It’s getting to be that time when the civilian government is preparing to
elect the next administration of their civil servants. If tradition holds,
Ovan Teleres will announce his intentions to run a third time for Passenger
First Chair in about a week. Halan and Mercer decided to blitz him during
this period, to give him enough time to not make such an announcement, but
not so much time that others can talk him back into running. Here’s the
deal. If Ovan joins the crew of the Extremus, he won’t be able to run for
reëlection, because it would be a conflict of interest. He’ll technically be
free to run for a civilian position after his shift ends, but only after a
waiting period of five years, and by then, the electorate will have moved
on. Now, Halan can’t guarantee that the following administrative changes
will be any better than they are now, but his mother always told him, fight
the monsters you can see before worrying about the ones you can’t.
The strategy for making this happen is simple, but it’s going to take both
Halan and Mercer, and they’re going to have to be the best actors this ship
has ever seen. They actually reached out to the Theatre Department Director
for help. Yes, Extremus has a theatre department, so people have a little
bit of entertainment while they’re waiting to die in a tin can in the middle
of interstellar space. He was quite helpful, and while he doesn’t know
everything about what’s going on, he’s politically unaligned with Ovan and
his cronies, so he agreed to keep it hush-hush.
Right now, the two of them are waiting in Ovan’s antechamber. His assistant
is on her computer, acting like she’s working on something important. In all
probability, Halan is willing to bet she’s just playing Quantum Colony. The
whole population is addicted. He’s considering starting a support group for
the few who don’t play, but have to overhear the conversations about it all
the fuckin’ time. They booked this meeting a month ago without telling Ovan
completely what it’s about. All he knows is that they want to discuss
crew-passenger relations, and based on the way they framed it, he’s probably
expecting them to walk in there with hats in hands. Thinking he has the home
team advantage, and the higher ground, he’s chosen to make them wait for it.
That’s fine, there isn’t anything else to do today. Each of them gets time
off from their responsibilities, and their vacation days don’t usually
coincide, but it’s allowed to happen once per year in case the captain and
lieutenant want to do something together. This bylaw wasn’t written thinking
that anyone would use it for subterfuge, but it didn’t exclude it either.
Finally, he opens his door electronically, and the assistant knows to wave
them on in. “Captain, Lieutenant! What can I do for you on this, the day of
my daughter’s wedding?”
“Pardon me?” Halan questions.
“It’s a reference, sir,” Mercer explains. He’s playing his part well
already, ashamed of needing to ask for help, and scared that his superior
officer will forever look down on him for it.
“I see.”
“Please, have a seat,” Ovan says. There’s a difference between politeness
and niceness, and they’re both wildly different from kindness. He’s very
good at the first one, but he has no ability to conceptualize the last one.
The second one is reserved for his so-called friends, unless they’re very
good friends, in which case he’s meaner to them than anybody, because he
believes their behavior reflects on him too much to let them be themselves.
“Seriously, how can I help you?”
Halan hopes he can act as well as Mercer, but the theatre department
director didn’t give him as much praise. He nods, and directs his attention
to Mercer. “This is your show.”
Mercer looks back with puppy dog eyes, then clears his throat. “I need
help.”
“With what?” Ovan asks.
“My job.”
“Just, in general, your whole job?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too hard for ya?”
“Yes.”
Ovan nods, desperately trying to hide his great pleasure at hearing this.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but as you know, I’m obligated to the passengers.
If you’re asking me to take on some of your duties, I’m afraid I can’t.”
Now Halan needs to take over. “Look, everyone knows you’ve been doing a
great job here. Not to speak ill of the retired, but I would say you’re at
least twice the Chair Satyria was.”
He can’t hide his glee this time. “I’m happy to hear you say that. I’ve
never thought of you as...a fan.”
“It’s not something that has been easy for me to admit. I must..confess
that, while I don’t hate the civilians, I certainly have always considered
you...other. We’re not better than you, but I’ve probably run this ship with
a little more...divide than there should be.” Using slightly improper
grammar, and stammering, indicates that you’re not confident in your own
words. You believe them, they’re true, but you don’t feel comfortable
expressing them, and you’re worried about how you’ll be received, and
perceived. Ovan has to feel the power here, so Halan has to fake submission.
“That’s very big of you to say. I’m sad to tell you that I agree. We are far
more separate than is healthy, or prosperous.” He’s lying. He loves it.
