Chapter Text
Meric has long since grown accustomed to the formicary-like halls of the Keeper’s Dance main office. Once a temporary miner’s hostel, when the company purchased and migrated their entire executive and manufacturing branches to the system, none of the pre-built infrastructure went to waste. What had once been winding halls of bed-and-bunk rooms had been stripped, refurbished, and remade almost in the image of the old head office on Centrum. Almost, being the operative term, as although he had grown accustomed to them, he had always found the long, stretching corridors unnerving, the floors rising into the middle distance as it followed the station’s centrifugal curve. He preferred it when you couldn’t see the very mechanisms that kept you glued to the floor; it was an engineer’s prerogative to keep those spaces hidden until needed.
His low opinion of the office space was likely unaided by his rare appearance there. Despite being one of the senior engineers on staff, KDFY had long ago been founded by those very same engineers, and even back when it was Santana Starworks, and before that Santana Space Solutions, the policy of executive formality was rarely applied to the company’s many engineers. Unlike the executives, who had to parley, parole, and partition the company as they saw fit, an engineer was there to do a job, and do it well.
As such, his nerves were on the tipping edge. Though he tried his best not to show it, a call to head office from goodness knows where you were hiding can mean one of two things; promotion, or redundancy. Adam wanted neither.
“Mr Meric?” a soft spoken man said from behind the desk opposite him. They’d spoken briefly maybe half an hour before, and Adam had gleaned little from his demeanour. “Director Helton will see you now.”
Meric nodded, reached to pick up his helmet and gloves, realised they weren’t there, and only when he remembered where he was did the panic subside. The tell-tale signs of being on the job too long. Oh, God, he was so fired.
The door opened for him, and a jovial sound came from behind another, even finer desk. “Adam!” The larger man behind his fancy wood-panelled piece stood up, but didn’t approach. “My, it has been a bit, hasn’t it? Please, come in, come in.”
Adam expected a helmet under his arm, and so the act of walking straight gave him an odd, trumpeting gait. “So it has, Mr. Helton.”
“Please, you’ve known me far too long by now, it’s Anton.”
“Right… Anton.” He lowered himself into one of the comfiest leatherette seats he’d ever sit in, but he was too wound tight to truly appreciate it at the time. Helton was writing something - on paper, no less! - as he entered, and finished up the last few scrawls of his signature as Adam jostled into the chair.
“So,” he placed the black and gold pen next to the freshly inked page, before placing it upon a moderate stack. “Let’s not waste much time here, Adam.”
Meric nodded. “Okay.”
“I haven’t brought you all the way out here for no reason. I am, still, one of the old heads who enjoys taking his important dealings face to face, I’m afraid.” Helton interlocked his fingers. “You did some fine work on that new drift lane up in Hasamelis, Adam. I heard reports from Mr. Vonderburg and Dr. Lehigh that you had proven quite a taskmaster on the job; they had no complaints, which, I’m sure you’re aware, is rare for those two.”
His previous bosses had been on the cusp of worker abuse on several occasions. There was a fine line that was clearly demarcated in his and every other engineers’ and gatebuilders’ contract, and they had pushed up against it - but not over it - several times. The working hours, especially by the end of the year’s span, were reaching levels of crunch that a safety inspector may have called it dangerous. But, to an executive, they had hit the perfect balance between performance, efficiency, and health. Adam never wanted to see either of those bastards ever again.
“They had their ups and downs,” he said, plainly.
“Of course, as all managers do. A damn shame that Hasamelis herself was so barren.”
“Yes… well, I had wanted to ask about that, actually.”
“Go on?”
Adam bit his tongue, despite the importance of what he needed to say. “I’ll be the first one to tell you that Hasamelis was a bust. We should’ve known it was, but spectrometry can be more of an art than a science, sometimes. Especially when we’re working with smaller spaceborne objects, like her asteroid belts.”
“Of course, of course.”
“But we’ve all been seeing layoffs across the company. Engineering and research both took massive hits last quarter. And… My guys are starting to get antsy. They really need this work, sir, and I’ve got nothing to tell them; head office has given me about as much information as they’ve given subordinates three rungs down.” Adam sighed. “Look, I would just appreciate some transparency, even if it’s a hard truth. There’s always other work out here, but the longer my crews wait, the more their savings burn.”
He took a second’s breather for the first time in perhaps a minute. Adam felt like he’d run a four hundred metre dash, and that his lungs were only just about to catch up and collapse.
