Chapter 8:

The Mess Hall

The Villainess of Caerleon


I didn’t sleep well. The exhaustion knocked me out for the remainder of the journey, but I woke with a vicious migraine and sore back, compliments of a shallow pillow and stone solid mattress.

When I tried to get up, my stomach churned as if I had been socked in the gut while also sick with food poisoning. I hadn’t eaten in days but I rushed into the bathroom and tossed my head over the toilet. As I rinsed my face, three knocks tapped against my door.

“Are you feeling it?” came Emiko’s voice.

“You could’ve warned me,” I groaned.

“You’ll get used to it,” she said. “Finish washing up. We’re all headed upstairs.”

I expected some more sympathy from her, but then I remembered this was a Caerleon ship. We were surrounded by pirates and scavengers, Diane and the rest of her crew seemed to not care, but Emiko displayed a bizarre adherence to imperial protocol. She addressed her commanding officer by rank, dictated combat instructions using classic rhetoric they taught at the academy, and refused to comfort me while I leaned over the sink and gagged again because it was more important to report for duty.

I swallowed the nausea, pushed it as deep as it would go and left my quarters. Light strips along the corridor led me back to the elevator. It grumbled upwards and I felt something rumbling in my stomach again. I swallowed deep breaths until the elevator brought me back aboard Circe. Diane stood outside the elevator shaft prepared with an all too familiar quip. She waved for me to follow her.

“Are you feeling it?” she asked.

“What is it with you people?” I sighed. “Care to explain what it is?”

“It’s neural feedback,” Diane explained. “Or maybe you just caught a cold.”

“What?”

“When scientists first tested shared consciousness technology,” Diane explained, “the heat spike produced from the neural connection was enough to melt people’s brains. Bridge Mode drops the temperature of the bridge to below freezing to compensate.”

“You’d think they’d submerge us in some kind of fluid then, like liquid cooling.”

“And risk frying the electronics on deck?” Diane laughed. “That’s just some magical tech you read about in science fiction.”

We approached the blast door leading to Circe’s bridge. The rest of the crew was waiting for us.

“Are you feeling–” Stephen tried to ask.

“Please shut up,” I growled.

“Is he inside?” Diane asked.

“Yeah,” Stephen said. “Along with the usual suspects.”

“Wonderful,” the captain took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Diane thumbed the keypad beside the blast door and waved us inside. Ulysses was easy to spot. He towered above the others in the room while leaning over his command console. There were two new faces I didn’t recognize, however. The “usual suspects,” Stephen had called them.

A portly gentleman dressed in a leather coat and a brown beard stood next to a woman with cropped hair, tattoos drawn down her back, and a cigar stuck between her teeth. The two of them both glared at us as we arrived.

“Good,” Ulysses spotted us. “Everyone’s here. Gather around.”

The Pirate King tapped the command console. The display switched to a holographic presentation of our present coordinates. The Sunless Fleet moved in unison towards a blinking icon at the far end of the system.

“We need to make a pit stop at Archon Waystation,” Ulysses said. “What’s the status of imperials who were after us?”

“Grounded,” Diane replied. “We disabled a few engines and gave them the slip. Regrettably, there was little else we could do, but they’ll be stuck for a few days making repairs. They don’t have the resources to track us.”

“If you ask me,” said the woman with tattoos, “The imperials we should be worried about are right here with us.”

“Then maybe you should’ve actually shot at us, Friede,” Diane shrugged. “Or are you scared you’ll ruin your perfect accuracy record?”

Kindred Lancer never misses.”

Diane laughed.

“For all your hatred of Caerleon, you’re quick to take credit for the wonders of imperial technology. If a Phalanx can’t hit a stationary target, what can it hit?”

Enough,” Ulysses stressed. “Moving on. Diane, Alexi informs me he’s going to need a full restock at the waystation.”

Edge of Knight is a juggernaut class warship. Of course it’ll need restocks at every pit stop.”

