Negative Space

“I should have known better” was becoming the mantra of Kelly Miller’s career.

The allure of space was too strong. Their feet had been planted firmly on Earth, helplessly longing for the dark unknown taunting them above. The first year at the academy was nothing but theory. Not even a trip up to Earth’s base. At best, that would occur sometime in their second year. Tired lectures on quantum mechanics and studying star charts would mean four years before setting foot on a space cruiser. Kelly was smart enough to earn their place in academia, but needed the instant gratification of the dream that was always just above them. Enlisting would put them in space within three months. Being a cadet at the academy made them a lock for the less prestigious Service College.

A decade has gone by. The novelty of space flight was in the distant past. Hurtling through the cosmos was the norm. The stars were still captivating, but looking at them through a porthole now carried less romance than staring up at them from the porch of Kelly’s farmhouse in Alberta.

The once enthusiastic Kelly swirls their lukewarm coffee in the empty crewperson’s mess, awaiting their performance appraisal. “I should have known better.”

Their head clouded with visions of the life lived by travelling the prolonged path. Their petty officer rank bars reflected in the window taunted them. They’d never be good enough. Kelly was at the beck and call of Lieutenants only six months removed from the academy. Officers in the long chain who impressed the right captains and admirals, fast-tracking their careers. All the planetary missions Kelly had dreamed of were handed to officers while Kelly toiled away in the launch bay running readiness checks so their upcoming missions would go smoothly. The work was beneath him and so was the action. It could be worse. The enlisted security personnel would get planetary missions, but as fodder to secure landing sites for the senior officers. The careers were short, and there was a difference between exploring new worlds and having firefights on them.

Kelly sipped their coffee, tasting a bitterness that wasn’t from the beans but their life. They knew this was what they were settling for when leaving the academy. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” was the whispered truth. They looked out at the stars knowing they wouldn’t trade being here for anything. They achieved their dream, but were cursed with not dreaming bigger. Kelly sat there haunted by the lived truth; it could be better.

The vacant Chief of the Launch Bay position was a possibility. Still trapped day in/day out in the same room, but a promotion to Chief Petty Officer was something. “One less dipshit new grad to answer to,” Kelly muttered, reviewing the job description on their tablet. There was no one else as qualified on the ship, and it was doubtful that anyone wanted the assignment.

The comm systems blare, “Petty Officer Miller, report to the Chief of Operations office.”Kelly savoured one last sip of coffee. They straightened their uniform and let out a deep sigh to re-energize. Out with all the frustration from a stagnant career, in with all the optimism that comes from excelling at their job and knowing they’d be successful if promoted.

The senior officers had it good. Flying through space in luxury. Having their own rooms was already more than Kelly could dream of. Throw in an office adjoining their cabin, and it made it clear this was still a tiered society. Everyone on Earth was living better than this, but a decade into roughing it and sleeping on bunks was wearing thin on Kelly. A Chief position would bring a small room with their own bed, toilet, shower, and door. All luxuries that Kelly missed. Maybe it was a lie they were telling themselves, but that seemed enough to extend their life in space indefinitely.

One last deep exhale left Kelly’s lungs as they reached for the door chime. It all comes down to this. “You’ve got this.”

“Come on in,” Lieutenant Anderson greeted the Petty Officer. The Lieutenant had always been nice enough and worked hard enough that the crew respected them. Anderson would venture off the Senior Officer’s deck to socialize with the crew from time to time and, most importantly, didn’t always assume they knew best.

“Thanks, sir,” Kelly replied, taking a seat across from Anderson’s desk. The decorative touches of off-world souvenirs that peppered the desk and shelves in the tiny room were yet another of the adventures that officers received, and their time on different worlds wasn’t limited to those cleared for shore leave.

The Lieutenant was a couple of years older than Kelly. Anderson towered over most of the crew but came across as a friendly giant. The Lieutenant had a couple of visible scars, one on their neck from an enemy blade, and a burn on their hand from reaching across a plasma fire to save a patient out of sickbay. It made a conversation like this easier to be sitting with an officer who walked the walk and only sat behind this desk because it was part of their path to adventure. A kid asking where Kelly wants to be in the future might result in a quick trip to the nearest airlock. Anderson knowing their shit left Kelly optimistic about this meeting. 

“Petty Officer, we haven’t had a chance to catch up in a bit. I want you to know how much the senior officers appreciate you keeping the launch bay under control without a chief present.” The Lieutenant continued, “It goes without saying that once again this review captures your exemplary service. Even more commendable, you’ve done this in the wake of losing your commanding officer.”

