December 10th, 8251

You wait in the landing bay for the transfer shuttle to land. Celesmore Orbit Control had notified you of an incoming personnel transfer, so it has to be one or more of your new crewmen. You fold your hands at the small of your back and try to emanate an air of calm confidence. You know full well your aren't completely successful, but at least making an attempt at keeping up appearances comes with the rank. The transfer shuttle touches down with a finicky series of thruster bursts before letting its mass settle on the landing legs. The side hatch opens and a figure jumps out without bothering with the still unfurling embarkation ramp. He lands on his feet, staggers for a moment under the weight of his kit bag, then straitens up and raps on the edge of the ramp sharply.

“Last man out Ice Pea.”

You can't hear the reply from inside the shuttle, almost certainly because it's sent over a hull-bounced radio link, but the man laughs it off.

“Clearing the LZ Ice Pea. Don't get yourself all in a twist. I've been doing that since I could walk.”

You clear your throat to add a bit of emphasis to the breached 'welcome aboard' protocols. This has to be Midshipman Huckle. He turns, steps to the edge of the marked landing circle, and comes to attention.

“Midshipman Douglass Huckle, Reporting for duty.”

You wait the extra moment for the embarkation ramp to fully unfurl and touch down before responding, taking the time to eye up your new crewman. He stands a bit taller then average, and a bit gaunt, but that just might be the new-issued Surveyor's Corps void suit with it's magnetic-soled boots. He has a slightly-battered flack vets over it with slightly-dated Royal Marine webbing and a battered kit bag to match. You spot the transit locked clear polymer hard cases for weapons and pick out Royal Marine standard issue shipboard weapons; a Lancaster Mk5 laser pistol and Model 51A Laser Carbine. Your eyebrows raise a hair but your recall your own 'take homes' from your time in boarding and counter-boarding parties.

Refocusing your attention on the man himself you note the bald head studded with faux-brass plating and scars and the fake-brass half mask that covers Midshipman Huckls lower face and throat. Any further cybernetics are concealed beneath his apparel but the damage is evident and obvious. Watery blue eyes look out from a fair skinned face at you with increasing concern.

“Welcome aboard Midshipman. I'm Captain Warde, your commanding officer. Nice stunt there.”

You suppress a grin as Midshipman Huckle's eyes go wide and he swallows.

“Don't sweat it too hard Midshipman. I'm a mustang myself and the only other crew aboard at the moment so the rumor mill has already run its course. That being said I'd appreciate it if we could hold off on spinning up the auto-doc for as long as possible.”

“Noted Sir.”

“At ease Midshipman. Let's get off the deck so the shuttle can lift. Grab a ship map if you haven't already and stow your kit. It's all officer's quarters so pick your bunk. We're on standard ship time, synced to capital time, and the five-credit tour is after dinner. Meet me at the bridge then and we'll go from there.”

“Yes Sir.”

“I'll be in my cabin with the paperwork if you need anything. The Automatons are good, but they're as literal and linear as any computer I've ever encountered, so don't be afraid to ask the dumb questions. Dismissed.”

You trade salutes with Midshipman Huckle and head your separate directions. You head back towards your quarters to wrestle with more paperwork and he heads aft towards the fuel tanks and engineering spaces. You want to shake your head seeing as all the quarters are in the same place but you stifle the urge. The onboard sensors can track his location easily enough if you need to know where he went.

An hour later, with two hours to go before dinner, your tablet chimes with an anomaly notification. One of the crew automatons has encountered something that standing regulations do not have an automatic answer to. You tap the alert and bring it up before stifling a laugh and dismissing the alert. You are damn certain that Midshipman Huckle has managed to start constructing a still down in one of the chemical labs. You had left them idle, having no real use for them and too buried in paperwork to find one, but you suppose that a still was inevitable with a (ex) Royal Marine aboard. Just what Midshipman Huckle intends to distill for his hooch does leave you wondering... and resolving not to ask if it is at all palpable. Distilled water and energy mixes are well enough but a bit of off-duty social lubricant would not go amiss.

December 11th, 8251

You and Midshipman Huckle standing in the lander bay awaiting the Ice Pea's return. Once again she floats in and sets down with the same finicky thruster bursts and opens a side hatch. The passenger this time clearly waits for the all clear to leave their seat and disembark as it is several moments before you see them at the top of the fully-deployed embarkation ramp. He grasps for a guard rail that isnt there for a moment before re-settling his kit bag on his back, gripping the straps tightly, and walking to the end of he embarkation ramp.

As he walks you take note of his appearance. Tall and skinny like a proverbial beanpole but with a reasonable amount of lean muscle visibly wrapped around his limbs. Tan skinned, brown haired, and blue eyed you would write him off as unremarkable if not for the quick stride and nervous rhythmic clenching of his hands.

“Midshipman Bryn Engel requesting permission to board.”

You nod in appreciation of the rote formula being followed. “Granted Midshipman.”

Midshipman Engel steps off the end of the embarkation ramp and comes to attention. “Midshipman Engel reporting for duty Captain.”

“Welcome aboard the Night Horse Midshipman. At ease. As you may have guessed I'm Captain Warde and this is Midshipman Huckle. I'll leave him to guide you to quarters and help you get you kit stowed away, then you two can run the ship tour together after lunch. More MREVs is all we have I'm afraid until we make our pre departure supply request. Movement orders haven't come in, but we have official notice that they are en route 'soon'.”

“Aff Sir.”

“Yes Sir.”

You raise an eyebrow at Midshipman Engel's odd phrasing but shrug it off as a quirk of those born and raised on a garden world.”

“Right, task designations. Midshipman Huckle, you have Engineering first and foremost, plus Repair if we need it. Concentrate on Engineering and keep an eye on Repair, we'll have a dockyard take care of anything we can't fix up ourselves anyway. Midshipman Engel, you have Supply. I have a partial list of what we need, but we'll have a sit down to hash out the final list before it gets submitted.

“Yes, head of department is a high position for a Midshipman on their first cruse. No, I'm not granting the promotion to go with the position at this time. It's a matter of there being no one else in the department at all, so you have no direct report short of me. Yes it's an ad hock mess, but the three of us here are twenty five percent of the Night Horse's total designed human crew. The other nine human berths are vacant at this time and the Office of Ship Manning 'regrets to inform' us that they are not likely to be filled before our movement orders arrive.

“Midshipman Huckle may have already figured it out, but I'll spell it out for the record. The vast majority of the Night Horse's crew are automatons. The ship herself is rated as 'semi automated' which means under nominal circumstances she can more or less run herself. We humans are here to give the needed orders and handle any anomalies that crop up. Expect a lot of sensors and auto-populated forms that just need a sign off, routine tasks handled by remote automaton on schedule or on command, and the like.

“I'll leave the two of you to get settled in and begin adjusting to your new duties. Dismissed.”