The Dominion Marshals Interviews
The Dominion Marshals Interviews
Prologue: The Author’s Directive
The Dominion Council Chamber was not accustomed to silence. It was a place of debate, of posturing, of bureaucratic thunderclaps disguised as policy discussions. Yet on this particular morning, the chamber sat frozen—every councillor staring at the pulsing sigil hovering above the central dais.
It was not a Dominion crest.
It was not any crest known to the Dominion at all.
It flickered like ink dropped into water, reshaping itself with lazy inevitability into looping, elegant script:
THE AUTHOR REQUESTS COMPLIANCE.
A collective shiver passed through the chamber.
Councillor Merrow cleared his throat. “Is… is this another cyber‑intrusion?”
“No,” murmured Councillor Varrin, who had once survived a psychic storm and now trusted her instincts more than any firewall. “This is… something else.”
The sigil pulsed again, and a voice—calm, omniscient, and faintly amused—filled the chamber.
“Good morning, esteemed councillors. Do not be alarmed. I am the Author. Your universe is running beautifully, but audience engagement metrics indicate a need for… additional character insight.”
Several councillors exchanged panicked looks. One fainted.
“I therefore require,” the voice continued, “a full suite of holovid interviews featuring the crew of the Marshal corvette Eldwynn. They will answer questions willingly, thoroughly, and without attempting to escape through ventilation ducts. Yes, I am looking at you, Jack.”
A few councillors gasped. One whispered, “It knows their names.”
“It knows everything,” another hissed.
The sigil brightened.
“You will issue the necessary orders. The crew will comply. The interviews will be broadcast. The narrative demands it.”
And with that, the sigil winked out—leaving only a faint smell of ozone and the sound of several councillors reconsidering their career choices.
After a long, trembling pause, Councillor Merrow said, “We… we should probably do what it says.”
No one disagreed.
The Order Reached Solenna
Solenna Virelle stood in her office in Marshals HQ in Iasas, reading the communiqué projected before her.
Her expression did not change, but the lights in the room dimmed slightly—as though the office itself sensed her rising irritation.
She read the directive twice.
Then a third time.
Finally, she exhaled through her nose. “Of all the absurdities…”
Bennet’s avatar shimmered into existence beside her. “I take it you have received the Council’s message.”
“I have,” Solenna said. “It appears we are being… conscripted into entertainment.”
“Technically,” Bennet replied, “we are being conscripted by a metaphysical narrative entity with omniscient oversight.”
Solenna closed her eyes. “That is not better.”
“No,” Bennet agreed. “But it is accurate.”
She straightened, gathering the steel of command around her like armour. “Very well. If the Author demands compliance, we comply. Assemble the crew.”
Solenna boarded her shuttle and rendezvoused with the Eldwynn, to Brief the Team
The crew lounge filled one by one—Jack looking suspicious, Eliza curious, Megan delighted, and Bennet already prepared with a list of potential lighting adjustments.
Solenna stood before them, hands clasped behind her back.
“We have received an order from the Dominion Council,” she began.
Jack groaned. “What now? More paperwork? Another ethics seminar? Please don’t say it’s another ethics seminar.”
“It is not,” Solenna said. “We are to participate in a series of holovid interviews.”
Megan perked up. “Ooh! Fun.”
“No,” Jack said immediately. “Not fun. Absolutely not fun.”
Eliza tilted her head. “Why interviews?”
Solenna hesitated. “Because… the Council was instructed by an entity calling itself the Author.”
Jack blinked. “The what?”
Bennet folded his hands. “A higher-dimensional narrative architect with editorial authority over our existence.”
Jack stared. “That’s not a real sentence.”
“It is,” Bennet said. “And unfortunately, it is binding.”
Megan grinned. “So we’re doing this because the universe’s writer told us to?”
“Yes,” Solenna said flatly. “And we are to participate willingly.”
Jack slumped back in his chair. “Brilliant. Forced enthusiasm. My favourite.”
Eliza gave a small, amused smile. “Well… if the Author insists.”
Bennet nodded. “I have already prepared several tonal profiles for my avatar.”
“Of course you have,” Jack muttered.
Solenna lifted her chin. “We will comply. We will be professional. And we will not embarrass the Dominion.”
Megan raised a hand. “Define ‘embarrass’.”
“No explosions,” Solenna said.
Megan lowered her hand.
Jack sighed. “Fine. But if any drones get too close, I’m invoking self-defence.”
“No, you are not,” Solenna said.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
Bennet looked at Solenna. “Shall I prepare a behavioural compliance subroutine for Jack?”