Kelly did their best to convey a facade of mournful commitment to the job. Underneath that surface was the deeply held belief that an experienced officer or crewman would have avoided the shuttle plasma vents during an emergency launch.

“Duty can be the best way to deal with tragedy,” was Kelly’s way of closing that conversation quickly before their distaste for disposable junior officers became too evident. Babysitting young officers who still believed they were invincible wasn’t unique to Kelly. Outpost bars were filled with seasoned enlisted crew swapping stories of horrific deaths involving anti-matter, improperly holstered photon pistols, and drinking the water on new planets.

“We are hoping you can show the same commitment to duty when we pick up the new launch bay chief when we stop at the outpost.” Lieutenant Anderson’s words were a torpedo to the hull of Kelly’s career. That Anderson delivered them with a smile on their face told Kelly that they were never actually in consideration. “They’re a little green, less than a year out of the academy. They’re a good one to know. I think their mother is an admiral.” Anderson wasn’t an idiot, and senior officers wanted to deal with recent graduates even less than the enlisted crew did.

The internal screaming of “I should have known better” in Kelly’s head was translated into a long blank stare. A Herculean effort was made to present a civil tone. “With all due respect, sir, I was hoping I might receive some consideration for this role given my familiarity with operations and exemplary performance.” Internally, Kelly was grabbing these alien trinkets off of Anderson’s shelves and smashing them.

“The captain sees this as a good role for new command officers to get their feet wet,” replied Anderson. The buck was passed, and there was little recourse for a captain’s decision.

“An opportunity to run something that runs itself?” Kelly was testing the limits of what was out of line. There was no point in worrying about insubordination at this point. They were far enough out in space that at the next outpost Kelly would be able to find just as meaningful work on a passing freighter or colony transport. It might not have the prestige of serving in the Armada, but there might be a private bathroom in their future.

Kelly would wait for the Lieutenant to respond, but the words, “I resign,” were already on the tip of their tongue. The white noise from a middle manager’s mouth wouldn’t smooth things over.

The ship shook. Alarms blared, and the next words would come from the comms system, not the Lieutenant: “All senior officers to the bridge. All hands to your primary stations.”

There was a more pressing battle than the one over Kelly’s career. As pissed off as the petty officer was at the moment, not having the launch bay ready to send out attack shuttles would be signing everyone’s death warrants out of spite.

Sprinting out of the Lieutenant’s office to the launch bay was the singular priority. The path was filled with smoke made red by the alarms. As fresh missiles hit the hull, Kelly was catapulted into the walls, only to be caught by the periodic shorts in the gravity controls. This was a space adventure Kelly had lived hundreds of times in their backyard growing up. The nightmarish assault on the senses wouldn’t lend itself to nostalgia in that moment.

Entering the launch bay was a hard reset for Kelly. The work wasn’t that hard, so there was no reason it couldn’t be done right. All of the attack shuttles had been prepped at the close of the last shift, and no one had been in the bay since. Kelly ran diagnostics on top of diagnostics so that in this situation the pilots could hop in and go.

The pilots rushed in and began their launch procedures. They trembled at the prospect of their first non-simulator dogfights in space. Kelly walked each of them through the steps to get them on their way. They knew all of this, but being grounded in the instructions would ground them in their mission.

This was a rare time when some extra help in the bay would have been nice. The supporting launch bay staff were most likely redirected to engineering or weapons control. Kelly reminded themself that steering a Chief away from launching shuttles and keeping them from getting sucked out the exterior door would only add to the workload.

Launches were coordinated around the ship’s evasive maneuvers, ensuring the pilots weren’t just easy target practice for the enemy ship. One by one, the shuttles departed the vessel, ready to engage an enemy that, from the perspective of those in the launch bay, seemed to have the upper hand.

The counterattack was underway. Now it was time for Plan B. Kelly got to work on preparing the evacuating shuttles as their pilots entered the bay. It was standard procedure. The few battles the ship had seen before either ended in victory or hasty retreat. The evacuation shuttles were generally used as tenders for shore leave excursions.

Another successful enemy volley rocked the ship. Nonchantly, Kelly extinguished the small fire that had started in the bay while continuing to chat with the standby pilots, “How is it that we can travel faster than the speed of light, but we can’t invent coffee that holds its temperature?”

