Kendra Oldham pressed the call button next to the captain's door. She got no response, which was odd. Seabourne was a light sleeper, too light in Oldham's opinion. The Captain was not an exceptional ship handler, but damn if he didn't have a happy talent for working at full capacity on two hours of sleep a night, if that. For the passengers, he was always perky, friendly, charming, and full of energy. Even if he was in bed, he would have bolted awake.
She tried again. "Enter," replied a disconcertingly shaky voice.
Kendra walked into the captain's living area/office. Seabourne was at his desk, staring at his screen. His computer was less than a meter in front of him, but his eyes seemed focused about 1,000 lightyears beyond it. Kendra temporarily forgot about the emergency maintenance the number 3 reactor would need the next time they were in port and set the pad with her report down on Seabourne's desk. "Captain... are you ok?"
"I just condemned close to 2,000 people to death."
The Martinique, the "lost" liner out of Baden Baden that turned up in Unioner hands. Officially as a ship's first officer, Kendra wasn't privy to the discussions of the OS&C board of directors. But as first officer, she was also a confidant for her captain, and the normally beaming OS&C chairman looked tired behind the desk of the Breezewood's commander. Kendra's job was to keep the equipment of the ship functioning, and that included its Captain.
"They demanded $1 billion," justified Oldham. "We've never ransomed a liner for more than $200 million, let alone one that was about to retire and was being run by an independent franchise rather than by the corporation proper." Such decisions were always easy to analyze when you weren't the one making them.
"You sound like Crooke. In any event, it's a small consolation to their widows."
"Actually, the Martinique was carrying mostly families so worst case scenario there would be few dependents left behind."
Seabourne's eyes shot to his first officer, confused at the heartless line.
She shrugged, "I watched Florian double check the calculations for the expected survivor payouts. The fact of the matter is that the Martinique and her passengers simply aren't worth what they are demanding, and we are under no legal obligation to pay it."
"Damn it Kendra," said Seabourne, his anger snapping him away from his screen. "I don't care about what I have to do, I'm losing sleep over what I should do. If I had to do something, there wouldn't be a dilemma, just a course of action. But now, hundreds of people are never going home because heaven forbid some digits on an IC server go down more than they should. We have the fake space money to pay them, but fake space laws people with fake space titles won't let me."
"A billion dollars is hardly fake money."
"Turn the life support off for five minutes and see what the collective wealth of those aboard Breezewood does to turn it back on. All wealth is an illusion, Kendra, a means to an end, nothing more. If it is not being spent and enjoyed, then what is the purpose of it all? And if we aren't spending it to even save lives, then what is the purpose of society if not to take care of those who can't take care of themselves?"
Kendra tried a different tactic. "If it was an IDF Lucullus that had been taken and they demanded a ransom, would you have felt obliged to pay?" "Of course not, they're not my people, though if IDF came calling for assistance I'd do what I could."
"Within reason," she countered. A pause.
"Within reason," Seabourne agreed.
"This is no different. The Martinique's captain paid for the privilege of flying our colors. He did not pay for our protection, nor did he fall under our corporate command. He wanted full power over his ship, which means he, and the Unioners, ultimately have responsibility for what happens."
"Am I not guilty because I could have stopped it and chose not to?"
"Do you think those Unioners would take your money and retire happily? Of all the people in the universe, terrorists the most likely to take your advice and spend that money. On ships, guns, weapons, things to terrorize thousands more. Would you bear responsibility for financing decades of Unioner operations?"
The argument seemed to stick with Seabourne, so Kendra pushed the attack in the ensuing silence. "If they demanded a single credit, of course we would be fools not to accept. We negotiate with pirates as a matter of doing business. Florian budgets in into the ship's operating expenses, the Imperials even subsidize it! But this is an unreasonable demand, made by an unreasonable man intent on doing unreasonable things. That we have to take the least worst solution available to us does not make you a bad Chairman, and neither does feeling bad about it so long as it does not keep you from your duties."
Seabourne gave the first officer a cold glare. "That I have to take the least worst action, Kendra. Your name isn't on that document, but perhaps that's too subtle a distinction for a career first officer to pick up on!"
Oldham said nothing. Hurt by the words, hurt more that Seabourne was hurting enough to lash out. She showed none of it.
Seabourne sighed. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."
The captain settled back in his chair, seeming to age a hundred years in the process. "I just wanted to publish a magazine, Kendra, to sign autographs and not... death warrants. Captain is the only title worth a lick of spit as far as I'm concerned. Director is putting on airs. Even Editor-in-Chief is just words on a letterhead when you're a newsroom of one. When I took the top job, I was surrounded by vipers that were all gunning for it and you know what I said? I said that I'd do it until I got killed or they found someone better."
Kendra took in the captain's words before replying.
"For what it's worth, I sincerely hope they find someone better then. Eventually," she quickly added after seeing Seaborne raise an eyebrow. Cautiously, she continued.
"Though I fear they'd only find someone more... effective."
