Fantasy Making of a Starship Captain

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[Note: This Science Fiction story is an intense character study with occasional sex scenes.]

The USS Charleston​

It had no "name" as we know it, but people who knew its true nature thought of it as Galactic Despair

Galactic Despair was engaged in a simultaneous mental connection with Captain Bruce Hauslohner of the USS Charleston, as well as his senior officers Commander Avi Kinneret, Lieutenant Commander Missy Burns, and Chief Engineer Hillary Ashanti.

"I have called you all here for an important discussion," said Galactic Despair. Naturally, the others didn't know that it was "Galactic Despair", all they knew was that they were talking to a being of great power and importance.

"It's always important, isn't it?" said Captain Hauslohner's Scorn.

"You want something, you always do," said Commander Kinneret's Disdain.

"You think you're so important and we should jump every time you call," said Ashanti's Contempt.

"So what is it this time?" asked Missy Burn's Lust.

"You have a new cadet coming onboard your ship."

"Oh no, not another one," said Hauslohner's Scorn.

"They have all been so incompetent," said Ashanti's Contempt.

"This one is even worse," said Galactic Despair. "His is name is Michael Taylor."

"A Taylor? Perhaps he can raise my trousers a few inches," said Ashanti's Contempt.

Hauslohner's Scorn laughed.

"Taylor has an incredible ego. He believes he is the best cadet the Academy has ever produced. He thinks he is destined to be a great Survey Service Captain," said Galactic Despair.

"Another ego maniac," Kinneret's Disdain sighed.

"In actuality, he is terribly flawed. He is not capable of doing anything right," said Galactic Despair. "Under pressure, he will crack like an egg."

"And so what do you want from us?"

"Crush him like the weakling he is," said Galactic Despair. "Break him down so thoroughly that he will either resign, or make sure he fails his cruise. Trust me, you'll be doing the Survey Service an incredible favor by doing it."

"Yeah, just like we did the Service a favor when we failed the last bunch. Why are you so eager for this?" asked Missy Burn's Lust.

"Me?" Galactic Despair asked. "I only want what's best for the Survey Service. And trust me when I say, that having Michael Taylor as an officer in the Survey Service would be total, unmitigated disaster."

The USS Charleston was one of the early Dorsetshire class Frigates, with two massive plasma cannons and four megajoulers, two in front and two in the rear. It had a crew of 58 men and women.

Taylor was thrilled to serve on a Survey Service warship. It was like a dream come true. Despite his misgivings about the ship's history with recent cadets, he resolved to make the best he could of the situation.

He had researched the commander of the ship. Captain Bruce Hauslohner. Hauslohner really was a Captain, not a Commander or Lieutenant Commander in charge of a vessel who was called Captain. It was uncommon but not unheard of for a Captain to be in charge of a frigate; but usually frigates were usually run by lower ranking Commanders.

Captain Hauslohner was a man who believed in obeying his orders to the letter. During the third Ramadhan war, he had been ordered to conduct a scouting mission of the Remus sector. He did, but during that mission he got a distress call from a merchant vessel under attack from three Ramadhan corsairs. He refused to come to the aid of the merchant vessel (which was totally destroyed) because he didn't have any orders to; and at a subsequent hearing, he testified in any event that the Charleston would have been unable to take on three Ramadhan corsairs, which may well have been true.

In any event after that incident, he was never offered a commander of a larger ship, such as a destroyer, cruiser, or battle cruiser, and he resigned himself to being in command of a frigate for the rest of his Survey Service career. The Charleston had an unusual amount of turnover, for a Survey Service warship; a high number of requests for transfers, and even officers resigning their commissions and leaving the service.

In short, the Charleston was not a happy ship.

Acting Ensign Michael Taylor arrived onboard in the early evening, and was told to join the Captain and his senior officers in the officer's mess hall. He did, with some trepidation.

The Captain was seated at the head of a long table. "And who might you be?" Hauslohner inquired.

"Ensign Michael Taylor, reporting for duty, sir," said Taylor.

"Reporting for duty?" said Hauslohner. He looked like he had just bitten into a rotten apple, and saw Taylor inside of it. "And when, sir, were you ordered to report for duty?"

"By... by 1800 hours today, sir."

"And what is the time now, Cadet?"

