The crew stands at attention, but their bearing as a group isn’t perfect because most aren’t true militia. It’s a jumble of machinists, miners, and others pressed into the Admiral’s service for this excursion. Most of the people in the Outpost don’t pay much attention to the dredge voyages. People have so much work to do in their day-to-day lives that they don’t spare a thought for the tasks of others. They trust the Admiral, and keeping the Outpost viable is a full-time job for everyone who lives here.
Generations ago, when people came to build the Outpost in this wild land where we now live, the Territory, they had support and supplies and contact with the Union that had sent them. The settlers had been asked to establish the Outpost as a jumping-off point for more explorations and because the Union had heard there might be gold to mine in the Territory. But after a few years, the Union sent word they were no longer going to keep up the Outpost. We were too much work, they said. Too far away from the rest of their provinces and cities. Too hard to protect. Too wild. We hadn’t found enough gold to make us worth their time, and they no longer seemed to care about exploring. The Union ran the dredges ashore and stopped visiting or sending supplies. We were on our own. The first Admiral gathered in those who’d settled outside of the Outpost, for their own protection. The raiders are the descendants of those who refused to come.
“Name?” I say to the man in front of me.
“Owen Fales,” he says.
“You’re one of the miners.” I’ve been over and over the names on the manifest. I know them all.
He nods. “Captain Blythe.”
He’s older than I am—thirties or forties—but seems soft-spoken. Perhaps he won’t mind being led by someone as young as I am.
Down the rows I go. When I get to a young man with dark hair and blue eyes, my heart rises into my throat the way it always does at an unexpected reminder of Call. This man has Call’s exact coloring and is handsome, too, but other than that they look nothing alike.
“Brig Tanner,” he says.
“First mate,” I say back, and he nods.
“Eira Clyde,” says the girl next to him. She’s very beautiful, with high cheekbones, dark hair. “Cartographer.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. She’s spoken before I can. She flushes, realizing the mistake, but doesn’t break our gaze.
Is she insolent? Or merely inexperienced? I resist the urge to look over at the Admiral.
I’m sure that he’ll have someone on board to watch me. To watch all of us. I wonder who it is.
I go through the names and positions. Officer Ophelia Hill, navigator. Officer Laura Seng, medic. Officer Cecil Clair, chaplain. Officer Corwin Revis, chief machinist.
Then a face so young it makes me stop. He must be my age, or perhaps even younger.
“Tam Wallace,” he says.
“Ship’s cook,” I answer.
The excitement on his face reminds me of myself two years ago. He’ll have heard about the myriad of miseries waiting for him on board the dredge—the grating noise and hard work, the boredom, the claustrophobia. He hasn’t felt them yet. But if he’s like Call and I were, he’ll love the voyage anyway because it’s an adventure. I feel a pang in my heart for who I used to be, for what I’ve lost.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Sixteen.”
A year younger than me.
“How did you become a ship’s cook so young?”
Tam runs a hand through his hair, breaking the protocol of standing at attention when the Captain is reviewing the crew. He catches himself halfway through and drops his hand to the side. “I work at the meal hall where the Admiral dines. He gave me this assignment himself.”
“If he likes your food, why would he waste you on the dredge?” I ask.
“He wants this voyage to succeed,” Tam says. “People work better when they’re well fed.”
Young, malleable, talented but not in a way that’s threatening to the Admiral, someone conveniently located in the kitchen, where he’ll hear all the gossip. . . .
Maybe I’ve found the Admiral’s watchdog.
Near the end, I see the one name on the manifest that I recognized, the one person I’ve wanted to see. My former boss, now my second mate.
“Naomi Moran,” she says. Her hair, dark streaked with gray, is longer than I remembered.
“Second mate,” I say.
“Captain Blythe,” says a guard at my elbow. “The Admiral is ready to address the crew.”
A subtle undercut. I was going to give my own message first; anything I say after his speech will be a letdown. I nod and the guard calls out, “The Admiral will speak to you now.” They all turn in his direction like flowers to the sun.
The Admiral’s wearing a suit coat and vest today. Even in the heat. I know the crew will love this. They’ll see it as a sign of esteem. Perhaps it is. The Admiral looks as pleased as I’ve ever seen him.
“Come here, Captain Blythe,” the Admiral says.
I take my place at his left.
“Captain Blythe designed the armor that protects our ship, our cargo, and our crew so well,” the Admiral says. “I want this crew to accord her all respect in honor of the lives she’s saved. Captain Blythe.”
I stand stiff and awkward while the others salute. Will the Admiral’s blessing help or hurt me on the river? It used to be that the crews were people like Call and me, who wanted to get out of the Outpost for a while. And the Admiral needed people to do the work and who didn’t mind going. It worked out as well as anything could. But now things have changed. I can tell. I smell it in the cool-burned morning air, in the shift of the wind. In the way some of the crew makes sense and some don’t quite seem to fit. The Admiral chose us all.
“This is the last river,” the Admiral says. “The last voyage. Your mission is important to the Outpost, to all of us. I wish you well, and I know you will succeed.”
He lifts his broad-brimmed hat into the air and the crew cheers, all twenty-three of us. I raise my voice with the rest so I don’t draw the Admiral’s ire.
I’ve never liked being around people, but ever since Call, it’s been worse.
The Admiral’s eyes meet mine and he smiles.
* * *
• • •
We don’t embrace or shake hands but she falls into step right next to me, our shoulders almost touching, as we board the boat.
“We’re traveling on a ship of children and fools,” Naomi says, low.