Innes in Command
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 19
The viewport in the main observation lounge had been transformed. Someone had draped dark cloth along the bulkheads, muting the usual industrial gray, and the harsh station lighting had been dimmed. Kaiju filled the viewport beyond, its greenish-blue bands churning in their eternal patterns.
Innes stood near the back of the gathering, his dress uniform crisp and his hands clasped behind his back. Perhaps sixty people had assembled in the modest space, clustered in loose groups near the viewport. Some wore the practical jumpsuits of cargo handlers and dock workers. Others had clearly dressed for the occasion, in clothes that might have been wedding clothes or funeral clothes or simply the best they owned.
Commander Hua stood at the front, facing the assembly with his datapad held loosely at his side. The station commander had exchanged his usual administrative suit for a darker and more formal one.
“We gather today to honor those taken from us,” Jun said. “Not just those lost on the Andomaru three days ago, but all we have lost over the past year. Their names deserve to be spoken aloud, in the presence of those who loved them and the heavens behind me, so that their memory may live on, and grant them everlasting peace.”
Jun lifted his datapad and began to read.
“From the Andomaru, Gavan Kotarang. Nakor Halis. Fariya Rusman...”
The names continued as he listed all nineteen people who lost their lives on the Andomaru.
“ ... Lomak Mantel-Palas. Sumi Tengas.”
Jun paused, swiping to another list of names.
“From the freighter Sungvar, lost in the outer belt seven months ago, Captain Yera Muran. First Mate Dakus Wuteng...”
More names followed, on and on. Cargo crew who had shipped out on routine runs and never returned, passengers on transports that had simply vanished between stations, their fates confirmed only months later when debris fields were discovered, mining workers whose claims had gone silent and whose distress beacons had never been answered because there was no one close enough to answer them.
All lost to the uptick in piracy in the system.
As Jun read, sometimes family members, if they were present, would come forward to light candles. The tradition was Dongbei, Innes knew from his briefing materials, a way of honoring the dead.
The list took nearly four minutes to complete, with one hundred and forty-seven names read in total. Finally, Jun lowered his datapad and looked out at the assembly.
“The frontier asks more of us than the core worlds can understand. Every transit through the GATE, every cargo run through the belt, every shift on a mining claim carries risk that people on Haven and the other core worlds will never face. Politicians in comfortable offices debate policy while we bury our dead. The dead we honor today understood that risk. They accepted it because the frontier offers what older systems cannot: opportunity. It offers the chance to build something new and see it take shape. The manner of their deaths does not diminish what they built while living, and it does not erase the love they shared or the work they accomplished. They were parents and children, workers and dreamers, and they deserved better than what was done to them.”
He paused, allowing the people a moment’s silence to remember the dead.
“I also want to acknowledge the naval detachment assigned to this station. Three days ago, when the Andomaru called for help, they answered. Pilots and marines risked their lives to reach that ship and, because of their actions, thirty-one people came home to families who would otherwise be lighting candles today.” He turned slightly, his attention settling on Innes. “Ensign Kingsford led that rescue personally. On behalf of Shiro Station and the families of those survivors, I thank him and every member of his detachment.”
Innes inclined his head slightly, accepting the recognition while trying to ignore the uncomfortable attention from all of the eyes now on him. He had done his duty, which should be expected, not something to be praised. The fact that it stood out to Jun said more about the Republic than it did about Innes himself.
“Ensign Kingsford,” Jun said. “Would you address the gathering?”
The request caught Innes unprepared. Even growing up in his father’s shadow, he’d never been comfortable with public speaking and always took pains to rehearse and study beforehand, the preparation taking away some of the nerves. Not having that time made the invitation feel more like the floor had just been pulled out from under him.
Not that he had the option to decline. There were still politics involved, and he recognized the public gesture Jun was making.
“I know you’re asking why,” Innes started after he had moved to take Jun’s place in front of the crowd. “Why your loved ones? Why this system? Why now? I can’t give you a good answer to those questions. The universe doesn’t distribute suffering according to logic or fairness. People who deserved long lives died instead of those who bring suffering, and no amount of reasoning can make that acceptable.”
He paused, trying to gather his thoughts as fast as he could.
“The loss you feel won’t disappear. I lost my mother when I was young and I still carry that absence. What I can tell you is that the pain changes over time, and each day it becomes slightly easier until eventually the edges wear down and what remains are memories of good moments they left behind. Since I can’t offer you comfort from your loss or ease its sting, I will offer what I can instead: commitment. The pirates who prey on shipping through Kumo operate because previous efforts to stop them failed or proved insufficient. I will remember every name Commander Jun read today, because those deaths are now my responsibility. Every victim whose name was spoken represents a failure of protection that I inherit along with my command. So I commit to you now that I will do everything in my power to make this region safer, and I will make certain that the people responsible for what was taken from you pay for it.”
He stepped back, and for a long moment no one moved.
Then Commander Jun raised his hand in a signal to a worker by a comm panel near the door. A moment later, somewhere below them, the bodies were released from one of the docking bays.
The families turned toward the viewport as white-wrapped forms emerged from the station’s shadow, drifting outward toward Kaiju, pulled by its gravity. The tradition was old, going all the way back to the Diaspora and their long journey to the stars, if what Innes had read was correct. A return of the dead to the vastness from which all life had originally emerged. The bodies caught the light of the distant sun for a moment, pale shapes against the deep green of the gas giant, before they grew too small to distinguish from the scattered ice and dust that surrounded the planet.
Innes watched with the rest of them as the white-wrapped forms disappeared against Kaiju’s eternal storms, committed to the void.
The operations compartment door hissed open, and Paquette stepped through, still wearing his flight suit, the dark material creased at the joints from hours in a cockpit. His helmet was tucked under one arm, and his auburn hair was matted flat against his skull.
Innes rose from the console and met Paquette near the tactical display. The pilot shook his head before Innes could form the question.
“Nothing, sir.” Paquette set his helmet on the edge of the display table. “Six hours of sweeping every approach vector within two hundred kilometers of where we tagged that contact during the Andomaru rescue. We ran active scans at maximum gain the whole time. If there was anything out there bigger than a maintenance drone, we would have found it.”
Innes studied the tactical display, which showed the section of belt they had searched rendered in pale blue wireframe. Two hundred kilometers sounded like a lot, but in something the size of a belt, it was just a small sliver of it. The pirate attack was four days before, so if there was a ship there, it could have easily moved to another section by now.
And they’d never find it if it did. The asteroid density in that region made the display look cluttered, overlapping spheres and irregular shapes scattered across the projection volume like debris from an explosion frozen in time.
“Walk me through it.”
Paquette pulled up a recording overlay on the display, two yellow tracks weaving through the asteroid field in expanding spirals. “We took the outer perimeter, running standard search sweeps along every vector a ship might use to approach or depart that position. Then we took the interior, threading between the denser clusters where a larger vessel might try to hide using the asteroids for cover. We checked sensor shadows, mineral-heavy formations that might mask emissions, even a couple of abandoned mining rigs I spotted on the approach. Empty husks, nothing inside but vacuum and old equipment. This whole section is loaded with ferrous rock that creates sensor noise and can produce false returns under certain conditions. Between the combat stress on our equipment and the mineral interference, I could almost talk myself into believing we imagined the whole thing.”
Except he wasn’t the only one to see it.
“What does your gut tell you?”
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