Taylor checked his chrono. "1745 hours, sir."

Hauslohner looked at his officers. "You see, men? He gets orders to appear by 1800 hours, and he waits until the last minute to show up. He doesn't care that our entire crew is waiting to blast off. He doesn't care that we waited an extra day on Earth for him to come aboard. He arrives at the very last minute, and keeps us all waiting. Seeing a sweety off, no doubt, isn't that correct, Cadet?"

"I... uh..."

"I'll take that for a yes. Very well, you've reported in, get a tray and join us."

Taylor, in a daze, got a tray and got some food. A black man who was serving gave Taylor a look of warning and pity, and mouthed "Be careful" as he handed Taylor some cornbread.

Taylor went back to the Captain's table, but couldn't find anywhere to sit. "Are you going to stand there all day, Cadet?" said Hauslohner, with a tone of annoyance in his voice.

"You can sit next to me, Michael," said an officer, a woman in her early 40's with bright blonde hair. She moved over so he could have space to sit.

"Thanks," said Taylor appreciatively.

"I'm Missy Burns," she said, smiling at him. Mike saw she was a Lieutenant Commander.

"Hello," said Taylor nervously.

"You're on Missy's radar, be careful!" one of the officers laughed.

"Cadet Taylor is the Moon Hero, aren't you, Cadet?" said the Captain.

Cadet. The Captain insisted on calling him cadet. Technically, he was a cadet, but he was also an acting ensign. The fact that Hauslohner was calling him cadet spoke volumes.

"I was involved in an incident on the moon," said Taylor cautiously.

"Involved? That's rather modest of you," said Hauslohner. "Didn't you tell everyone who would listen that you saved all those kids lives?"

Why is he being so aggressive? Taylor struggled to find a satisfactory response. "The incident is well documented, sir."

"Yes, yes it is. Your reputation precedes you, Cadet," said Hauslohner, slowly chewing on a piece of meat. "But that's not the only thing you have a reputation for. I've done some checking around. It appears at the Academy, you're quite well known as a ladies' man."

Oh no.

"Isn't that so, Cadet?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir," said Taylor carefully.

"I think you do. Does the name Sarah Blade ring a bell?" Hauslohner asked.

Taylor saw the other crew members break out in smiles. Had they been talking about him?

"She was my instructor in Shipboard Mechanics."

"Did she instruct you in any other subjects, Cadet?" Hauslohner's grin was positively nasty now.

Taylor felt a wave of anxiety. He tried to stabilize his breathing and to speak calmly.

"I asked you a question, Cadet."

"No, sir."

"No, sir what?"

"No, she didn't instruct me in other subjects. Only Shipboard Mechanics."

Hauslohner gave him a stare. "Well, we'll just have to see how good a teacher she was, won't we?"

"We're not going to be able to survive here! The Captain wants to destroy us!" said Inadequacy.

"The Captain is tough, so we will have to be even tougher," said Determination. "If you're going to squeal like a pig every time Sarah Blade's name is mentioned, then go back under the rock you came out of."

Taylor's first assignment was at 0800 hours the following morning.

It was there that he spoke with the first officer, Commander Avi Kinneret. Kinneret was a big man, at least six feet tall, with a big chest, but also, a big belly. It was no wonder, because he was always munching food, even on the bridge. Taylor didn't know if it was proper to eat food on the bridge, but Kinneret ate incessantly. Kinneret had a big, bald, oval shaped head, a long nose, big cheeks, and a wide jaw.

Kinneret officially had the watch, but Captain Hauslohner chose to be in charge for the first part of Taylor's watch, which Taylor clearly saw as a sign of trouble.

"Mister Bernhard, relinquish your navigational console to Cadet Taylor," said the Captain. "You are familiar with navigational controls, are you not, Cadet?"

"Yes sir," said Taylor, sitting down at them. The layout looked a little different from what he had trained on, but he was too cowed to ask questions. He could figure it out.

"Good! Then set a course for Mars."

"Mars, sir?"

"Taylor, am I going to have to repeat all my orders to you?" Hauslohner asked.

"No sir, setting course for Mars, sir. Course is set and laid in."

"Engage," said Hauslohner.

The Charleston left Earth's orbit, and started on a course for Mars.

