I lose myself in routine. Part of the reason I was chosen for this assignment is my knowledge on energy conservation technologies. Our ship may be fast, but most of the Persephone's technology for matter collection and filtering is a couple of decades out of date. It's my job to create and supervise the teams that will make the necessary changes and updates. Not all of them have to be done in the three weeks it'll take us to get to the Posterus, but the installation of our new docking clamp—the longest and hardest task—will need to be ready for when we arrive. I've set up three teams, each working eight-hour shifts for every project—ensuring that there are several hopeful epitaphs, involving me, painted in phosphorescent paint around the ship. Hartley is basically my only friend. If he didn't have worshipping geeklings to do all the work I've assigned him, that would change.

I don't sleep much. It's a combination of stress and trying to keep a twenty-four-hour work day. I catch sleep at odd times, but most nights I lie awake staring at my ceiling. By two or three, I'm usually on the track trying to run myself into exhaustion.

I enter the mess not surprised to see Hartley sitting by himself and grab a tray and shovel a heap of soybeans and lentils on my plate, avoiding the miscellaneous pasta and opting for chocolate pudding instead.

"Hartley, how is it that you are the fastest talker I've ever met, but the slowest eater?" I ask, taking a seat across from him.

"Speed is relative," he says and spears a gelatinous globule, meant to represent a meatball, with his fork and shoves it toward his face. It's too large for his mouth. Slime slides off the sides and pools at the corners, which drips down his chin like a Fu Manchu mustache onto his sloppy plate.

"It must take you at least three hours to finish a meal. How do you ever get any work done?"

"But this way I get to eat with everyone." He grins one of his full-face grins, dropping more food on his plate. It splatters on his coveralls. He wipes at it absently, smearing more sauce from his fingers down the front in four long streaks. I don't know what's more disturbing, that it's almost neon red, or that there are mysterious green bits in it.

I look away. As much as I appreciate Hartley's company, he's not always the greatest dinner companion.

The mess is lined with long tables on one side and smaller round tables at our end. I've noticed that at breakfast and lunch people tend to use the longer tables, rarely bothering to sit in groups. These are usually fast meals. But at dinner, the round tables fill up quickly when crew members are usually off-duty and can linger over their food, or shall we say what passes for food on this ship.

As I turn back, my eye catches the captain as she enters the food line.

A second later Hartley notices, too. "Captain!" He waves her over. "We've saved you a seat."

I concentrate on my food, willing my face to behave and stay its normal color. Over the past week, I've only seen her twice, and there was no actual speaking involved. I'm still mortified by my behavior the other night.

She slides in next to me, her knee briefly grazing mine.

"Captain," I say with a nod.

"Impressive work on the docking clamp. I was surprised at your progress considering you've decided to get everything done before we reach the Posterus. You know that's not necessary. You don't need to work the crew that hard."

She takes a sip of some orange beverage I made the mistake of trying the other day. It reminded me of feet. Several people have perked up at her comment.

"You're right, it's not necessary," I reply. "But when we get to the Posterus, we'll lose Hartley and all of his team for at least a couple of weeks. I thought it best to use the resources we have now, and work people at a reasonable pace, instead of waiting until we got to the Posterus where I'd be forced to work everyone overtime." I shrug as if this is common sense. It is of course only half the reason, the other is that I want to show off, prove that I'm good at my job.

She smiles that smile like she's seen through me.

With a fork full of pasta halfway to his mouth, Hartley says, "Ash, no offense, but you look...ashen." He lowers the fork down to his plate. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're not well liked. In fact, some of the crew have created a 'Down with Ash Club.' They asked me to join, to which of course I said, 'yes.' But only to spy and report back to you." He says it in a matter-of-fact way, but his eyes dart from me to the captain, uncertain of our reaction.

I laugh out loud. I can't help myself. "I bet they have several, just make sure you joined the most exclusive. Only the best for you, Hartley." If people hate me because I'm doing my job, let them. It's the most normal I've had in awhile.

Hartley scratches his ginger scruff, one of his nervous habits. "Okay, just thought I should tell you."

A few of Hartley's geeklings arrive, pushing everyone closer together. I scoot farther down, away from Hartley nearer to the captain. Her leg is warm against mine, and my stomach does an unexpected flip.

