Raven’s Flight

“I feel… light.”

I stepped into the cold interior of the ship. I ran my hands along the closest seat, its synthetic leather pocked with the melted holes of decades of electrical sparks.

“You should,” noted Commander Tague in a gruff and tired voice. “The Kite-Class gunships are fifty years old now – Old Solar War stuff. They cut every budgetary corner they could back then, so their near-gravs never got above 4 meters-per-second. Should make you feel like you’re on Mars.”

“I’ve never been to Mars,” I muttered back, more to myself than to Tague. I stared down the length of the portside console, its surface a landscape of screens and blinking buttons. I walked slowly, taking in the bridge. Two years of simulators, and now a real ship.

Finally.

The rectangular room had five seats in total: Two faced the port side of the ship, intended for the ship’s communications and scanner specialists. On the starboard side, a lone chair faced forward, a tiny command screen hanging lazily in front of it: The captain’s chair. At the front of the bridge, the bow pinched closed, wrapping around two more chairs: Weapons and Helm. Before them sat a window – enormous by starship standards – that looked past a nose cone and out into the hangar bay.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I asked, gesturing toward a smattering of chips and scratches in the glass.

Tague chuckled, adjusting his tie around a thick neck. “Sure is. That’s why we don’t make them with viewports anymore. It’s a damn tragedy if you hit a piece of debris.”

“Hell, yeah! Let’s get this thing flying!” came another voice behind the commander. A young man with a knot of silver hair had entered the bridge. Behind him were three more figures just stepping through the airlock. All of them were clad in the typical black jumpsuit of a USSC crewperson except the last – a short, stocky woman with an explosion of fire-red curls. She wore a dirty gray and blue jumpsuit with a vest that matched her hair almost perfectly – the crew’s engineer.

Tague groaned with age and frustration. “About goddamn time you all showed up.”

The silver-haired Petty Officer – Alfonsi – instantly straightened up, not realizing the commander’s presence. “Uh, sorry, sir. We took too long in the mess hall… uh… sir. It won’t happen again.”

Tague rolled his eyes. “Let’s just dispense with all that rank and protocol bullshit right now.” He cleared his throat. “From here on out, we’re a crew. I may be bossier than the rest of you, but everyone here is essential from the time this bird leaves the dock to the time she lands again. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said a chorus of five voices. I noticed mine was among them. Tague rolled his eyes again, obviously noticing our continued use of ‘sir.’

“Alright, let’s get started.” He twirled a finger around the room. “Some of you know each other… some of you don’t. You know me.” The finger stopped at his own chest before jabbing it at Alfonsi. “Luke Alfonsi. Communications specialist.” The finger moved to the next girl. “Chelle Gibbs, scanner specialist.” On to the next. “Damon Gray-”

“It’s ‘Shotgun,’ sir.” Alfonsi corrected.

“Christ…” The commander already looked tired. “Fine. ‘Shotgun,’ then. Shotgun shoots stuff.” The finger trailed toward the engineer. “Emilee Watson. You want a cute nickname, too?”

“No, sir.” Watson said, her face stern and determined. “Just here to do my job.”

Tague grunted again. “Well loosen up. It’s going to be a long ride. Uh… Watson fixes stuff.”

The finger had moved completely around the circle and finally rested on me. Tague spoke again, “This is Cammilynn Faye. She’s been transferred in as our new pilot.”

The rest of the crew looked awkward, trying to assess me with a volley of uncomfortable glances.

“What about Crash?” Shotgun finally asked.

“Crash was adequately nicknamed.” Tague snorted a bit. “USSC isn’t wasting a ship on him. He’s out of the program.”

The bridge fell uncomfortably silent for a moment. Only the subtle chirps of buttons and the whir of the atmospheric synthesizers could be heard. The commander broke the silence.

“Knock it off. You all know he was dangerous. Cammi comes to us with one of the best records at the academy. She’s a damn good pilot.”

Gibbs nodded and smiled. “Welcome aboard, Cammi.”

I forced a confident smile. “Thanks.” The others still seemed quiet and uninviting. “I look forward to serving with you all.”