“You know that’s not what I’m getting at,” Ulysses folded his arms. “Contrary to popular belief, we aren’t made of money. We can’t dump a warship full of arms into space. Who gave you the authority to do that?”

“You did,” Diane replied. “When you pitted just three ships against the imperial military, you made it my call. Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t ask Alexis to ram his ship into a battle cluster, because this was near the equivalent of a suicide mission anyway.”

Alexis opened his mouth, but Ulysses shut him up with a sharp gesture.

“I don’t think you understand,” Ulysses shook his head. “Half the fleet, including half the people in this room, think of you as imperial rats. Your battle record is the only ammunition I have to keep the other captains at bay. What do you think they’ll conclude when they learn you’ve wasted all of Edge of Knight’s armory just to put some burn marks on enemy ships and fry their engines for a week?”

“It’s not a waste, Ulysses.”

“It’s inefficient.”

“You’re wrong, my liege,” Diane turned to me. She looked tired of their shit already. “Elaine, what is the priority one objective of any Caerleon battle group?”

“Victory and unity,” I answered. “With flair.”

“That’s right,” she nodded. “The imperial military wins in style. There is nothing more embarrassing to a knight captain than rendering a fraction of his battle group rudderless and unable to pursue.”

“As opposed to just… blowing them up?” Friede asked. “That accomplishes the same thing.”

“Do words just go in one ear and out the other for you?” Diane replied. “Acts of heroism. Acts of justice. These are the values that drive the imperial military. You light up a capital ship, kill everyone aboard, and you give them license to pursue us with noble vigor.”

“Then let’s fight them,” Friede pouted. “Why are we running from an enemy we can defeat?”

“You’re no military organization. You’re pirates with civilian ships in tow,” Diane explained. “There’s no winning against the imperium.”

“You think they’ll give up the chase?” Ulysses asked.

I wasn’t sure who else caught it, but Diane flicked a glance at me.

“What possible reason do they have to pursue us so viciously?” she shrugged. “What did you steal this time, Ulysses?”

“Nothing that they didn’t want anyway,” Ulysses replied. “Fine. You’re all dismissed. We’ll be docking at the waystation soon. You’re all entitled to some shore leave until we’re done refueling. Make the best of it. Alexis. Friede. Don’t forget your assignment.”

Alexis and Friede saluted the King of Pirates, while Diane waved at us to leave. An awkward silence arose as the captains of Edge of Knight and Kindred Lancer joined us in the elevator. It was Stephen who spoke first.

“I’m starving,” he yawned. “I can eat just about anything from the cafeteria today. What are they serving?”

“Freeze dried meatloaf again probably,” Vladimir replied. “We’ve been out of supplies for real food.”

Stephen’s eyes lit up like a lantern.

“Did you guys know freeze dried meatloaf was probably staple space food amongst the Martians?”

The rest of Nightwing’s crew groaned. Diane pinched her ears. Alexis and Friede paid no attention, but the noise was bothering them.

“Oh no. Not that this again,” Vladimir rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean ‘not again?’” Stephen whined. “It’s true! Back when the Martians were doing short system space flights with no Lemmings-Hyder propulsion drives, they needed lightweight, spoil resistant foods. Freeze dried meatloaf, anyone?”

“The Martians mastered hydroponics long before they colonized the rest of the galaxy,” Vladimir replied. “People were eating fresh foods on vessels long before Lemmings-Hyder was invented.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Stephen winked. “In reality, they were probably eating food out of rehydrated cubes. Why do you think we’re still eating that shit now? Clearly the problem of food maintenance on long term space voyages was never properly solved during the Martian days.”

“Do you ever shut your mouths?” Alexis grumbled. “Just be thankful you dogs even get slop to eat.”

My mouth opened for a retort, but Emiko gripped my wrist and squeezed.

“You know,” Stephen mused. “Speaking of dogs, they probably experimented with animals before ever sending a human into space. Kind of barbaric by contemporary standards, don’t you think?”