No one cared, but seeing Kelly at ease helped relax the young pilots who were now coming to terms with the fact that they could be dodging pieces of the hull in a matter of minutes.

Whether they saw themselves that way or not, Kelly was now an old space dog in the eyes of most of the crew. Surviving a decade in the stars was an accomplishment, especially on an undersized ship patrolling along disputed space.

The fight wasn’t going well. The jolts to the ship weren’t limited to missile strikes. Explosions were coming from the centre of the ship. The hull was beginning to buckle. A call to the bridge or engineering wouldn’t be well received. It was a safe bet that most of the crew were busier than Kelly and the pilots. Outranking no one, but holding the acting Chief of the Launch Bay title, Kelly ordered the pilots to begin their pre-flights. They needed something to do. Kelly would transfer control of the launch bay to one of the crafts. There was no interest in sticking around a lost ship.

The general alarms switched their tone. The rate was faster and was now accompanied by a countdown until plasma core ejection. “Shit. I should have known better,” Kelly knew there was only one thing that could be coming next.

“ALL HANDS TO THE ESCAPE SHUTTLES!” blared over the comms. It was time to check out. Kelly attempted to call the bridge. No response. There was no response from engineering either. Shit. They were operating in the dark. The crew began rushing through the bay doors like it was chicken nugget day in the mess hall. A little less excited but even more eager to get to their places. As the shuttles began to fill, Kelly would open the external doors for launch.

“Computer, how many crew life signs are still on the ship?” Kelly inquired.

“Only one, Petty Officer Kelly Miller.” The computer answered.

No need to second-guess the computer, Kelly thought. They ran to grab their spot on the last shuttle. After punching in the external door controls, the craft launched from what remained of the ship.

Kelly got a glimpse of the enemy craft through the shuttle portal. The giant red orb wasn’t firing missiles at all. It was releasing energy waves that were moving outward through the entire system. The shuttles were anything but home free. The wreckage of two other shuttles lay dead ahead. There was no chance to jump to light speed before the next wave would hit.

Kelly, outranking the pilot, took command. “Get us a safe distance away from the ship and shut down all engines.

“Sir?” the pilot questioned. There was shock that Kelly was in command. There was more confusion over the order to cut the engines.

“All power to the force fields. We can’t outrun this. Not yet.” Kelly ordered. There was no certainty this would work, but they’d go down swinging in their first command. “Brace for impact.”

The wave threw the small vessel through space like a rock skipping on a pond. The force fields had created a ripple that bounced the craft through the system. It was advantageous but not something Kelly had counted on. That quantum mechanics class at the academy might have helped them here.

“Bring the engines back online,” Kelly barked.

No response. The young pilot was now unconscious. There were no other pilots on board.

Kelly, with their wealth of diagnostic and simulation experience, was now at the helm of a spacecraft. Power to the engines was restored, and the damage was minimal. Getting out of dodge was the name of the game, and after briefly struggling to recall how to enter coordinates, they were off. It was a small victory to be saving twenty lives from the starship, but what Kelly had done was not lost on the passengers. They’d reach the outpost and one day hug their loved ones again.

News of Kelly’s bravery travelled through the stars back to Earth and the Armada’s headquarters. Every medal that could be pinned on Kelly was awarded to them. They had become the face of grace under pressure.

Kelly found themselves in a familiar spot. Once again waiting to learn the fate of their career while sipping on lukewarm coffee. Legs restlessly hammering repeatedly into the ground in anticipation of the meeting with the admiral.

“They are ready to see you now,” the yeoman announced.

Kelly stepped into the cavernous office. There seemed to be an echo as they spoke. “Admiral. Captain.” Kelly stood at attention.

“At ease, Petty Officer,” the Admiral commanded. No one ever felt at ease when they heard those words, but Kelly loosened their stance.

“In light of your extraordinary act of heroism and ability to act against insurmountable odds, we are pleased to announce that you will be assigned to Captain Franrick’s ship as the Assistant Chief of the Launch Bay,” the admiral announced as if they were reading a royal proclamation from an ancient scroll.

“I’m sorry, did you say Assistant?” Kelly asked.

“Yes, you will be reporting to my son,” the admiral confidently asserted.

Kelly paused. There was no path out of the launch bay. There was no future in the Armada for “Petty Officer Miller.” There was only one thing to do.

Kelly took off their rank bar and laid it out on the admiral’s mahogany desk. “I resign,” Kelly announced defiantly before walking out of the office.

Alone in the hall, Kelly exhaled, “I should have known better.”