Chapter 75: Chapter 13: A Proposal

Dash sat in his quarters, sipping on a stim, and frowned at the headlines on his news feed.

The waves of unrest sweeping through the known galaxy had intensified into multiple flashpoints. Spats of violent corporate espionage. Increased propagandist campaigns by extremist groups. Shows of force between independent states and corporate entities. There was even a member system that threatened to withdraw from the Human Coalition. The fact that the eight ships constituting their entire fledging navy were present to turn back a light HuCo fleet consisting of an assault frigate and an interdiction gunboat probably had something to do with their rebellious spirit. It would be a different matter when the HuCo returned with one of their fleets sporting heavy cruisers or even a battleship.

Commercial ships were caught in the middle of the chaos, with the blame given to a multitude of parties including loyalists, rebellious factions, pirates, anarchists, and the conspiracy theorist favorite of mysterious sentients from beyond known space. There were unconfirmed posts on GalaxyNet hubs of freighter crews slaughtered and spaced, the cargos stolen, the ships scuttled or boobytrapped and left behind.

It was a mess, and growing worse by the cycle. Legit work was increasingly hard to come by. Dash shared a tight beam chat with one of his captain acquaintances on their journey to Praxum. Captain Chaktakara relayed the latest backchannel rumors: a salvaged commercial hauler had been towed in from the Atan channel region stitched full of holes from kinetic weapons. The official story was the attack had occurred in a transfer system between commercial routes, space rarely patrolled by governments or security forces. But the rumors said it occurred within Atan. Dash couldn’t believe that to be true. It had been some time since the system experienced something of that nature, and even the connected routes had been relatively safe for years. But Chaktakara—despite his storytelling prowess over mugs at a pub—never exaggerated the real threats to the hauler way of life.

Someone pinged his hatch. “Come,” he said. 

The hatch opened to reveal Wesley. He stood at attention, a slim but pleasant smile on his face, and outstretched hands holding a datapad. “Captain, I have some housekeeping items to discuss, if you can spare a few minutes.”

Dash gestured for Wesley to proceed. He began his report with the ops crew status (tired, overworked, complaining about shares), the environment ratings of the ship (spots of subpar air quality measurements), warning signs of the latest flu to make its way around Atan (symptoms now included bleeding orifices), and scheduling a maintenance appointment for the life support system (to correct the subpar air quality). Dash rubbed his brow when the medtech finally stopped talking. “I see you’ve taken to your new duties quickly. Was that all?”

“Well, there is one more item,” Wesley said as someone else pinged the hatch.

“I’ve got something for you, Cap,” Gaius said. Dash waved him in. The pilot entered the cabin holding a covered tray. It held the hearty scent of baked goods. 

Dash’s mouth watered instantly. “Is that what I think it is?”

“You bet,” Gaius said, and removed the cover to expose the three plates within. 

Wesley looked over the contents. “Those baked discs smell appetizing, but I must say, they look odd.”

“It’s Draug’s version of pancakes, with whipped cream,” Gaius said. “The captain here loves them, so I figured I’d bring some leftovers by.” He handed a plate to Dash, then Wesley. “Here, try some. And don’t tell Draug it was me.”

Wesley took the plate and held it at eye level, examining the pancakes as if they were a lab sample.

“Trust me, it’s delicious,” Dash said, and took a large bite.

Wesley shrugged and tried one. “Oh my, this is good,” he said, wiping a dab of the cream from his lips. “Captain, to continue our discussion—”

“Oh, right,” Dash said as he finished his first pancake. “Gaius, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine. He can stay,” Wesley said. Dash nodded, and the medtech went on. “Captain, as we’ve discussed in my brief time aboard, I know my presence, even uncompensated, has placed an additional burden on the ship’s finances, so I want to help offset that. I’ve analyzed our past contracts and local sector postings, and I believe I may have found a way to get more profitable contracts.”

Dash held up a firm hand. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Doc. I know how to look for work.”

“This is not an attack on your abilities as a freighter captain. It’s simply a matter of investigating new angles in a galaxy that has been flipped on its head by the loss of Auturia.”

“Fair enough. Proceed with your pitch.”

Wesley smiled and went on. “As you know, post-Auturia, many independent systems, habitats, and corporate entities have enacted protectionist policies against the wishes of the Commonwealth and most governments, including the Human Coalition. Many of these smaller entities have pushed the limits to see how much they can get away with before they are penalized with sanctions or even military intervention. This has worsened the refugee crisis, as relief efforts are bogged down in red t—”

“Yeah, I’ve read the news too,” Dash said. “Get to the point.”

“The Atan system government, headquartered on Praxa Prime, is a small but rapidly rising independent state. Anyone with a functioning brain knows this is in no small part due to the political and economic influence of corporate entities. I’ve done some digging and discovered a series of contracts buried on the listings board,” Wesley said, and shared his datapad to the display.

