Aristocrat with strange tastes handles a space emergency. Poignant.
late 2216
En Route to Ptolemy-1
Third Officer Evan George Robert Charles O'Connor-Davies the 4th
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I was cursed, being born a descendant of the 1st Viscount of Brey and Rhonteen, Major General Sir Alberic Evan George O'Connor-Davies, VC, KCB, OBE, and double DCO. For two centuries, my family has been trying to redeem ourselves from his deeds, and bring at least a little honor back to the name O'Connor-Davies.
I thought I was doing acceptably well. I made sure to double-check my uniform before entering any public spaces. I watched my language carefully and never cursed, even when alone with close friends. My remarkably high scores in training got me assigned as Third Officer. Only three others on the ship had more authority. I showed respect to people's religious beliefs and encouraged them when it led to charity or other good behavior, even though the primitive idea of religion offended my rational mind.
I was extra-sure to praise those of non-European descent whenever I noticed them doing good work, and gave them priority and precedence whenever possible. The poor souls deserved it, after all their forebearers suffered through in the past.
My monstrous ancestor had conquered and oppressed millions of them, during the detestable Colonial Wars of the nineteenth century, then been knighted twice and made a Viscount for it. In those dark times, he was hailed as a hero wherever he went, because his cleverness and leadership helped enslave four countries. I committed my life to undoing his evil work. There would be no racism or oppression on the ship, or on our new world. No matter the cost, I WOULD NOT allow it.
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I had no idea the worst thing in my life would be a five-gram piece of icy comet tail, smaller than a grape. It was barely even moving, but we were at 98 percent of light speed.
My duty for the last month wasn't very heroic. Most of my crew and I were searching the ship for any air leaks. Micro-holes created by dust particle impacts weren't an immediate danger, but over the course of years, a large number could leak a significant amount of oxygen. I carried a detector in one hand and a roll of tape in the other. It seemed a little absurd to me, fixing one of humanity's most complex creations, with something as basic as tape. In 20 days, we found six leaks, all of them smaller than the width of a hair.
Soon, I would go back in cold sleep. I could continue my dream of worshipping my Nigerian goddesses, styling their hair, painting their finger and toenails, and kissing their lovely feet in their high heels. Their toes were so beautiful! I loved to kiss and suck them!
They would reward me with a parade and crown me their Foot King! The two of them would let me sit by their sexy feet, between their thrones. A group of dark-skinned boys carried bundles of flowers up the stairs to us in front of the crowd, and ...
"CRUNCH!" The ship rocked! Red lights started to flash, and a siren blared; "REE! REE! REE! REE!..."
As I ran for the cockpit, I shouted; "COLLISION ALARM! EMERGENCY STATIONS! WAKE THE COMMANDER!"
I knew it would take at least ten minutes to revive him. I was in charge until then. As I entered the cockpit, I urgently asked, "What information do we have? Damage report?"
"We lost connection to lander 2 and water tank D. Tanks B and C are leaking, and airlock 2 is damaged. Course changed 1.6 degrees to starboard."
I contemplated and gave orders, "We can adjust course later. Close the two bulkheads inside airlock 2, and the ones next to lander 2. Water levels in tanks B and C?"
"B is at 96 percent, C is at 53."
I asked, "Ship atmosphere?"
"94 percent, decreasing two percent per minute." We had some time, but not a lot.
I got on the ship-wide comm, "Engineers and Builders, prepare for EVA to repair air leaks and water tank B. Medical, wake the next six engineers and six builders on the schedule."
If water tank C had a hole big enough to be half empty already, repairs on it would be hopeless. If we also lost B and D, just tank A would be enough water for us to stay alive, barely.
"Sir, we have four crew missing, Ahmed Zaher, Ori Cohen, Brin Anders, and Celeste Rivas. They were on duty before the collision, but I can't reach them. They were checking for leaks."
"Send any available Science and Hab crew to search for them."
Commander Mori sleepily walked into the cockpit, rubbing his eyes. "Situation report?"
I quickly filled him in.
He told us, "I have the CONN. Good work, Evan. Go lead the search team."
As I left, he said; "Tori, have 3 more engineers and builders suit up for external repairs near lander 2. Wake another doctor, in case ..."
Later, several people told me the orders I gave saved the ship. I ran toward the lander area. After a few minutes, we found the missing four. They were in the corridor just outside lander 2, as the impact ripped the lander apart. The tiny chuck of ice had hit with the energy of five thousand kilos of TNT. Pieces of the lander had punctured the water tanks and the airlock 2 doors.
The four crew members managed to close the lander hatch most of the way, but a large pipe blocked it from shutting completely. They had tried taping the gap, but there was no way just tape could seal something 2 meters high and 20 centimeters across. Remotely closing the two bulkheads in the passage kept additional air from leaking out of the ship, but trapped them as it vented to space through the shredded lander.
Ahmed had been my roommate and best friend. Ori and Brin were in several classes with me, and Celeste and I had ... nearly broken the fraternization rules. I still miss them, over 80 years later. They were my friends, and the orders I gave killed them. If I had known what would happen, I still would have done it. I'm an officer, and making tough decisions quickly is what officers do. I sacrificed four, to save the mission.
The Commander gave me a medal but before the funeral, I pinned it on Celeste's uniform while I kissed her goodbye. The real heroes were the four of them.
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Due to political agreements made back on Earth, our three initial landing sites were named New Dallas, New Kiev, and New Nairobi. I was nearly sixty when we expanded and built the city of New Hyderabad. I was appointed Mayor of New Hyderabad and oversaw its construction. We would give all further settlements names that mattered on THIS world.
When I retired at age 104, my replacement would be one of our planet's first elected officials, my grandson Ahmed Charles O'Connor-Davies. The proudest and one of the last days of my life, was when my favorite wife Esina told me that our great-granddaughter Celeste Esina O'Connor-Davies had been elected Governor.
Celeste announced that a new settlement would be named Evansville, after me.