For a distraction, I point to the orange drink in her hand. "What is that supposed to be?"

"Orange-flavored water. Did you try it?"

"Regretfully."

She looks down at my plate, which has barely been touched, with its scattered soybeans and lentils. "Not a fan of the cuisine?"

"Is anybody?"

She points at Hartley and his mouth full of pasta. He's deep in conversation about some obscure physics law that has yet to be proven. "I think Hartley likes it."

"Hartley has been eating that same plate for the past two hours, and he's not even half done. I think if anything, that proves he doesn't have working taste buds."

"This is the smallest ship you've served on, isn't it?"

I nod, and watch as one of the mess staff dumps a canister full of soybeans into a bin. They slide easily, followed by a stream of glop at the bottom. It turns my stomach.

"The first ship I ever worked on was so small we had to eat rations." She points to her plate with its tofu meatloaf. "This is gourmet compared to that. God, I can't even remember the last time I ate real meat." I don't know how we got on this topic, but I suddenly want to know something more personal than the last time she ate meat.

"Why did you apply for this mission, Captain? If you don't mind me asking." She takes a few thoughtful bites of tofu loaf, chewing each slowly. I think maybe it's too personal a question and she won't answer, but finally she does.

"I guess I was looking for a fresh start."

Before I can probe more, Hartley breaks into our conversation. "What do you think, Captain?" he asks, still chewing the same mouthful as before. "Do you think the farther out from our solar system we go, the more lawless we'll become, or will we instinctually revert to form, and obey the laws of the Union?"

She places her fork down next to her half-finished meal. "I know a lot of people think the farther we get from the Union, the less the laws will apply. But the farther out we get, the more important those laws will become."

Lunch has reached its peak by this point. The tables have slowly been filling with the crew, and even though there is a low buzz throughout the room as everyone moves through the food line, people have noticeably quieted to listen to our table.

"But isn't it important to create our own laws, based on the society we're building?" I say. "That's why they set up the Posterus in sects, isn't it? To make the governing body work for us." Several other tables have now turned their full attention on us. With only the occasional tinkle of cutlery, the mess has gone silent. "I mean, hasn't history taught us that what might work in the beginning, won't work forever?" I've always felt that for such an adaptable species, we sure have a hard time with change. Part of what makes this so exciting for me is that not only are we breaking through our comfort zone in space exploration, but also in government as well. Because the Posterus will have to be self-sustainable as a society as well as a ship, they've set up an entirely new directorate to govern the 45,000 people aboard.

There are sixteen sects, each in charge of a different aspect of life, such as food resources, security, crew well-being, engineering, conservation, and our sect, Union fleet, to name a few. There's no real central government on board just one representative from each section voted on by that sect. While that in itself might not be revolutionary, they've weighted decisions based on knowledge. So, if say, there's a vote on food resources, that sect will get two votes instead of one. Only time and patience will tell us if it works.

"I give it a couple years before the whole thing collapses into chaos."

This from a young master corporal at the next table. I recognize him from the bridge, Alexi Vasa. He's in charge of comms. What is it about communications? I swear every comms officer I've ever served with was named Alexi.

"What is it with you and your anarchy, Vasa?" The captain turns around in her seat. There's a slight upturn at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm only saying humans have a bad track record with communal governments. Greed and materialism win out every time." He shrugs as if to apologize for human nature. "Eventually one sect is going to want more and find a way to get it."

"Give it a chance before you tear it down. Our resilience might surprise you," I say.

He points his fork at me. "You know what happens to optimists don't you?" He mashes the fork into a pile of tofu loaf, spreading it flat around his plate. "They're the first crushed under the boots of realists."

The captain snorts next to me. "I think you mean cynics. No one would ever mistake you for a realist, Vasa." She stands, picking up her tray.

"Well, Vasa, if it's more you want, I'll be the first to offer you the rest of my lunch." I push my tray toward him. Hartley, the captain, and some others laugh.

The captain rests her other hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Don't waste away on me, Lieutenant," before leaving. I feel the pressure from her hand, a reminder of her presence long after she's gone.

**************

Revised Feb 07th, 2017

This is the final draft, which will appear in the published version.

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