanted to pat his shoulder, but the old codes of conduct stayed her hand.
“This ship is my life, Boots. It’s everything I want out there in the sky. And we’ve uncovered incredible treasures—together.”
“Look, if you’re about to say friendship is the real treasure—”
“No, no, I love cash.”
“Thank god.”
He settled half his rump onto the lip of the table. “But as the senior officer, you get to have one close friend: the person who’s supposed to take the mantle from your corpse. Off the ship, people don’t get you. On the ship, you can’t let them get you.”
She couldn’t tell him to forget the rank and be pals with everyone. That was about as likely as her sprouting a cardioid. Or starting a family.
“You understand,” he began, then swallowed an unseen bitter pill. “My only buddy just, you know, jumped directly into another ship’s engines. So, I’ve been alone for a couple of months, and… I just don’t know how much longer I can keep it up.”
“You went to boot camp with Malik, sir.”
He nodded slowly. “That I did. But you actually get me. You’ve got the fire. Malik is… just a little too perfect, you know?”
She burst out laughing. “Yes! I know exactly what you mean.”
Cordell stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s impossible to loosen up around that guy. He makes me feel guilty for eating junk food.”
“I yell at you for smoking.”
“He does, too, but I care when he says it.”
“Oh, thanks.” Boots chewed her lower lip. “Look… I’m not saying we should ditch the ranks or whatever. Like, I know that someone always has to have the final say in the heat of the moment, but maybe you could stand to loosen up a little. Sleep in an extra thirty minutes or something.”
Then she did something she’d never have imagined in a million years: Boots walked around the table, clapped her hands to both of his shoulders, and said, “We’re a family, and we’re smart.”
He recoiled but didn’t brush her hands away. “Man, Armin would’ve had a field day with this.”
“That’s true. But you just asked me to be your first mate, and that’s my advice.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“No. Hell no. The universe is expanding. The galaxy spins. Space is a vacuum. I’m a fighter pilot. Some things, you just can’t change.”
“Can I continue to count on your wisdom, then?”
“If I ever grow any, I’ll let you know.”
The next breakfast, Cordell gathered all the crew in the mess to announce his appointment of Malik Jan to first mate. Aisha beamed, and Boots could only surmise that was because the doctor would be on the ship instead of in the field.
The twins served everyone a misshapen cake, which had fallen apart under the weight of too many eggs. It tasted as bad as it looked, and Boots had to work to shovel the bits into her mouth. She’d long ago learned that no matter what the cook handed her, she ate it.
“Now that you’ve all had your cake,” said Malik, giving them all appraising looks, “it’s time for a few things to change around here. The primary fixture of military readiness is holistic physical training, and it’s been ignored for too long.”
Boots’s mouth went dry. The running. The de-donut-ing.
“I’m implementing a ship-wide health initiative,” said Malik. “We’re going to create custom diet plans and exercise regimens for each one of you.”
“I’m in fighting shape, Doc,” Boots blurted out. “So, you know, there’s no reason to delete my donuts.”
Malik smirked. “Really? Kin told me you were winded after one flight of stairs the last time you jogged. Also, it’s ‘sir.’”
“Sir, Kin is a data cube, so he’s not in great shape, either,” said Boots. “Maybe we don’t take health advice from him?”
“I am so in great shape,” said Kin. “I’m a cube. It’s a great shape.”