Three people are in the room with Halan. One is the ship’s primary
counselor, the other is the Consul, and the third is Dr. Holmes. The Consul,
who is generally responsible for maintaining the wall that separates right
from wrong, is leading this phase of the review. He sets the video sphere on
the table between them, and begins. “This is the one-year post-upload
certification interview with Probationary Captain Halan Yenant. I am Dvronen
Vatal. To my left is current ship counselor, Madam Thora Adebayo, and to my
right is Medical Administrator, Dr. Holmes. This is the fourth of nine
planned periodical check-ins, which are being used to assess the subject’s
ongoing fitness for his responsibilities to the pangalactic generation ship
known as The Extremus. They will continue for the next five years, or until
such time that the subject is declared undoubtedly competent to continue his
role on the ship, whether that be as Captain, as Admiral, or in any other
capacity. Dr. Ima Holmes has already performed the most recent medical
evaluation in private. Madam Adebayo will be handling the psychological
phase immediately following the conclusion of this session, also in private.
First of all, Probationary Captain, how are you feeling?”
“I thought you were going to stop calling me that.”
“You’ll assume your full rank after today, assuming this goes smoothly.”
“When does it ever not?”
“I’m just trying to do my job, sir,” Dvronen contends. “No one here has any
personal bias against you.”
“Or for you,” Thora adds. She practices a thing called radical honesty,
having decided during her studies that anything short of full transparency
is conflict waiting to happen. She believes that the only reason anyone ever
gets hurt is either because they were hiding something, or someone was
hiding something from them. Halan is sure it’s more nuanced than that, but
he doesn’t argue with her. It’s part of the reason he prefers to seek
guidance from Grief Counselor Meziani, but Madam Adebayo doesn’t know that,
because he’s not radically honest. As far as he can tell, this lie is not
causing her harm.
Dvronen decides to go on, “I was informed that both you and Probationary
Lieutenant Eckhart Mercer ceased your physical therapy shortly after your
six-month certification.”
“We don’t need it,” Halan explains. “Physically, we’re fine.”
“But not psychologically?”
“Is anyone ever perfectly emotionally healthy? I was allowed therapy before
my death.”
“I’m not judging,” Dvronen assures him. “I obviously cannot access your
therapy records, so I’m asking you to provide as much information about that
as you feel comfortable with. If that means nothing, then I can accept that.
It might be easier to certify you for the next year, though. That will be
the longest period of time without one of these interviews you’ve had since
the incident. I need to make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m confident that I will be fine,” Halan says. “I’ve been doing the job,
and no one has reported any incidents to you, have they?”
Dvronen looks just a tad bit uncomfortable, like he’s not sure he’s going to
bring up whatever happened that has him so worried about Halan’s fitness as
the Captain.
“Spit it out, Consul,” Halan urges.
“Tell me about December 4, 2289,” Dvronen prompts, still uncomfortable.
Halan has always had a very good memory, but he’s traditionally used it to
recall people, rather than events in the past. If you know everything that
any given individual has been through, you probably have a pretty good idea
of who they are. Once there, you can start to understand them. You won’t
ever reach a hundred percent understanding, but it should be enough to see
their worldview, and appreciate their flaws. Halan can’t do all that,
though. It would be an invasion of privacy, and impossible to try for
everyone on the ship. Short of this full understanding, being able to
remember too much of that past can actually be a hindrance. Yes, yes, those
who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it, but it can also
make it more difficult to move on. Halan hates to hold grudges, so when
people around him screw up, it’s better for everyone if he distributes
consequences immediately, but then forget about it, and not hold it against
them later. Ovan was a huge exception. December 4, 2289. That was just over
a month ago, and while that doesn’t sound like very long, the date doesn’t
live in the front of his mind.
“Are you having memory problems?” Dvronen asks after it takes Halan too long
to respond. He has his pen ready to take note of this in Halan’s personnel
file, and his whole tone has changed for the worse.
“Just give me a second.” Yeah he remembers that date. It’s nothing. “It was
nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“According to eyewitness accounts, a child asked you to marry her.”
“I’m the Captain, such sentiments are not uncommon. Children look to me as
an authority figure, and they mistake respect for love.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Dvronen promises. “I’m questioning your response to
her.”
“Well, she caught me off guard. We were in a room full of people, what did
you expect me to say?”
“I don’t know,” Dvronen replies. He zooms in on his tablet. “But maybe
not—and I quote—‘perhaps one day, when you’re older, and I haven’t aged.’ Do
you still feel as if that was an appropriate response?”
“It was a joke, because I’m a clone now, and many people believe that I
don’t age, when actually I still do. I’ll die at around the same time as I
would have if I hadn’t been murdered.”
“Do you think the child understood such nuance?” Dvronen pressed.
Halan rolls his eyes. “Probably not, but when she does grow up, she will.”
“I’m not convinced that’s the case. This interaction concerns me.”
He rolls his eyes again. “Have you ever heard of Santa Claus?”
“Ancient Earthan superstitious figure. He gave people cookies, or
something.”
“He gave presents, to children, who often gave him cookies.”
“Whatever. Where is this going?”
