Chapter 11
Wyodreth Antagean stepped into the dim light of the small starboard observation bubble—wearing a DSOD spaceflight coverall, versus the more formal two-piece uniform he’d worn at the Planet Oswight spaceport—and allowed himself to sink into one of the seven plush gee chairs which faced outward into the void. In the days since departing dock, the sun had diminished almost imperceptibly to the point that its light was now being challenged by some of the brighter stars set against the inky, permanent blackness of interstellar space.
All of which had seemed eternally out of mankind’s reach for the entirety of Wyo’s life. He’d spent his twenties and thirties becoming intimately familiar with Constellar’s systems, and even a few of the systems in Starstates Yamato and Sultari on those rare occasions when Antagean liners had been tasked with handling international passengers and cargo. Now he’d be crossing the Slipway into virgin territory. It was a prospect as exciting as it was unnerving, precisely because everyone expected Starstate Nautilan to be doing the same. And Wyo dreaded the idea that one or more of his ships might fall before Nautilan missiles.
Running his father’s business was challenging enough, even on the good days. He’d stepped into Dad’s shoes not out of desire, but out of necessity. And while Seinar Antagean, his sister, was a capable number cruncher who ably kept the books, she was liable to get overwhelmed by the personnel aspect. Which was where Wyo himself tended to do best—provided none of those personnel were getting killed.
A visitor quietly stepped into the observation bubble, and sat down one chair away from Wyo’s own. He turned—the dim light making silhouettes of them both—and thought he recognized the Lady Oswight. She still wore the same type of zipsuit he’d seen her wearing on day one. Almost as if she didn’t dare wear anything else. Wyo had occasionally seen spacephobes travel like that. Terrified that the ship might crack open at any moment, leaking all of the atmosphere into space. So they never set foot outside a pressure garment.
“Ma’am,” Wyo said, reluctantly getting to his feet.
“Please, sit,” the Lady said softly.
Wyo looked behind them, expecting the former colour sergeant to appear. When Axabrast did not emerge from the open pressure hatchway, Wyo slowly bent his knees, and returned to brooding in his gee chair.
“It’s breathtaking,” Garsina said. “I can see what the appeal is, for people who make their lives in space.”
“There is a certain romance to it,” Wyo admitted. “When I was younger, my father made sure I cut my teeth out here.”
“What do you mean?” Garsina asked.
“I may have been the boss’s son, but Dad made sure I started at the bottom of the food chain. I spent years learning just about every job there is to learn aboard a commercial starliner. No chore was too menial, nor too messy.”
“Sounds like you didn’t enjoy it,” Garsina said.
“I didn’t. I can look back on it, now, and see Dad’s point. But at the time? I just kind of went around being angry a lot. Captain Loper can tell you some stories about that, if ever you get a chance to talk to him.”
“Back home,” Garsina said, “I had to beg my father, to let me do any kind of work.”
“Your minder, Mister Axabrast, kept you from getting your hands dirty?”
“He’s not my minder,” Garsina snapped. Then she seemed to think better of herself—her expression transforming in the wan light—and said, “But he is my protector, when father wishes it.”
“How did you manage to evade Axabrast’s watchfulness at this hour?” Wyo asked.
“I left him talking to your engineers down in the reactor module. In addition to having a fascination for First Family etiquette, as it pertains to his longstanding assignment within the Oswight house, Mister Axabrast also enjoys spacecraft. It’s a hobby of his, going back to when he was newly enlisted with Deep Space Operations and Defense. His first time out, as a young private, he fell in love with the ships. These huge, complex machines which carry us from world to world. He won’t say so to me openly, but he’s concerned that your civilian starliners aren’t up to the challenge of this mission we’ve embarked upon.”
Wyo made a scoffing sound.
“Just because we’re not bristling with rockets doesn’t mean these ships are weak. My father doesn’t own many ships, but the spaceframes he does operate are the most robust variety available from any civilian shipyard anywhere in Constellar space. We’ve got the best reactors my father can buy, and we run our maintenance and module rotation schedule at twice the pace recommended by various manufacturers. For precisely the reason that Antagean can’t afford to have a reputation for cheapness. We’re too small, and we don’t enjoy the favor of any particular First Family who can intercede on our behalf, in case something goes wrong. Our operational record, since the inception, is the best of any commercial line in the Starstate.”
