You shake your head in frustration, but there is nothing that you can realistically do. You could protest the modifications being performed on the Night Horse once you are in command, but Lord Wynstryngham would come down like six tons of bricks on whomever was responsible for the ship not clearing the dock by years end and the Office of Ship Construction would happily point to your protests as the reason why. Not that you really want the old Shrike warp drive back anyways. You'll just have to make do with the new Kleinova drive and make it work somehow.

You juggle files on your tablet in search of assigned crew besides yourself. Traditionally there are eight departments: gunnery, navigation, engineering, repair, medical, supply, communications, and flight operations. You nod and mentally cross flight operations off of that list given that Night Horse has only the one landing bay and two shuttles. Navigation can handle the needed flight plans with the computerized and automated support built in to the Night Horse. That leaves seven departments that all need at least a single human body to command them. You start planning on which slot to badger the Office of Ship Manning to fill first.

There are good arguments for most of the departments. Communications and medical are where you expect to be short-handed given the total crew population of no more then twelve if the original Explorer class ships are anything to go by. With only a dozen people aboard there wouldn't be much communications traffic and the auto-doc can handle anything short of medical emergencies in the field. As you go through your tablet you find that there are no other crew currently assigned. You also find a memo from the Office of Ship Manning. It's only copped over to 'commanding officer, HMSCS Night Horse.' for information, but it's a bleak notice.

“Date: October 1st, 8251.

My Lords, the Office of Ship Manning regrets to inform you that no additional crew is available for assignment to HMSCS Night Horse at this date. Given that nature of the ship, It is anticipated that the current crew is sufficient for the required post-reactivation shakedown cruse but not for long-term deployment. Please refer the the attached documentation as needed in this regard.

Respectfully yours,

Rear Admiral William Rikhil, HMN, Commanding Officer, Office of Ship Manning.”

You lay back on your cot and stare at the overhead. You certainly have your fair share of freedom now! Solo crewing the Night Horse though a shakedown cruise will be an adventure all in itself. Spending it alone in the company of machines will be tiresome, though the FTL communications links will alleviate that somewhat. You pull up the present documentation on the Night Horse and her systems to delve into exactly how the Office of Ship Manning plans for you to control your new command. Automation must play a large part of it but how are you to command the automated and semi-automated systems?

December 1st, 8251

“Celesmore Flight Control to Night Horse, T minus sixty two minutes to launch.”

“Night Horse here CFC. T minus six two minutes from you mark.”

You rest your hands on the keyboards of the captain's chair on the bridge. It's about two weeks later then your predicted launch date and you were more then happy to let the yard take the fall for mucking up the installation of the number one laser emitter on the dorsal Thunder Strike emplacement. All you had to do was send in the ship's own diagnostic results and ask for an explanation then bull through the expected hand-waving. Your firmly-worded request for a correction of either the diagnostic system, the laser emitter, or both certainly set things in motion. You helped it along by slipping the disgruntled technician sent out to 'confirm' the yard's diagnosis a few credits to do a though search instead of just dotting the is and crossing the ts. That was enough to get him to rope a couple of dockworkers in long enough to pop the covers and start checking things, at which point the focusing emitter had damn near fallen on his foot.

That incident had been far past your expectations but it had also been well documented on all sorts of surveillance and recording equipment. Unable to sweep things under the rug and make it your problem post-launch the yard had swapped sides and pushed on this investigation, looking to pin it on some luckless contractor. They didn't have to look far after it was discovered that at least half the bolts holding it in place were short by two and a half centimeters. The paperwork was ongoing and some poor sod was going to wind up eating it for cutting that particular corner on this job.

“T minus thirty minutes Night Horse .”

“Night Horse acknowledges T minus three zero and counting CFC. Query: status on fueling?”

“Proceeding on schedule Night Horse. Reactor ignition start in three.. two... one...”

You watch the power readings climb on the repeater display and note the automated diagnostics ticking green one by one.

“Night Horse reporting reactor ignition within normal parameters. Power coming up to self-sustaining levels.”

“We show the same here. Moving to the next section of the checklist.”

You wait patiently as time winds by, checklist sections competing one after the other like clockwork, waiting on the final steps.

“T minus nine minutes. Docking sound off.”

“Tractors confirm lock and power threshold. Standing by to exert thrust.”

“Clamp releasing as scheduled.”

“Tractors exerting thrust.”

“Night Horse to CFC, we confirm release. Bit of flutter aft though.”

“CFC Tractors here, we see it too. Modulating thrust. We show stable ship at release point at T minus eight minutes.”

“Night Horse here, we concur. Main thrusters performing final self-checks now.”

“CFC here, we copy final self-checks. Looking green for drop on schedule Night Horse.”

“Agreed CFC. Hand off to last-stage launch automation complete here on our end.”

“Celesmore Flight Control to HMSCS Night Horse, this is CFC Launch Director. We show all final diagnostic checks passed at this time. First of ship of your subclass and largest ship to date to be sailed and commanded by a single man. Gods speed on your sea trials. Your are cleared to drop.”

“Night Horse to CFC, I suddenly feel quite alone in the company of automata. Night Horse is ready to drop.”

“T minus ten... nine... eight...”

You tune out the final seconds of the count and brace for the drop. You feel the tractors cut your ship loose in perfect synchronicity and the gravity of the world far below the sky-city take gentle hold. You feel your heart beat three times before the Night Horse's primary thrusters surge to life and the bow pitches up slightly. Already so high in the atmosphere it is the work of mere seconds to ascend to low planetary orbit and stabilize there. You suck air back into you lungs and check your proximity sensors. Even in passive mode, all you are allowed in a relatively congested shipping area, the board shows good returns off of a number of other craft, none of which are remotely close in proximity or vector to your ship and course.

“Celesmore Orbital Control to HMSCS Night Horse, welcome to the void. Good insertion, orbit is nominal. We're sending over transfer vectors to your parking orbit for final transshipment of supplies. Orbital warehouse Victor Nine Alpha is standing by to receive you.”

“Acknowledged COC, standing by for shift vectors to Victor Alpha Nine for transshipment. Good to be out here.”

“Fair warning Night Horse you have newsmen angling for a photo shoot. We've locked out the worst of the habitual safety perimeter violators but there's always some hotshot looking for a break.”

“Night Horse hears you COC. We'll keep an eye on our sensors and check our back blast but I doubt it'll help some poor fool if they decide to test my retro-thrusters before I have a chance to shake them down."