Halan looks down towards the desk, and compresses the air above it with his
hands, pretending to be searching for the words he practiced well, and has
perfectly memorized. “My Lieutenant needs help. The crew needs a firm hand,
besides myself. The civilians need a leader who understands both them, and
that crew. I can’t make you my new lieutenant—I can’t decommission him—that
would look awful. Fortunately, there’s a loophole. The bylaws included a
special rank known as Second Lieutenant.” Special rank, that was Mercer’s
idea. “If we institute it, it will greatly unburden Eckhart’s shoulders, and
help us better communicate with the passengers. We already know you can do
that. You’ve been proving it for the last six years. If you agree to this,
the ship will run even smoother than it was before now, because you still
hold power over those passengers, but you also have rank within the crew.”
Within the crew, not over the crew.
He seems open to this idea, and his body language suggests that he wants to
hear more.
Halan goes on, “you see, I’ve always wanted to command both.” This
implies—but doesn’t verify—his own narcissism, which doesn’t exist, but Ovan
thinks it does. “I’ve not been able to, because that’s not how we’re
structured. It’s obviously a way to protect us from falling under a single
authority, which could be quite dangerous with the wrong leadership. Like I
said, you’re the loophole, because as a member of the crew, you don’t
technically have control over what the passengers do, but as former Chair,
people can’t help but listen to you.” He’s deliberately using the present
tense in order to subliminally make Ovan feel like he has already accepted
the position, and that the choice only exists in the future as a formality.
This should still help things, even if he ends up not taking the job,
because he’s just been told that he doesn’t have control, but it was framed
in a nice, noncombative way, so Ovan isn’t compelled to argue, allowing this
idea to germinate in his mind regardless.
Here’s the moment. Ovan’s first reaction can make or break this plan. If he
so much as suspects that this is all just a way to get him out of power,
it’s over. At that point, he could take the job, or leave it, but the ship
would still end up pear-shaped. If he ever realizes what they’re doing,
they’ll fail. He has to go on thinking that he’s won. They especially have
to make it past the one-year mark, because if not, the government he leaves
behind would likely allow him to forgo the five-year waiting period, and
return to civil service. The bylaws are sketchy when it comes to who counts
as a crewmember, and what happens if they quit before too long. He’s making
them wait again.
Halan reaches down to the side of his knee on the sly, and gives Mercer a
predetermined signal with his fingers, like a catcher at a baseball game.
Mercer knows what it means, and he begins to recite the contingent speech,
“I can’t do this on my own anymore, and I don’t trust anybody else. I won’t
lie to you, it’s a tough job, but you’re so much better with them. I thought
I could learn, because I don’t have the natural talent. I can survive if you
don’t want to do this, but...I would rather not.” This applauds Ovan for his
skill as a leader without being obvious and brown-nosey. If it works, it
will allow him to interpret Mercer’s perception of him just enough to push
him off that fence.
Ovan sighs. “I won’t lie either, I’m leaning towards not doing this. I love
my job, and I’m doing great things here.” What a douchebag. “I have seven
more years in me no matter what. I imagine my shift would end when yours
does.”
“That’s the thing,” Halan says, happy to have reached this part of the
conversation. It’s a good sign. “It’s a standard 24-year shift, but it’s not
attached to my rank, like his is. We didn’t start together, because Rita was
with me first, but he’ll still have to retire when I do. You can just keep
going under the new captain. To me, that’s even better than only having two
more terms left.” This is actually the worst part about the whole thing, but
if it doesn’t convince him to accept, probably nothing will.
“Wow, that’s pretty enticing; the chance to serve this ship longer than I
ever thought possible.” That’s a step in the right direction, but it’s also
sickening.
“This is good for everyone.” There’s that present tense again.
“Yes, Ovan agrees. He stares down into space, surely imagining what he’ll do
with all his imaginary new power. “Okay,” he decides. Okay, what? “Okay,” he
says louder.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll do it.” Holy shit, it worked.
“Thank you,” Halan says. “Lieutenant?”
“Thank you,” Mercer echoes.
“Thank you, what?” Halan urges.
He smiles with feigned admiration. “Thank you...Second Lieutenant Teleres.”
This is the most excited Ovan has ever been in his life. “So, that’s it?” he
asks. “No ceremony?”
“Oh, there’s a ceremony,” Halan says. There’s not supposed to be, but there
can be. Hopefully it doesn’t set a precedent. Holding a celebration for
every commission or promotion would become tedious.
“I would say more like a parade,” Mercer half jokes, half wants to blow his
own brains out.
Ovan nods and grins, showing only the top row of his teeth. “Cool.”
“We don’t need to wait for the ceremony, though,” Halan promises. “You’re
already Second Lieutenant, and can already start working. Your Second Chair
takes over for you immediately. This gives us time to plan something
special.” Gross.
“Cool,” he repeats.