“I didn’t mean to question you—or your father’s—competence,” Garsina said tersely. “Just informing you of Mister Axabrast’s opinion.”
“Well,” Wyo said, “you can tell the colour sergeant for me that if he doesn’t trust these ships—or the men and women running them—he’s welcome to transport back to your family’s yacht.”
“Oh, he’d like that very much,” Garsina said bitterly. “With me being pulled by the wrist!”
“So would I,” Wyo muttered, and then realized the almost dead silence of the observation module made even under-the-breath speech sound very loud in his ears.
Garsina stood up stiffly, almost hopping out of her seat in the half-gee thrust.
“You think we’re pests?”
“I didn’t say—” Wyo blurted, but then realized it was too late.
“Typical businessman’s son,” Garsina said, almost spitting the words. “You happily take First Family money when it suits your corporate interests, but then you bad-mouth us behind our backs, and fight us tooth and nail in the Constellar Council! Is it any wonder that the Council is practically gridlocked every session? My brothers have spent years dueling rhetorically with commercial representatives forever trying to counterbalance the First Families, when it comes to legislation. Forgetting that none of you would be able to make a single coin without our support and oversight!”
Suddenly, Wyo saw red. He’d spent the past six months trying to navigate Oswight regional regulations, in regards to fee schedules, and what types and kinds of cargo were considered restricted at Oswight spaceports. Every system had its annoying local rules, true enough, but Oswight’s were unusually costly, and sometimes even contradictory. He’d practically had to bribe several Oswight officials—without coming right out and calling it a bribe. And all for the sake of First Family insistence that they each maintain a microgovernment within their respective territories. At the expense of men—like Antagean—who simply had a job needing to be done.
“Oversight?” Wyo almost barked the word. “That’s what you call it? As if the war isn’t bad enough, you all chisel and chip away at the hard work done by honest people who aren’t good enough for you, simply on account of being born common. If ever there was a time when Starstate Constellar did need the First Families, I think that time has long since passed. And every businessman and businesswoman in the Starstate will say the same thing—provided they’re not keeping their mouths shut to avoid being slapped with phantom penalties and punitive taxation on account of having offended one of you!”
Part of Wyo’s brain knew he was committing a serious error. If his father were present, doubtless Wyograd would be trying desperately to shut his son up, while apologizing to the Lady Oswight in the same breath. But Wyo didn’t have his father’s patience where politics was concerned. And after being yanked away from work, and plunged into the present predicament against his will, Wyo’s nerves weren’t up to the task of placating the Lady and her opinions of businessmen.
The heat radiating off Garsina’s face—partially illuminated, and almost pink with anger—was palpable.
She made a noise of disgust, and stormed out of the observation bubble.
Wyo put a hand over his eyes, and sank lower into the gee chair.
“Way to go, Mister Company Man,” he said softly, self-mocking. When we get back, he thought, look for Antagean to get its corporate ass booted completely out of Oswight territory. Seinar is going to chew me out hard when that happens. We need the facilities orbiting Planet Oswight. If Family Oswight simply chooses to make those facilities too expensive for us…what recourse do we have?
And then Wyo went back to being angry about the First Families all over again. It was absurd that any man should have to worry about being on the good side of those people, simply to keep a storefront open. Didn’t Constellar make a lot of patriotic noise regarding freedom? Where was the freedom in a society which still afforded the First Families so much arbitrary power? Especially when so many of them had done nothing to earn it?
“Classy,” said a familiar voice.
“Captain,” Wyo said, recognizing his old friend and former mentor. He suddenly sat up, and absently rubbed a thumb under his nose. “How much of that noise did you hear?”
“Enough,” Loper said.
“Where did she go?”
“Not a clue. She went past me like a clipper burning at one hundred and ten percent, and I knew better than to open my mouth. Wish you could say the same, sir.”
“It’s an impossible task,” Wyo grunted, as Captain Loper descended into a gee chair opposite to where the Lady Oswight had most recently been sitting.