Helton leaned back in his seat. “Your concern is noted, Adam. I assure you, you and your engineers do not deserve to be punished for the faults of other teams.” He picked up his pen again, not moving to write but instead just playing with it, the black and gold lustre stealing his eye’s attention. “We know that the North-East is generally more abundant in Drift, but it was still a gamble that did not pay off.”
“This sounds like a hard truth. Sir.”
Helton nodded. “I would be telling you today that you and your crews were to seek other employment, effective immediately. Keeping an entire gatebuilding staff with no gates to build would be a clarion sink, after all. However, the boffins in the astrography department may have found a solution.” He put down the pen, before sliding the entire stack of papers over. “I’ve just signed off on a new gatebuilding proposal in the north-east, from Hasamelis itself. Given that most of your crews, or their equipment at least, are still out there, the company and I agree that it would be best to renew the contracts of those who came before.”
Adam sighed, into a small, involuntary laugh. “So it’s good news?”
“Good news indeed. I have been tasked with leading the executive committee on this new gate construction, effective immediately. We will be pointing towards the star Gambeson-Alpha-Two, as those very same boffins who have saved both our jobs think it’s truly rich in Drift, this time. The evidence is all in that folder.”
“It’s much larger than the last one…”
“Yes, I noticed too.” Helton leaned forwards, fingers still clasped together. “Upper Management was not too thrilled about how the Hasamelis project went. Our investigations too rushed, our surveys too sloppy. The only thing they haven’t been able to complain about is the engineering teams, which is exactly why I want you to lead this new expedition.
Adam looked up from the manila folder, realising that one of his prescient curses had come true. “You’re making me chief engineer?” He asked, doubtful.
“Indubitably. Your predecessor has been promoted into the executive core himself, as have the engineering leads of the Rialtis programme. I believe, Adam, that you might be the proof this company needs that we are still, first and foremost, an engineering firm.”
Adam swallowed, and spoke shortly. “Thank you, sir.”
“Think nothing of it, Mr. Meric. It will be my pleasure to have you as my chief engineer.” Helton stood from his chair with some difficulty, before reaching a hand across it.
“Can I ask…” Adam kept a grip on the manila papers. “If I were to turn down this offer, what might the consequence be?”
Helton retracted his hand, still hovering. “Whyever would you do that?”
“Just a personal curiosity,” Adam licked the edge of his lip, parched. “I had been thinking of settling down back on Centrum. I’m getting on a bit, no spouse to speak of… It wasn’t set in stone, but it was on my mind.”
“Hm.” Helton kept standing, the lights of the room casting shadows around his suited form. “As you said yourself, there are many other engineers out here in need of work. If I cannot be promised a continuation of your work ethics, Mr. Meric, it would… make the situation quite difficult for them. Do you understand?”
Adam bit his bottom lip, eying the veneered floorboards - dark, like some old lighthouse keeper’s office. “I understand. Mr. Helton.” He stood to join the man, standing surprisingly taller than him. “I will join your crew.”
The two men’s hands met, and Helton’s demeanour reached back and found its jovial slant once again. “Excellent, excellent! And please, Adam, I’m serious; if we’re going to be working together, you’d best start calling me Anton.”
The Remembrance Wall was one of the first things Adam had set his engineers to when the solar flare had finally subsided a day after the Adeline blew. With a reasonably accurate headcount now in their purview, enough of his crew had come forward asking for such a decorative piece. So, when they weren’t busy on shift connecting the few remaining ships in the flotilla together by docking umbilical and welded shipping crate alike, he pointed out a space right outside the bridge of the Crusoe , and many of the Engineers, even exhausted after their dayshifts, had passed by and added to it.
The wall memorial was covered in stamped, laser cut, hand welded, pen-drawn, or otherwise scratched names, made with whatever scraps could be found. It had a sort of artistic un-uniformity that, typically, his engineering-catered mind would reject as beyond him if he were to see it in an art gallery or museum. But, attached with small metal coils turned into roses and other flowers, his brain permitted the discordance, and he found it hard to turn away.
“What’d you think of this one, Captain?” Jaz asked, crouching before him. She had gone ahead and made two different plates for Marcelo, who had been the first on the wall. “Marcelo was here” had been scribbled in pen by some passing crew member, and although the Crusoe had cameras pointing directly and conveniently at their little memorial, Adam had never bothered to check who had done it. The new plaques had the same writing, but in a more permanent, engraved style. Jaz had made several designs so far, and none had stuck.
“I prefer the sunken one. The raised edges of the other…”
“It just doesn’t feel like him, does it?” Jaz asked, struggling to smile but nonetheless attempting.