“Well, he was a lie, just like the Easter Bunny, and Jesus Christ’s ghost,
and an honest lawyer.”
“Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
“My point is that that little girl might right now be dreaming of marrying
the captain of the ship, partially because of what I told her, but then
she’ll get older, and realize I wasn’t being at all serious. And she’s not
going to hold it against me later, because she’ll be an adult.”
“Maybe not, but in the meantime, she’ll have trouble forming romantic
relationships with others, because her heart will be with you until such
time that she grows up,” Dvronen reasons. His tone grows graver still.
“You don’t know that,” Halan argues.
“Well, if you—”
Halan interrupts him, “You’re here to make sure that the transference of my
consciousness to this new substrate has not negatively impacted my job here.
It is not your responsibility to criticize my leadership style in general. I
was selected as captain over two decades ago, so I must have done something
right to prove to the council that I was the best choice. I feel like
myself. I am myself. And I would have responded to the girl’s proposal the
same way as I would if Ovan had never shot me. Well, I mean, it would have
been a different response, because I wouldn’t be in a clone body, but it
still wouldn’t necessarily have been something you would approve of. But I
did not require your approval before, and I shouldn’t require it now. That
is well beyond your scope.”
Dvronen tries to speak again, but can’t get a word out.
“Nothing has changed about who I am, and how I lead; nothing important,
anyway. This is just a new body. I’m still the same person I’ve always been,
in my mind, which is all that really counts. I even look as I did before I
died. If you hadn’t made my condition public, neither the crew, nor the
passengers, would have noticed a difference. The only reason the good doctor
didn’t upload us two years ago is because it took time to grow the clones in
the pods, and people noticed my absence, as well as the Lieutenant’s. Now,
I’m going to keep coming back to these things every year, as I promised to.
So unless you have some undeniably objective evidence that I’m not competent
to continue, continuing is what I’m going to do.”
Dvronen takes a moment before replying, not out of respect for Halan, but as
a passive-aggressive tactic to make sure he knows how little sense that
little monologue made. “I have the power to strip you of your rank, and
begin the succession process.”
“You can’t, she’s too young,” Halan contends.
“Who? The little girl who wants to marry you? She is not up for
consideration.” Perhaps the Probationary Captain really has gone crazy.
“You don’t have to consider anything, you’re just a lawyer. I’m talking
about Kaiora Leithe.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Dvronen admits.
Halan goes on, “she was the first baby born on this ship.”
“Okay...what about her?”
“She’s on the captain’s track, but she’s too young. She won’t be ready until
2294, which just so happens to coincide with my planned retirement. If you
force my replacement now, she’ll never get the chance.”
“Are you saying you’re going to rig the selection process?” Dvronen
questions.
“I won’t have to. She’s top of her class, and has been the whole time. She’s
forgotten more about this ship than I’ll ever know.”
“I don’t take comfort in that, if true.”
“It’s an expression. Even if she doesn’t get the job, she has plenty of
competitors who are also too young, or otherwise not yet ready. You wanna
get rid of me? I don’t like it, but I recognize your perspective, and the
complexities of this whole situation. But don’t punish the people who are
working hard to be worthy of the title one day, and hastily replace me with
someone inferior.”
“We wouldn’t have to do that,” Dvronen says. He pulls the bylaws up on his
tablet. “Interim leadership. We’re allowed to institute that for a maximum
of four years, at which point a new full-shift captain can be found, just as
it would be if you served out your own shift.”
“You’re trying to fire me,” Halan figures. That’s why his tone changed,
because he was tired of pretending that this charade was anything but an
extended exit interview. “Four year interim. You know how hard I would fight
against it if we weren’t exactly four years away from my shift change.
You’ve wanted this the entire time, but you also need my cooperation.”
The Consul drops all pretense. “It will be so much smoother if you just let
this happen. I already have a short list, and since you know literally
everyone on the Extremus, you can help us choose the right one. I’ll give
you full veto power, and once it’s done, you’ll ascend immediately to the
admiralty. We’ve been lacking in that department too. You can even be more
involved than Thatch was.”
Dvronen’s logic isn’t bad, and Halan really does see where he’s coming from.
Annoyingly, where he’s coming from has placed the Captain in a terribly
awkward position, because if he fights it, he’ll look like another
power-hungry tyrant, just like Ovan. He can’t simply dismiss this out of
hand. There has to be some loophole, though. He wants to keep his seat until
his shift is officially over. He doesn’t want there to have been more than
nine captains before this is all over. He doesn’t want to step down. He
doesn’t want to lose this battle of wills. The incident with the girl was
obviously just an excuse for Dvronen to do what he’s wanted to do all along.
Maybe Halan can turn things around, and use that against him. He knows what
buttons to push. He doesn’t like manipulating people, but he’s done it
before, and he can do it again.
“Well...?” Dvronen has to prompt again. Halan spends too much time in his
own head.
He’s about to use his silver-tongue to his advantage again, but his words
betray him. “Okay.” He can’t get nothing out of this, though. “But I don’t
want any more evaluations. This is the last one, or I don’t step down.”
“Okay.”
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