Tague could sense my unease. “Alright. We all know why we’re here. This is the first time out of the sims. For the next few weeks, we’re going to work together and make this ship fly like she never has before. After that…” His voice trailed off. Once again, his finger extended. This time, it pointed at a faded propaganda poster beside the comms station. It was vintage, now – more than fifty years old. Amidst faded blue and red stripes, a familiar and hexagonal silhouette was ringed with bold text:

THE NEXT STEP FOR HUMANITY: THE OUTBOUND DISCOVERY MISSION

“…You’re all on duty. Outbound Hope. Sounds like you’ve been assigned to escort the>Flame of Liberty. She’s no Ascendant Dawn, but that’s still a damn good ship. Better prove you’re worthy of it.” The commander turned rather abruptly and collapsed into the captain’s chair. “For now, let’s get this bird out of the nest.”

We all suddenly sprang to life. Alfonsi sat in front of the comms panel while Watson disappeared in the direction of the engine room. Gibbs took the seat before the scanner station. Damon – Shotgun – gave me a half-hearted pat on the back as he maneuvered forward toward the weapons controls. I turned to the helms panel and took my seat for the first time. I paused for a moment, getting a feel for the ship around me.

This was my ship. I would make the old girl dance again.

The next few moments were a flurry of buttons and switches. I flipped the main reactor switch to “on.” The ship shuttered a bit, then emitted a vibrating hum, as if taking its first few breaths. A twitter of beeps sounded from the console.

“GOOD MORNING, ENSIGN FAYE.” Came a deep, mechanical voice from a source that was hard to determine. “I AM SAI, SYSTEMS ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE. WELCOME ABOARD USSC-557.”

“Good morning, SAI.” I said politely. Every USSC ship’s AI had the same monotone voice – even the simulators. Hearing the voice sounded warm and familiar amidst the crew of strangers. “Please initiate systems check.”

“Please?” Shotgun chuckled on my right.

“Why not?” I kept flipping switches, not making eye contact. Auxiliary power: On. Drive systems: On. “They respond better when you’re nice.” Fore shields: On. Aft shields: On.

“ALL SYSTEMS ARE SHOWING GREEN. ENGINES ARE STILL CHARGING.”

Comms unit: On. Weapon systems: On.

“Roger that, SAI.”

All of the panels were now online, but the screen still read 86% beside the engine display.

Tague cleared his throat. “SAI, prep the coordinates for Training Scenario Alpha…” He chuckled and nodded in my direction. “…Please.” I returned the nod.

“COORDINATES LOADED. ENGINES AT NINETY-ONE PERCENT.”

“Sir,” Gibbs began. “Any word yet on what we’ll be flying through the Bifröst?”

“Mhmm.” Tague nodded, throwing a folder in her direction. “This came yesterday. Looks like something new. An Osprey. Straight off the assembly line.” Gibbs opened the folder and rustled through the papers.

“Seriously?” Alfonsi leaned over the folder in awe. “Yeah. Looks like it’s armed to the teeth.” Tague was fidgeting with his tie again. “I don’t know what the DCA thinks you’re going to find over there. It’s probably just Windfall showing off.”

“NINETY-FIVE PERCENT.”

“Is there a name?” I finally piped up.

“What’s that?” Tague raised an eyebrow.

“A name,” I said again. “Did they give us the ship’s name?”

“Uh, yeah,” Gibbs said, her eyes dancing over the paper. Her search was quiet.

“Well?” Emilee’s voice came over the comms system. “What is it?”

Gibbs smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like it: The Raven’s Flight.”

“Raven’s Flight,” I echoed, nodding to myself. I noticed the “100” had finally appeared on the display.

SAI confirmed it. “ALL SYSTEMS NOW ONLINE. READY FOR LAUNCH.”

“Well… then that’s our goal, team,” said Tague, strapping himself in. “That ship’s going to be all ours.” The airlock hissed closed and the cabin pressurized in a high-pitch whine. “Alright, SAI. Initiate takeoff. Ready all?”

The rest of the bridge murmured in agreement. The ship lurched as the docking clamps released and began drifting into the blackness of space.

“Per Aspera,” Tague croaked.

I smiled. “…Ad Astra.”