Interstellar, even interplanetary navigation was quite easy. One plotted two points on a holographic map, and set a course. It simply wasn't very difficult, given modern technical aids--

"Is there a problem, Mister Taylor?"

"No problem sir. Why do you ask?" Taylor said.

"Because we're heading to Mars at a rather leisurely speed."

"Sir, you didn't specify a speed," said Taylor. He checked the reading. They would get to Mars in 34 minutes. Was there a hurry?

Hauslohner turned to Kinneret. "I can see we have a real space lawyer here. All right, Cadet. Take us to Mars at three quarters Ion Drive. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir. Complying," said Taylor, adjusting course.

In moments, the red planet grew larger on their viewscreen. Hauslohner said, "Cadet Taylor?"

"Yes sir?"

"Were you planning at any time to go into a standard orbit around Mars?"

"Sir, yes sir, engaging now."

Hauslohner gave a loud sigh which cut through Taylor like a knife.

And that's how the first part of his watch was. Hauslohner gave vague instructions, and criticized Taylor when he didn't anticipate or guess what he really wanted. By the time Hauslohner was done with him, Taylor was starting to nurse doubts about his abilities.

"I've seen enough," said Hauslohner bluntly. He turned to Kinneret. "He's yours. Try not to let him crash into anything." He left to go to his command office.

"Ok, you, go to Science Two," said Kinneret, eating a sandwich. He actually belched like a cow as Taylor got up and went to the auxiliary science station. No one even blinked when he did. "You know how to operate a scanner?" Kinneret asked, chewing noisily.

"Yes sir," said Taylor.

"Give me a check," said Kinneret, continuing to chew.

"A check, sir?"

"A (chomp chomp chomp) check," said Kinneret. He looked annoyed. "Do it!"

Taylor conducted a scan of Mars. "I detect nothing out of the ordinary sir."

That set a pattern for the next few exercises. If Taylor thought Hauslohner's command style was vague, Kinneret was positively opaque. He would talk out of the corner of his mouth while eating food. It was hard to understand what he said, and he only got more and more annoyed as Taylor failed to do what he asked.

"No, I wanted a metallurgic scan!" he roared, splattering pieces of corned beef all over the floor. "Can't you (munch munch) do anything right?" He paused to chew some more. He finally finished his sandwich, and burped again. "All right. Check on the status of the cargo."

Taylor looked around. He saw no instrument capable of doing that. "Sir?"

"Call the supply master." He rolled his eyes. "Missy Burns!"

Taylor contacted Missy Burns. He realized that she was the blonde woman he had sat next to at dinner. He called her and asked about the status of the cargo. Her voice came over the comm. "It's all secure, dear."

Taylor reported as much, but Commander Kinneret simply turned away.

Taylor sat down at an empty table at dinner. He thought that was safer than sitting with the crew. The black server with sympathetic eyes nodded to him as he served the food.

He looked around. The crew seemed to be avoiding him. The word went out quickly, it seemed. No one wanted to risk disfavor from the Captain by associating with him.

But then someone did sit down by him, a woman wearing the shoulder boards of a Lieutenant Commander. It was Missy Burns.

"Hey there," she said.

"Hi," said Taylor.

Missy Burns was the supply officer. Why a Lieutenant Commander was a supply officer Taylor didn't know. Missy had beautiful luxurious, thick wavy blonde hair. But her face looked worn, especially for a woman in her late 30's. There was something about the shape of her eyes, about her hawklike nose, that gave her a mean look.

Taylor tried to tell himself that he was imagining things. So far she was the only person who had been remotely friendly to him on this ship.

"How are you settling in?" she asked, as she started to eat.

"Fine," said Taylor politely.

"That bad, huh?" Burns said, and when Taylor looked into her eyes he saw a twinkle. "You'll get used to it. It's your first mission. The Captain's a hard man, but he's fair."

"I'm sure," said Taylor.

They talked for a while more, but Taylor didn't feel comfortable. There was something about Missy, something... predatory. She wanted something from Taylor, something he would be reluctant to give her. He could sense it, from the way she looked at him. He didn't know what she wanted... or perhaps he did.

That evening Taylor, feeling stressed, couldn't sleep. He went for a walk in the corridors. He began to feel self conscious, however, as he felt the crew staring at him.

