Free No Man's Space 1: Starship Encounter by Nate Duke Page A

ships, Banner was likely to substitute me a couple of times before we got back to Earth. He could wait until then and kill me in my sleep. Flanagan was taking things too seriously; we weren’t in Renaissance Italy, and Banner wasn’t one of the Borgias.
    “Growing attached to me, are you?” I smirked at him.
    “Don’t take me badly, sir,” he said with the hint of an irreverent smile in his face, “but it’s a matter of money. You could’ve gotten us killed with your absurd plans, but we’ve almost captured five enemy frigates with a handful of men. I’d rather serve under you, break the rules and get a share of whatever loot you capture than return safely and quickly to Earth with empty pockets. Call it luck, call it madness or call it genius. I don’t want to miss the chance to earn something. 1% of the reward for capturing five frigates is enough to retire.”
    Financial loyalty? Was it simply money, or did Banner look too young to command?
    Flanagan raised an eyebrow at studied me. He’d wanted to say something since we’d boarded all five frigates, and we hadn’t had the time to talk without being in front of other officers or the men. He shook his head. “Most officers don’t take first blood so nicely, sir.” He wasn’t intrigued or curious; he was trying to read me.
    Flanagan didn’t say it openly, but he was talking about my social class. Nobody expects ordinary seamen to puke or faint if they see blood or death, but they expect everyone else to react badly. It turns out that not puking on Flanagan’s feet while we’d fought the Cassocks had given me bonus points. Who would’ve guessed?
    Most officers came from wealthy backgrounds and usually spent their early lives surrounded by expensive food and legions of servants. Their parents didn’t let them take part in any dangerous activities, making them soft and brittle. Boys who’d lived in those environments didn’t understand the Navy until after joining, and then they realized that the naval life wasn’t for them.
    My parents were not poor, but they weren’t rich either. I’d lived well, but I’d done sports, played in the mud, and scratched my knees many times when I’d fallen. Nobody could accuse me of being soft. Seeing a man die can affect you if you’re young, but life makes you tougher. Engineering didn’t toughen you up, but it didn’t soften you either.
    If you ever think that engineering is for cowards, try to jump into a spacesuit and walk outside to repair a ship. The moment you look at the endless void ahead of you, you’ll understand why engineering isn’t as low-risk as everyone wants to make you think. It’s a conspiracy to pay engineering lieutenants less than normal lieutenants. We’re undervalued and nobody bothers to hide it.
    My past was nobody’s business, though. I was an engineering officer, and nothing else mattered. I’d been naïve enough to join the Navy expecting promotions and an eventual post as captain, but nobody earned a promotion if they didn’t have the contacts. You first had to prove your worth, but how can you prove anything if you’re locked up in a room and fixing engines all day? Some people called our dear Navy a meritocracy. The meaning of meritocracy has evolved to: ‘ providing credible reasons to promote your best friend’s son and make everyone think that he’s the best candidate for the post .’
    I wasn’t a real officer for a reason, and I didn’t faint with the idea of attacking the enemy for a reason. Flanagan could continue with silly discussions about social classes and the officer’s softness once we’d fixed the ship.
    “Don’t mean to offend,” Flanagan said when he noticed my expression. “But you’re a natural. At killing, I mean. Haven’t seen it in officers before.”
    “Most officers see blood when they’re teenaged midshipmen,” I said. “Thirteen year-old boys don’t react well to many things. Is that why you’ve backed me against Banner?