“Yeah. It doesn’t.”
Jaz nodded, before adding a small amount of sealant foam to the back of the plate, and attaching it next to - but not over - the original scribble that had started the whole thing. Adam glanced up, and recognised many of the names. Much of the executive staff were among them, including Director Helton, but they had only been printed and added later on. Meric had asked them to be placed higher on the wall, just out of reach. Jaz put her hands together, saying something small, before stepping back.
“Heya Boss,” Levee said on approach. “Sounds like the council’s ready for you.”
“Did the Journeyman finally link up with us?”
“Surprised you didn't feel it under your feet this morning, Boss.” Levee poked as they headed away from the new memorial, Jaz jogging to catch up. “She easily matches the weight of the rest of the Holdfast.”
“Yeah, until we get that blasted Gatehauler attached.” That , because only one had survived. That has been the cause of Meric’s second headache after the Flotilla had begun reconnecting. He took a long sigh. “At least someone aboard it’s gotta have authority over me.”
“Chief Engineer is one of the highest roles in the fleet, Captain.” Jaz said from her terminal. Her eyes had grown sunken, far more than their pre-transit, and all sorts of red. “I bet you’d have a better plan to get us back than any executive, anyhow.”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that, Jaz.”
“You’ve-” Jaz jogged alongside, showing her glowing terminal, “You read my proposal, right?”
He skimmed the words he had already skimmed once. “Yes, Jaz. But we have bigger problems to handle first.”
“But this is the biggest, most fundamental problem of our situation. If we managed to scrounge together a gate, even a smaller one-”
“Ms. Jazminder,” Meric brought out his most authoritative voice, and it sounded all wrong to his ears. “Drop it for now, would you? I’ve already got twenty people representing over two thousand breathing down my neck. I would appreciate support from my own crew, at the very least.”
Jaz pulled the terminal back to her chest. “Yes, of course, Captain. Sorry, sir.”
Meric sighed again. “It's alright. I didn't mean to snap.”
“Not like any of us have had much sleep, ah?” Levee said with his best attempt at a smile. All it reminded Meric of was Marcelo, so he simply looked down and forwards, and kept walking, until they had passed through the makeshift gangway from the Crusoe to the next. The emergency committee had decided to meet aboard the Journeyman , the last of the ships to link up with the budding holdfast; it had taken them the whole week just to pick a location. Adam was exhausted, but at least the largest ship in their remaining fleet had food. Not just slop, either; executive slop.
The room they finally entered might’ve stretched the meaning of opulent if it had been situated planetside on some well-kept vintage chateau, with its simple but classy mahogany-veneered walls and attached, but still swooping, chandelier lamps above. The entire room escaped the typical spaceship blues, emanating a warm orange feeling of your parent’s office, stuffed with envelopes and shelves of memorabilia and long forgotten new years’ decorations. Adam half expected a porthole to be peering out over a night-blue field of grass with trees and hills rolling out beyond. Maybe he was homesick.
Inside, around a long, ovaloid table, a collection of captains had gathered and were already in discussion. Adam and his crew entered quietly, and he realised that many of those around the table were armed at the hip. Whether that was their default, or something brought expressly for the meeting, he elected not to ask.
“...If we have any priority, then it is devising some kind of replacement for the unrecoverable gate components,” one captain, a tall and narrow woman with a name like “Jira”, that Meric had absolutely forgotten in exactness, was saying. “It would be difficult, but by no means impossible. The preliminary system scans have shown us what a Drift mine we’ve landed in-”
“Drift doesn’t just exist in little rock eggs you can crack open, smooth out, and fry to high heavens.” Another Captain around the table, a man whose name ever further escaped him, retorted. “Drift requires processing, it requires various stages of electrolysis, washing, and casting; all parts of the process that we would have to reproduce.”
“Are you saying that’s impossible?”
“He has a point, Jira,” Captain Beauregard - finally a name he could recall - spoke up. “We cannot so quickly think any process we once took for granted is simple. Even producing water or air out here will become a task that requires constant attention by someone .”
Levee cleared his throat beside him. Meric wasn’t sure how he had the guts, but he wasn’t complaining. “Captains, I’m sorry for our intrusion on your discussion, but we have arrived.”