So he found the most isolated place he could.

The shuttle bay. Completely empty. Perfect. He started doing laps around the perimeter.

What was going on with this ship? Why was everyone so hostile? Or were they being hostile? Maybe the problem was him. Maybe he just didn't understand what it meant to be a Survey Service officer and what was expected of him. Maybe-

He heard a hiss as the door to the corridor opened, and he felt tension returning.

A man stepped in. It was the black crewman who had served him dinner.

"Am I not supposed to be here? Is this a restricted area?" Taylor asked anxiously.

"Relax," said the man. "You're here to walk around, right?"

"Yeah. How did you know?" Taylor asked.

"I do it all the time. To get away from everyone."

"Oh. I'll leave then-"

"No need," said the man, and he smiled at Taylor. He extended a hand. "Mark Stratford. Crewman Third Class."

"Michael Taylor, acting Ensign," said Taylor, shaking hands with him.

"I know," Stratford grinned. "Everyone's talking about you."

"They are?" Taylor's heart sunk.

"Yeah. For some reason the senior staff has it in for you bad."

"Why?"

Stratford shrugged. "Don't know. But you picked the wrong ship to be on, Bro. The Charleston is not exactly paradise."

They started walking together. Stratford had always wanted to go into space, but didn't have the discipline to focus on academics. During high school he loved to goof off and play nuclear golf and nuclear pool. So he joined the Survey Service as an enlisted man. He had worked on three ships. Most recently he had been a cook's assistant on the Charleston for nearly two years. Despite his low rank, he was very popular.

"Everyone wants to me to be their GBF."

"GBF?" said Taylor.

"Good Black Friend. Standard procedure on every Survey Service starship is to have a good black friend on the crew, it gives you virtue in other people's eyes, and protects you in case you're ever charged with unconscious racism," said Stratford. "I know you're new, but can you really not know that?"

"I don't," said Taylor. He paused. "But aren't there other black people on the ship to be friends with?"

"Only the Sistas, in Engineering." Stratford visibly shuddered. "Watch out for them."

"Why?'

"Just stay away from Engineering if you know what's good for you. Mighty Whitey don't do so well down there, if you know what I mean."

Taylor didn't, but had a feeling he soon would.

"But the big one for you to watch out for is Missy Burns."

"Missy? But she's been the only one to be friendly to me!"

"Exactly," said Stratford. "She's the Captain's woman."

"The Captain's woman?"

"How do you think she got to be a half commander running the cargo bay? Steer clear of her, bro." He looked a little uncomfortable. "Listen, Taylor, it's not exactly healthy to be seen around you. But you're going to need all the help you can get, and I get the sense that you're a good egg. If you like, I'll be your GBF."

"Thanks, Mark," said Taylor. He took a deep breath. Mark was volunteering to be his black friend! "That means a lot to me." He paused, thinking of Shanice. "You know, I had a good black--I mean, a good friend who was black in high school-"

Stratford put his hands over his ears. "Please, don't give me a resume of all your past black friends! I only offered to help you, not to give you virtue points!"

"Ok, all right," said Taylor. "Thanks, Mark."

When Taylor reported for his next duty shift, Commander Kinneret, his mouth full of corned beef, mumbled something to him.

"What was that, sir?"

Kinneret swallowed and gulped. "I told you, you're being transferred to engineering. Can't you hear what I'm saying?"

"Transferred?"

"We've seen enough of your great skill on the bridge. Now you can perform your Academy miracles down there." He paused. "What are you waiting for, applause? Go!"

Taylor went.

Hillary Ashanti was the Chief Engineer of the USS Charleston. For years the Survey Service had been plagued by charges that its space force was not diverse enough. A commission empanelled by the World Government found that the Service was overwhelmingly white, male, and heterosexual. The Service responded by aggressively recruiting women, and people who enjoyed sex with round anthropomorphized objects with small holes in them, but they still had a racial problem.

And so they started a program to give field commissions to minority crewmembers with potential. Hillary Ashanti was one such prospect. She had joined the Service as a crewmember, never having gone to the Academy, but she had reasonably good grades in high school, having gotten A's in Moral Virtue, American Racism, Environmental Justice, and a solid B plus in Gender Reassignment studies. So she was given several abbreviated courses in technical subjects, and within six months she became an engineer.