“Your father knew that when he started the business,” said the older man. “But he always had a head for the political side of the job. The First Families are a pain in the ass, to be sure. But they’re also part and parcel of our national fabric. They need us, and we need them, though we don’t often like to admit it. And certainly not at the Constellar Council, where the long war between people who make money—and people who are born with money—continues.”
“See, this is why I never wanted to sit in Dad’s chair,” Wyo admitted. “I knew I wasn’t going to be very good at playing the game, in this regard. I think dad knows it too, though he’s certainly tried over the years to help me see the value in it. I’m too much like my mom. And she didn’t think much of the First Families either.”
“No she didn’t,” Loper said, and chuckled quietly.
Silence descended for several minutes, then Wyo asked, “But if I’m not sitting in Dad’s chair, what happens to you and everybody else who’s depending on us—the Antageans—to keep the company running? Dad built the company because he loved the sport of it all. He loved working on starliners when he was young, and got it into his head that someday he’d run his own fleet of them. And that his fleet would be the best. Not the biggest. Not the most favored among his competitors. Just the fleet known for quality and competence, above all. It was the thing he staked the family reputation on. And both me and Seinar have done our damnedest to try to live up to that. But I am not sure it’s enough.”
“You talk like Wyograd’s death is a foregone conclusion,” Captain Loper said.
“Each time he gets sick,” Wyo said gravely, “we find out it’s worse than the last time. Treatments can bring him back to full health, for a while. But each new low is lower than the last. I wouldn’t tell this to anyone other than you, but I am not sure Dad’s got it in him to pull out of it again. You haven’t seen him, because he refuses to see anyone but family, and the doctors. But he’s a tired ghost of himself. Very little strength left. If he wasn’t so damned stubborn, I think he’d be gone already.”
“And watching him die means suddenly the weight of the company is all on you,” Loper said.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe Seinar can handle it, in concert with the board? You could step away?”
“No,” Wyo said. “I know my sister. She doesn’t like dealing with the board. And they don’t like dealing with her. The board sees me as Dad’s natural successor, and they expect me to continue in his stead. Which I’ve been doing. But it’s the least enjoyable work I’ve ever had to plow through. Far tougher than any head you made me clean when I was a kid. I sometimes think I’d happily go back to scrubbing gee toilets again, just because there wouldn’t be so much damned pressure.”
The older man looked down at his hands folded in his lap, then turned his chair to face directly at Wyo’s own.
“Would you believe me if I told you your father voiced similar sentiments to me?”
“He did?” Wyo said, sitting up straight. This was news. Dad had always seemed an implacable force where company welfare was concerned. No wavering.
“You two aren’t that different,” Captain Loper said. “As much as Wyograd is immensely proud of the business he’s built—and proud of all of us who elected to share in his dream with him as foundational employees—that dream came with a fairly severe cost. Because deep down, Wyograd still wants to be that wide-eyed third-class ship’s mate, newly signed on for his very first stint aboard a starliner. He wants that magic back, and he never really got it. No matter how successful the business became.”
“Dad never said anything to me,” Wyo admitted.
“Of course he never said anything to you,” Loper said. “You are his son. For you, and your sister, he wants to be the immovable mountain. The man upon whose shoulders your reality solidly rests. But it was never easy for him. And when he got sick, and then got sick again…well, there are a tiny handful of us old-timers who have managed to keep in touch with him, and know the true toll that’s been taken. Though, once the correspondence stopped, I knew he’d gotten so sick, recently, that this might be it for him.”
Wyo studied the older man’s face, and thought he saw a tear slip down Captain Loper’s cheek.
“I guess I’ve been feeling sorry for myself,” Wyo said sheepishly.
“Damned right you’ve been feeling sorry for yourself,” Loper said sternly.
“That’s not going to cut it on this trip, is it?”
“Nope,” Loper said, matter-of-factly.
“So I’d probably best suck it up, and go find a way to make nice with the Lady Oswight?”
“You might consider it.”
“Any advice on that?”
Loper paused, his profile looking particularly aged in the light from Planet Oswight’s far home star, then he said, “Appeal to her scholarly expertise. Get her talking about the Waymakers, versus First Family business. And find enough humility to slip a genuine apology in there somewhere, okay?”
“Okay,” Wyo said, then stood up, and patted the older man on the shoulder, before walking through the hatchway, back into the innards of the ship.