“Finally,” Meric gave a small smile to the table, and received little back. “Hello, everyone. I’m Captain Adam Meric of the Crusoe . I’ve brought along my Executive Officer, Ms. Anika Jazmindar, and the Chief of Engineering aboard my vessel, Mr. Levee Campbell, to this discussion. Looking around the room… I may have been the only one to do that.” He clapped his hands together. “Well, regardless. I don’t know the… uh, exactness of Company Decorum for these things, but I think we should get an official, documented meeting started. Mr. Campbell will be taking notes…”
Adam thought he should’ve been wearing a suit and tie. Everyone took a seat at the table, and those who couldn’t stood hovering, rocking on their magnetic boots.
“So. I’ve been informed that I am the highest ranked executive who…” What’s the phrase… “made it through our transit into this system. According to the handy little booklet the company makes us keep aboard each one of our ships, that puts me at the head of this operation.” He paused, biting the inside of his lip, and desperately wished he had shaved a little better and a little closer that morning. “As our first motion in this meeting, I think we should discuss that.”
The room was quiet, for a short time, before a woman further down the table raised her hand, not with a question, but a statement.”
“There isn’t much to discuss, Mr. Meric. The chain of command puts you at its head.”
Jaz leaned in, showing him her terminal, which flashed a small KDFY profile of the woman speaking. Lyra Helton, executive committee for gatebuilding north-east.
“If I’m honest, Ms. Helton-”
“Mz., if you would.”
“... Right. Mz. Helton. If I’m frank, and I say this before this petty council in the name of transparency, I’m surprised you especially haven’t asked to take my place. Your father lead this expedition in the first place, so-”
“Did you expect a vie for power, Mr. Meric?”
“N-no, ma’am,” Adam waved her down, chuckling away the nerves. “Or I’d prefer nothing of the sort, anyways. But I want it to be known to this council that I don’t…” he sighed, short and crisp, “I’m an engineer, first and foremost. I’m a tinkerer, not a leader.”
“We have things that require tinkering with as we speak, Mr. Meric.” The captain he really couldn’t remember the name of, spoke up. Jaz showed her terminal again after a couple of button presses, one Captain Dalton. “Things that, in my view, require an engineer’s touch. You can’t grow food, harvest water, make air in space without the intervention of an engineer, can you? I can’t speak for this entire committee but,” he leant back in his chair, squeaking, “you have my vote of confidence.”
Adam let out an involuntary smirk. “I don’t know if I’ve exactly proven myself for that yet-”
“You saved what was left of my crew, Captain,” Captain Beauregard spoke up. “I think the star had wanted us to die on that day. You changed that destiny for us. He has my vote too.”
A few other captains nodded along with her. “Well, I- I didn’t say it was coming to a vote anyways, necessarily.”
“You are making it sound like a vote, with this talk of inadequacy.” Jira was definitely that captain’s name, he remembered. “If we are going to organise our efforts to return home, properly - fulfilling every step of the production line that you, Captain Dalton, were speaking of - then we cannot sit on our hands. We need solutions that work, and that’s an engineer’s modus operandi , if I’ve ever had to give them one.”
Adam tapped his finger on the desk a few times, the wood under the tip sounding odd. Another veneer. “If I was to open the question of leadership to the room… who would run against me?”
No one raised their hands for several moments, before the same, slender hand from before rose again. “I would, Mr. Meric.”
“I thought you had no contest?”
“I don’t. Many others have stated the obvious facts; we are running out of food, out of water, and out of air. Other things will surely come up too, but if we cannot even feed or satiate ourselves, then any dream of home is a foolish endeavour. For those reasons, then, I think we need a leader of any sort, and the sooner one is decided upon, the sooner we can get to work.” she leaned her hands onto the table, copying the same interlocking fingers her late father so often did. “I will not run counter to you at this time, Mr. Meric.”
Adam took a short, sharp breath. “Very well, then. As my first order of business as… Chief? Of this flotilla, I believe our current holdfast must become a permanent one. The ships we have were built upon industry we don’t have left. It would serve us better, then, to turn these metal boxes into a metal sanctuary.”
“Second is water. As far as I have heard, this system is almost as barren as the one we left. However, the destitution of Hasamelis was based upon its value to a cluster we can no longer reach. We need to know what fusion fuels, ice crystals- anything at all is out there. Now that the storm has died down… our eyes must point outwards.”
“And finally is food. The Venturer , Diamondback , and Stillwater contained most of the flotilla’s hydroponics. We need to replace these immediately. Already, these three initiatives interlock; we build a holdfast, to prepare for ice processing, to prepare for cultivation.”
