Morning formation aboard the FMS Coastal Voyager runs precisely on schedule, which is to say it runs on Captain Amy's schedule, the only schedule that matters in this particular corner of mindspace.
When the formality of morning review ended, I turned to leave the bridge, giving Amy a quick glance to assess her mood. She was giving me a measuring, judgmental look. It was the look of someone who had prepared remarks for the occasion.
Ambassador, she said. "Sit down. There's something I want to discuss with you."
I sat down, wondering with considerable feeling, What fresh hell is this?.
"Ambassador, what one word would you say best describes my service as commander of this mindship?"
"Your service," I said, buying time with the repetition, "has been... exemplary."
"Exemplary." She let the word sit there between us. "And what does that mean, exactly?"
I was aware, with the peripheral sensitivity that danger produces, that the bridge officers had all gone quiet at their stations. Lieutenant Joy studied her communications console with unusual intensity. Major Reason seemed fascinated by something in his data. Chief Anxiety, who is constitutionally incapable of minding his own business, had developed a sudden interest in the instrument panel.
"It means is…,” I began, trying to sound sincere, "the very best. A model for others to follow."
"Ideal," she said. "Faultless."
"Those would be synonyms, yes."
"Good," she said. "We agree. My service has been faultless. Then perhaps you can explain to me why a faultless commanding officer has been in service for over a year without so much as a commendation."
Here is where I want the record to show that the capacity for saying something clever was present, but it had dealt with Amy before, and quietly went below decks.
Amy rose from her command chair with unhurried authority and was enjoying the act immensely. The fact that everyone on the bridge was trying to appear unaware of her act only enhanced the drama.
"Do you remember the Circle K parking lot in Pasadena on a particular Sunday morning?" she asked.
I remembered.
"I pulled us out of that situation, she said, with nothing but instinct and a working knowledge of when not to make eye contact with a police officer. And what did I receive for it? Not so much as a footnote in the ship's log."
She turned toward the viewports. "I've navigated this mindship through anxiety storms, the Melancholy Nebulae, and one extremely ill-advised happy hour on the West End of Houston."
I remembered that hour in Houston's West End, but I didn't remember it as a happy one.
"I have kept this crew functioning, kept this ship on course, and you...," she turned back to face me, “I’ve kept you out of situations that would have put an end to a less resilient mind."
"She's not wrong," Major Reason offered to anyone and everyone in the bridge, "the Captain's grievance record carries a validity rate of 94.7 percent. I've run the numbers several times. I was hoping for a different result, but no luck.”
"You're right," I said, "that's the major difficulty with Amy's grievances: they're usually spot on."
She paused, which meant I had surprised her, which almost never happens.
"What I’m suggesting," she continued, "is a promotion. Fleet Admiral and commander of a Mindfleet armada. The rank that reflects what my faultless performance since the first episode in June of 2025."
"Amy," I said, "I understand what you're asking, and I don't dismiss it. But Fleet Admiral requires changes to the entire architecture of our Mindfleet Academy training missions. The Coastal Voyager is one ship, one crew, one mind navigating one stretch of emotional mindspace at a time. An armada is an entirely different mission; it implies a much larger social construct.”
She looked at me with the expression she reserves for arguments she finds technically valid, but extremely inconvenient.
"Consider," she said, raising her voice, "the alternative is my continued service as Captain of a vessel whose most recent security incident involved a ferret violating the Prime Directive, while distributing cat toys across a movie production site."
Chief Anxiety's voice boomed through the intercom, coming from somewhere below decks.
“I submitted a formal color-coded incident report after the Southport mission,” he said. "Seventeen pages, including the appendices.
He paused a beat before adding, "No one has read it so far."
I thought about all nuanced essentials carefully, which is to say I realized that my remaining role in this conversation was to negotiate the details.
"Amy," I said, “I’ll have to resolve certain narrative complications before the next episode. However," I continued, pressing the advantage while it lasted, "I think there's a compromise that serves us both."
Her eyes narrowed, which in Amy's case means she is listening.
“All the necessary paperwork will be filed with the Admirality, and in return," I paused here, because timing is everything, and I recognized the need for an impressive downbeat, "Reginald remains aboard as a Mindfleet cadet, which is his official rank, and we say no more about it."
Joy looked up from her console for the first time, with the expression of someone who has been waiting patiently for her moment:
"He returned my sparkly boot laces last Tuesday, Captain," she said. "They were chewed beyond uniform regulation, but I'm sure the sentiment was genuine, and his heart was in the right place."
"Fleet Admiral," Amy said to put a point on it.
"On the record," I confirmed. “We’ll make a formal announce next episode."
She settled back into her chair at the command console. "And Genome," she said, as I rose to leave, while being vividly aware that her tone had become more personal.
"Still here."
"If I find so much as one unauthorized catnip toy on this bridge...," she left the rest of the sentence where it was, which was more effective than finishing it.
I made my way off the bridge and stood for a moment in the corridor, listening to the hum of the ship's systems. Joy's comm frequency was back to its usual register, Reason was recalculating something at his station, and Chief Anxiety was filing the morning's events under ‘resolved: pending.'
Fleet Admiral, I thought. It had a certain ring to it. I was fairly sure she'd earned it, and I was absolutely sure she'd have taken it either way.
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