Dash skimmed the details. After perusing the usual legalese, he said, “I never looked into these before because they require a licensed medtech for insurance reasons. We’re eligible to apply now.” He eyed Wesley intently. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s some added requirements. In reality, that means more forms and a longer payment processing period—”

“Hold on,” Dash said. He eyed Gaius’s plate, then Wesley’s. His gaze shifted to Gaius, whose expression resembled a teenager caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. “You said you stopped by my cabin to bring me some pancakes. Why did you bring three plates then?”

Gaius’s face froze mid-bite. “Uh, well, I figured an extra plate wouldn’t hurt.”

“You lie worse than a politician. You knew Doc would be here.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Gaius said to Wesley with an embarrassed huff.

“You should’ve only brought two plates,” Wesley countered.

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“Then I wouldn’t have had a plate!”

“You could’ve gone back for more,” Wesley said, and rubbed his brow in frustration. 

Dash clasped his hands, basking in the smoldering ashes of their scheme. “It didn’t take long for you two to team up against me.”

“I’m friends with anyone who wants to make me more creds,” Gaius said, and ate another bite off his plate.

“You obviously wanted me in a good mood. That means there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

Wesley opened the full list of contract requirements. Dash scanned through the numbered list and groaned. “Requires corporate-sponsored license officer? I knew this was too good to be true.”

“Captain, please—”

“The Commonwealth licensing standards are bad enough. These CSL programs are nothing but a money-making scam.”

“Told you he was set in his ways,” Gaius said in between bites.

“Set in my ways?” Dash said. “What the hell does that mean?”

“What he means is you have opinions that are not open to change from self-reflection,” Wesley said. 

Dash crossed his arms and tilted his shoulders back defensively. “That is true, but only on the things I’m right about, which is a fairly sizable number.”

Wesley gave a frustrated sigh. “To be frank, Captain, I’m disappointed in your response. My profession has numerous licensing and certification requirements, all for the purpose of improving health and standards of care for all life.”

“I am also disappointed,” Gaius said, and nearly choked on a large bite of pancake.

“You only want me to say yes because of the pay,” Dash said.

“And now I am also offended,” Gaius replied with feigned smugness.

Dash narrowed his eyes. “Listen, you two, it’s about principle and practicality.”

“All hands, prepare for rant,” Gaius muttered.

Dash went on, ignoring his pilot. “On the practical side, these licensing programs don’t teach you what you really need to know. It’s hours of vids and discussions of corporate propaganda. That’s not how you learn the real world of commercial cargo operations. Sure, there’s the internship, but most of the participants pay off some unscrupulous old-timer to sign off on the forms.” Dash left out the fact of his own participation in such a scheme several years prior and continued with unabashed certainty. “That’s where the principle comes in. I don’t need some corporate stooge telling me how to run my ship. Buzzwords and fads can seem great in a meeting, but they don’t do any good when the engine craps out in the dead of space, or some half-wit broker tries to stiff you on the contract.”

He highlighted a contract on the display. “Look at this one here. It requires a Cephaodia crew member. Guess what? They require a separate atmospheric environment and pressure suits. I’d have to modify their quarters and upgrade the sustenance station in the galley. It would cost more cred to take the contract than we’d make. This is the type of starry-eyed thinking I’m talking about. It doesn’t work in the real world.”

Wesley’s glazed eyes cleared as Dash finished. Gaius continued to munch with noisy satisfaction, having heard similar tirades many times over.

The medtech breathed deeply, then said, “You said it yourself, we need the creds. What if I can find us a qualified candidate? Some contracts span multiple cycles. They only require a CSL officer when the contract is signed. If the person doesn’t work out, we can terminate their contract and still finish out the full term. There’s no downside.”

“You know we really need a first mate,” Gaius added. “Besides the solid backlog of work we can get, they will also handle the ops crew.”

Dash leaned back in his chair. He glanced between Wesley and Gaius, then settled on the pilot. “I’ll admit that’s a compelling argument.” He sighed heavily as he mulled the proposal over. “Fine, I’ll consider it. But you’re doing all the legwork. We don’t have the cred to hire someone outright. You’ll need to get a contract lined up so that when they come onboard, we can pay them.” He checked the ship’s navigation status. They’d cleared the outer system, well away from Terminus and any potential SecForce interdiction. “We’ll be at the Depot in a few days. You have until then to come up with a list.”

“Doc will take the lead since this is his pet project and I’ve got flight training taking up my spare time,” Gaius said.

“Sure you do,” Dash said. “Does that work for you, Doc?”

Wesley smiled. “I accept your terms. I won’t let you down.”

Dash nodded at their plates. “Give me the rest of your pancakes, and then you have yourself a deal.” 

Gaius frowned, and watched mournfully as Dash took his remaining pancakes. Wesley did the same. Dash stacked the pancakes, then chomped down on them in one indulgent bite. A smidge of cream stuck to his face. He smiled at them, his cheeks puffed with delectable pancake. “Who’s stuck in their ways now?”

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