He glanced around the room, blank faced, perhaps scared but so used to the fear that it was buried. “I don’t know the specifics of these endeavours. I am but one man. I do, however, have a suggestion to place at the foundation of what we do here. There was an old Centran idea that the Savaragi-Rota Alliance restored-” he heard several clipped breaths, like the whistle just before the rotten tomatoes flew- “now, let us not give the SRA any credit they are not due. But around Arasin, they revived the idea of guilds. Each ship was a guild within the company, each station and planetside facility, and were ranked by their performance compared to the other guilds around them. That earned them more… perks, let's say. Not just Clarion bonuses, but better rations back at the SRA Hubs, better vacation times, better stock options; you understand. Now, we don't have much in the way of stocks… or a stock market… or any money to speak of, out here. But we need people working at their highest capacity whenever and wherever possible, and that takes motivation. The people here are not motivated by pay anymore; they’re motivated by survival and comfort.”
The room creaked around him, until Captain Jira spoke up. “So you’re saying we give out rations based on how well a team does?”
“Every man, woman, and abound on this station deserves to be fed, satiated, and housed. This must be a guarantee from us. But for the better rations? Like the stuff the Journeyman transited with? Or alcohol? Or- or comfier beds, or newer rooms - all these things, these little luxuries, must be earned through work. And if someone is unable to work, their working family - their guild - is there to hold them up. No one gets left behind.”
“It sounds like you’re reinventing Unions, Meric.” Levee said to his side, the first time he’d stopped tapping away at his keyboard since Adam had begun to talk.
“Not Unions. Unions don't need to compete with each other. This is the only way we can foster competition - through reward! I refuse to turn these-” he pointed to Captain Dalton’s holstered sidearm- “peashooters around at the people under my care to try and motivate them. No, no. You cannot motivate people by force. We have to give them a reason to work, beyond just necessity for survival.”
“Motivated to earn better foodstuffs.” Jira said with a raised eyebrow.
“Motivated for a better tomorrow, that can be made if we build it. That’s what will come after tomorrow, after we’ve embedded ourselves into this star system and can start tearing out its marrow; we must, and will, earn a better life for ourselves and our children here. We can start building the processing, the manufacturing, the gate building facilities we need, but only after we have ensured that we can survive out here. We have to prove that first, and there is no better way to rally people than by putting a competition in their path. We have to let them dream.”
The discussions in specific continued for hours after that. Drinks were broken out by the halfway mark, and for the first time since they’d entered the Drift Gate to that place, there presided an air of hope amongst the small crowd. The Captains - or Chiefs, as they now were, with their ships becoming part of one singular station - left the committee meeting with smiles and shaken hands. Adam had pulled a lot of what he’d said straight from his arse. “Fake it ‘til you make it” was a trite phrase he’d never properly listened to, until he was the one standing before a group of peers, pretending to be ready.
He let out a long sigh, half expecting a ring of smoke to follow it. “How long are the notes, Levee?”
“About… seventy pages.”
“Yeesh,” he wrung his neck from the sore. He patted his own Chief engineer on the shoulder. “We’ve done good work here.” He noticed Jaz approaching from his left, the meeting room’s door closing behind her. “You too, Jaz. Good work. I actually feel good about all this. Didn’t think that was possible…”
“Captain?” Jaz asked, holding her terminal like a pillow or a beloved stuffed animal.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t want to say, in front of the other Chiefs.” She took up his gaze with her own, a brown, piercing shade. “I don’t think Marcelo is honoured by this.”
Meric turned to Levee, before taking the full dimensions of Jaz, and what she was saying, in. “What are you saying, Jaz?”
“Marcelo wouldn't have wanted us to be reinventing the company in space, sir.” Jaz gritted through after a moment. “This is our chance to truly help each other, to work together, and you want to separate people out again. I… I can’t believe it, captain.”
“Jaz…” Levee started, then sighed. “I think Meric’s got a point about all this. Once we overcome survival, what will motivate us next? It’s an upward momentum.”
“Oh, I dunno Lev, going home?” Jaz snipped. “Getting back to our families? Our loved ones? No one in there, not even Captain Jira, was talking about that. It was all… practical. Like this is a puzzle to solve.”
“Jaz,” Meric started, but she cut him off with a hand.
“You’re making the company into us. We are becoming children of KDFY, when we could abandon all this crap tied to Clarions, tied to acquisition, tied to riches. Don't either of you miss your people? Don't you want to get back to them?” She sniffled back a tear. “Is that not enough for either of you? Because that is what Marcelo would’ve wanted.”
“Hey, hey, Jaz-” she pushed Levee away, and waved Adam off, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“I’ll be on the ship. Or-” she waved around bluntly, “our side of the station, I guess,” and stomped away.