But Hillary had an attitude problem. She didn't work or play well with others. The solution, her superiors deemed was to promote her so she wouldn't have to endure the whims of her superiors. And so she rapidly rose up in the ranks until she became a Lieutenant Commander, and was put in charge of her own engineering section.

Hillary Ashanti actually got along surprisingly well with Captain Hauslohner. They only had two unspoken rules.

1) The Captain would never enter engineering, or if he did, he would never criticize her or give her an order in front of her subordinates. In engineering her supremacy would be paramount.

2) Rule #1 only applied so long as whenever the Captain ordered the ship to move, it moved.

And so Hillary followed Rule #2, and Captain Hauslohner followed Rule #1, and they got along just fine.

When Taylor reported to engineering, he noticed several things.

1) It was quiet. No one was talking. Only the hum of the engines could be heard.

2) Everyone was black.

3) Everyone was female.

4) Everyone was black, and female.

5) There were four people working in Engineering, Chief Ashanti, two Ensigns, and a crewman (crewwoman?). The two ensigns were heavyset black women who were tending to controls. The lone crewman was a somewhat thinner black woman.

Chief Ashanti was herself a rail thin black woman. She wore her hair in a tall afro. It seemed to be trimmed, like a shrub, so that it stood up high on her head, making her look several inches taller. The effect of having such a haircut not only made her look taller, but thinner as well.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there?"

Chief Ashanti's face was in a perpetual scowl.

"M-Michael Taylor, reporting for duty, Ma'am."

"Ma'am?" her head jerked back as if she had been punched. She pointed to her shoulders. "Do these shoulder boards say Ma'am, mister?"

"No... Commander."

"That' right," said Ashanti nodding. "You will address me as Chief, or Commander, or Sir. You got that, boy?"

"Yes, Chief."

"Good," said Ashanti. She walked around Taylor, curling her lip as she looked him up and down. He had a nice ass. For a white man.

Then she looked provocatively into his eyes. "So they kicked you off the bridge, did they?"

"No Chief-"

"Don't contradict me," said Ashanti. "Never do that."

"Yes Chief," said Taylor.

Ashanti sighed. "I suppose there must be something that unskilled labor can do around here." She looked around for a moment, lost in thought. "You can demagnetize."

"Demagnetize what, Chief?"

"Everything. The floors, the crawl spaces."

Over time, the hull of every starship built up a magnetic charge. Demagnetizing was a periodic task... typically assigned to crewmen, not officers. It was considered unskilled work.

"You have a problem with that, Cadet?"

"No M... Chief!"

She glared at him. He got to work.

And so Taylor donned the hefty demagnetizer pack, and waved the demagnetizer mop. It really looked like a mop, made with cloth on the bottom so it wouldn't scratch the floor. And he got to work. As he did, he noticed that the other engineers seemed to do little or nothing. They talked to each other, or laughed or read amusing things from their Pads, or goofed off.

Chief Ashanti gave him a predatory look as she watched him with her eyes. She had little to do as well, which Taylor immediately recognized as trouble. She would often follow him on his work, lecturing him.

"When it comes to science, women, black women, led in every field. Did you know that a black woman invented the Varonkov Drive, Cadet?"

"No, Chief."

"Her name was Bonny Watts. She was Vasily Varonkov's maid, but she invented the Varonkov drive. She was a highly skilled mathematician on the side. She worked out all the theory, and he stole the designs from her."

"If she was a mathematician, why was she working as a maid?" Taylor asked.

Ashanti glared at him. "Racism! Sexism! That was the only job available to black women in the late 22nd century."

"Oh, of course," said Taylor, as he continued to demagnetize the floor around him.

"Women of color created rockets. Women of color invented the atom bomb. Women of color invented the lightbulb and electricity-"

"I thought Thomas Edison did that," said Taylor.

Ashanti gave a brittle laugh. "And where did you learn that?"

"From my history books," said Taylor.

"And who wrote your history books?" Ashanti gave a bitter laugh, and also gave him a small prod with a foot. "No one told you to stop working."

Taylor continued to demagnetize the floor.

"White boys wrote the history books. White boys all," said Ashanti. "No, Virginia Lumumba invented the light bulb, way before Edison, in the Congo in 1722. Edison discovered this on one of his expeditions to the dark continent, stole the designs, and took all the credit. You missed a spot on the left, Cadet. Are you blind? I said left. Yes, there."