The elevator door opened at the penultimate floor and revealed a loud, crowded mess hall. It looked as if all of Circe’s crew, and also the crews of several other ships, had gathered aboard for a meal. Alexis and Friede took off for tables at separate ends of the cafeteria, where their respective crews waved to them.

The mess hall grew noticeably quieter when Nightwing’s crew stepped inside. We were flanked by suspicious stares and just out of earshot whispers. Nobody around me seemed to care, however. Stephen and Vladimir continued bickering about outlandish conspiracies regarding ancient human civilizations while Emiko pointed me towards the cafeteria ladies handing out hot food on metal trays.

Sure enough, we were eating freeze dried meatloaf.

When we had all been served, we walked to a table tucked into one of the corners of the mess hall. Someone I knew was already sitting there.

“Yo,” waved Lucia. “Thanks for surviving. I won a couple of side bets again.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she laughed. “I was born in Caerleon too, remember?”

Scratched along the food table’s metallic surface was all manners of insults and swear words and unsavory drawings I expected from mean primary school students. Die imperial dogs was among the least offensive of the phrases.

“What are they, children?” I asked.

“Welcome to the Sunless Fleet,” Stephen grinned. “My recommendation? Eat your food. Keep your head down. They’ll forget we’re even here.”

“You’re threatened by them?”

“They’re threatened by us,” Vladimir explained. “You heard Diane during combat. Nightwing is Circe’s weapon, the Pirate King’s personal sword. We earned that. You don’t think Edge of Knight or Kindred Lancer would prefer that title?”

“And being the Pirate King’s personal sword affords you no respect?”

“Give it a rest, yeah?” Diane mumbled between bites. “What happened to your distaste for piracy? Do you want their respect now?”

I gave it a rest and dug into the food. I wondered if Stephen was right, and if this really was what Martians ate before faster than light travel was invented.

Man. It tasted like shit.

I scanned the rest of the cafeteria. There was a crowd in the middle of the mess hall that I hadn’t noticed the first time around. A pair of familiar machines stood facing with their backsides to the other. Bright displays lit the center of the room.

“Are those what I think they are?” I asked. “How are they here?”

“They’re pirates, remember?” Diane replied.

I stood up. Emiko grabbed my wrists again.

“Don’t,” she said.
I wrestled my arm out of her grip.

“I’m just taking a peek.”

I hadn’t seen these machines since my time at the academy. They were popular among everyone. Students, instructors, janitorial staff, security guards.

They were combat simulators. Two or more opponents, depending on the number of available machines, would square off with a number of ships in replicated real space conditions. Every hot shot who thought they could be promoted to captain straight out of the academy competed to be the best at the simulators.

In short, it was a game. I wasn’t too surprised that the pirates aboard the Sunless Fleet had taken to it.

Two men mashed the keys on their respective machines and laughed at the other as the displays showcased an aggressive and messy brawl. The spectators didn’t seem to mind that I watched. They were fixated on the game.

The match itself came to a depressing and disappointing close. The victor, the man on my left, raised his hand to a series of cheers and light clapping.

“Let’s see the dogs try something like that,” he jeered.

Before I could stop myself, I laughed.

The cheers and applause stopped. The victor glared at me.

“You say something?” said the man.

I could feel the stares from Emiko burning into my back, like a lingering effect from Bridge Mode. Don’t provoke them. Don’t provoke them. I knew that’s what she and Diane were thinking. But after a morning of headaches and being the butt of everyone’s joke, I was sick of everyone’s shit.

So I provoked them.

“I said nothing,” I answered. “I was just laughing. Is there something wrong with just laughing?”

“You making fun of me or something?”

“Not at all,” I gasped. “If anything, I should be making fun of your opponent. He had so many opportunities to win, but you brilliantly held onto the title of the lesser of two bad players.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. He was so easy to read. I knew what he was going to say before he had thought it. The match between us was as good as over.

“One on one, bitch. Right now.”

Nika Zimt
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Steward McOy
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Kaisei
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