Blood Impulse

Part 30.1 - REPAIR PRIORITIES

Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

The exercise of doing the rounds gave Admiral Gives a feel for the crew's mood, and it generally helped morale. It gave the crew a constant, and often made them more willing to approach him. He supposed, to them, meeting him on the rounds was more relaxed than seeking him out on the bridge or in his office. They saw it as a gesture of willingness to look eye to eye with the lowest echelons of the crew. Too many of their previous officers had confined themselves to the bridge or officer's lounge, never to speak with the majority of those under their command.

The rounds were also a reminder to himself – a daily reminder of his responsibility to these people, to this crew. It was how he learned their faces and names, how he remembered their duties and personalities. If he didn't learn that, speak to them, and see them every day, it became easier to distance himself and sacrifice their lives for the mission. But he didn't want to make it easy. He didn't want to do that. And so, the rounds had become his reminder, forcing him to know those that could die on his orders.

Before combat, these rounds were a torturous burden, and afterward, they were nothing but pain. The crew would look at him with betrayal in their eyes, as if he'd wanted their comrades to die, even if that couldn't be further from the truth. But still, he forced himself through the rounds, even after combat. That pain was a penance for losing lives that he'd been sworn to protect.

Today, however, there was no betrayal in the crew's eyes. The ship had escaped without casualties from the encounter with Squadron 26 and the battle in the Wilkerson Sector. There was uncertainty among the crew, anxious about their future without Command, but the Admiral knew continuing his regular schedule of rounds was a sign of promise to them: not everything would be different. The things this ship had given them over the years, be it a sense of purpose, a home, or a sense of family, those things would still be here, even without Command.

On his rounds, the Admiral generally let the crew approach him, but there were exceptions. The engineering chief was one of them, and Ty, like his predecessor, was found in the engineering spaces, the senior engineering staff gathered around him as he handed out shift assignments.

Ty was a big fellow, and he was near-shouting to be heard over the sound of machinery this far aft. It was abnormally warm so near the engines too, an imperfection in the heating and cooling systems, so most of the engineers had tied the top half of their orange coveralls around their waists. Below, they wore plain uniform shirts or tank tops.

The Admiral didn't interrupt the engineers. The Chief would speak to him when ready and it served him to observe the crew's interactions with one another. Through that, he could determine if the ship had a healthy working environment, another subtle but key detail in maintaining a stable command.

"Hi, Admiral."

Turning, he watched someone step up beside him. "Ensign Smith," he greeted, "good morning."

Callie was one of the few crew that spoke willingly with him. On his rounds, she regularly sought him out either here or on the hangar deck. He wasn't quite sure why. His disposition was not generally considered friendly, and he wasn't much of a conversationalist. Their interactions rarely ever went beyond generic niceties, but he didn't mind. "How are you doing?"

Callie smiled. "I'm okay." As one of the least experienced crew, she had no business in Chief Ty's meeting with the senior engineers, but she'd come down to wait for her daily assignment. Likely, she'd be working here with the main engines, as she usually did. "But I guess I have you to thank for that." If he hadn't come to the rescue, Command's soldiers probably would have killed her and Malweh.