Ashanti stretched her arms and sighed. "I myself have been a trailblazer. Did you know that I am the very first woman of color who is a chief engineer on a Dorsetshire Class Frigate?"

"No, Chief," said Taylor.

"Did you know that I am the very first woman of color over five feet eight inches tall who is the chief engineer on any frigate in the fleet?"

"No Chief."

"Sarah Jennings is Chief of the Millbrae, she's black, and she's female, but she's not as tall as I am." She paused. "And did you know that I am the very first black female Chief Engineer in all the Survey Service who is of South East African descent?"

"I did not know that, Chief," said Taylor.

"I'm the first, the very first, a trailblazer in every way," said Ashanti. When Taylor didn't reply, her eyes narrowed. Taylor was not only dumb, he was boring.

Things continued as they did for another few days. Chief Ashanti had him demagnetize not only the floor of engineering, but the crawlways as well. Taylor had a difficult time crawling into them with the heavy pack on his back, but did his best. And then one day, when he was demagnetizing the crawlway under the main converter, the ship shuddered and the lights went off and suddenly, the Charleston was dead in space.

Taylor heard yelling and shouting as the red emergency lighting came on. He wormed his way out of the crawlway.

"What the fuck did you do?" Ashanti said, grabbing him by the arms.

"I was just demagnetizing-"

"Right underneath the main power converter? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"But no one told me-"

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"Chief-"

"Get out, now!"

Before long, power was restored, and the ship got moving again. Taylor and Chief Ashanti were called before the Captain to explain what had happened. Chief Ashanti had violated Rule Number Two, and so the Captain felt free to ignore Rule Number One.

Ashanti put all the blame on Taylor, of course.

After she had excoriated him, Hauslohner who was calm (too calm!), turned to Taylor. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Taylor didn't even try to defend himself. He knew it would be pointless. He shook his head.

Hauslohner nodded. He turned to Taylor. "You're confined to quarters."

The next day, Taylor was called to the kitchen for his new assignment.

Cleaning.

He was to work under the ordinary crewmen who cooked and served the food. His immediate boss was Crewman Hugo Martini, the cook, but the other crewmen who worked in the kitchen also started to boss him around. Before long they were verbally abusing him. They had never had the chance to push around an officer before.

As Taylor scrubbed the kitchen floor for what seemed like the hundredth time, Crewman Santiago said, "Hey, Kitchen Boy, you missed a spot."

"Where?" Taylor asked.

"Here," he said, pouring some grease on the ground.

"Hey, Kitchen Boy, do you call this scrubbed?" said Crewman Matrine, pointing to a sink Taylor had just washed.

"If you don't like it, I can wash it again, sir," said Taylor.

"You Academy types can't do anything right, can you?" said Matrine. "Get at it, Kitchen Boy!"

The only one who wasn't mean to Taylor was Mark Stratford. But Stratford wouldn't speak to him, not in front of the others. That hurt Taylor the most. Stratford had promised to be his GBF, but it seemed that even Mark didn't want to be seen publically associating with him.

"What's happening to me?" said Self Image. He looked in the mirror. "When I used to look at myself, I saw a big, brave competent can-do guy. Now I see this." His mirror image showed a cowering, frightened looking version of Mike that seemed scared of his own shadow.

"I tried to tell you. I tried to tell all of you," said Inadequacy. "This is the way Mike really is."

"No," said Ambition. "You saw him at the Academy. He was popular! He was successful!"

"In a school setting, yes, I'll grant you that," said Inadequacy. "Now welcome to the real world! This is what the Survey Service is really like. Mike simply can't cope. I tried to tell you to warn you, for years, but you wouldn't listen.

"Mike is more capable than what you give him credit for," said Self Image. "Isn't he?"

"Really?" said Inadequacy. "Look around you. He's alienated the Captain. He's alienated the first officer. He's alienated the chief engineer. He's been assigned to the lowest work in the kitchen. Can everyone be wrong, and Mike be right?" He put an arm around Self Image. "No, my friend, you have to face up to the fact that Mike isn't the great Survey Service officer you thought he would be. He just can't make it."
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