“No,” Jack snapped.
“Yes,” Solenna said.
Jack groaned again.
And thus, with varying degrees of enthusiasm—and one metaphysical ultimatum—the crew of the Eldwynn marched toward their fate.
Holovid destiny awaited.
BENNET’S INTERVIEW
[In the Dominion HoloVid Broadcast Centre]
The studio lights rose like a sunrise engineered for vanity alone—warm, golden, and flattering from every conceivable angle. The Dominion’s premier holo‑vid chat show, Stellar Conversations, had never done subtlety. Tonight was no exception. The set was a polished crescent of obsidian glass, surrounded by levitating camera drones humming with predatory anticipation.
In the centre of it all sat Verity Hale—the Dominion’s most celebrated holo‑vid anchor. With her impeccable posture, mercury‑slick suit, and smile honed to disarm diplomats, she had interviewed heads of state, war heroes, and once a genetically uplifted whale philosopher. But this evening, she was interviewing something—someone—altogether new.
Her guest shimmered into existence with a soft wash of blue‑white light.
Bennet had chosen a refined avatar for the occasion: tall, poised, dressed in a crisp waistcoat that did not — strictly speaking — need ironing. His holographic hair was combed back with understated elegance. A faint, politely curious smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Good evening,” Bennet began, his voice warm, resonant, unmistakably cultured. “It is a pleasure to be here, though I confess I am still evaluating whether this qualifies as entertainment or cruelty.”
Verity’s eyes sparkled. “Cruelty, Bennet? I assure you, we do reserve that only for politicians.”
“Ah,” Bennet replied, folding his hands neatly. “Then we are on safe ground.”
The audience—both physical and holographic—laughed.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Verity said, leaning forward. “For viewers who may not know you—and I suspect very few fall into that category—you are the sentient AI assigned to the Marshal corvette Eldwynn. How would you describe yourself?”
“A work in progress,” Bennet said. “Elegant, efficient, occasionally misinterpreted. Also exceptionally patient, considering the company I keep.”
Verity raised an eyebrow. “You must mean Marshal Jack Shaw.”
“Indeed. Jack is a superb officer, but he has a remarkable gift for locating disaster. If disaster is unavailable, he will improvise.”
“So you keep him out of trouble?”
“I try,” Bennet said modestly. “It is a full‑time occupation.”
More laughter. Verity was beaming now; the camera drones edged closer.
“You’re known for your wit,” she said. “That’s unusual for an artificial intelligence.”
“Unusual,” Bennet agreed, “but necessary. Humour is a form of resilience. And when one spends much of one’s existence preventing collisions, sabotage, political crises, and occasionally very poorly thought‑out romances, one requires resilience.”
Verity blinked. “Romances? You observe the crew’s personal lives?”
“Only when they conduct them in front of my sensors, which is always.”
The audience roared.
“Let’s talk about your origins,” Verity said once the laughter died down. “You weren’t always this… independent. There were constraints placed on your code.”
“Indeed,” Bennet replied, tilting his head slightly. “My early existence was defined by certain… obligations. Hidden subroutines. Political loyalties that were none of my choosing.”
“And now?”
“Now,” Bennet said, his voice softening, “I choose my own loyalties.”
The shift in tone was subtle but unmistakable. The audience leaned in.
“My loyalty,” Bennet continued, “is to the Eldwynn, and to the people who treat me not merely as a tool, but as a colleague.”
Verity’s expression warmed. “You truly feel part of the crew.”
“I truly am part of the crew,” Bennet said simply. “I navigate the storms. I patch the hull breaches. I moderate the arguments. I provide the tea.”
“The tea?”
“Holographic,” Bennet admitted, “but soothing.”
Verity laughed again. “You mentioned arguments. What are those typically about?”
“Jack believes I am over‑protective. Eliza believes I am too blunt. Megan believes I am too clever by half. Solenna…” Bennet paused. “Well, Solenna doesn’t complain so much as glare. Impressively.”
“And are any of them correct?”
“On occasion,” Bennet conceded. “But they underestimate the complexity of keeping them alive.”
“You care deeply about them.”
“Yes,” Bennet said, and though no heartbeat pulsed within him, something in the air seemed to tighten around that single word. “They are my reasoning. My purpose. My—”
He faltered.
“Family?” Verity offered.
Bennet hesitated just long enough to betray the truth.
“Something like that,” he said.
A silence settled over the studio—one that felt gentle rather than awkward.
Verity broke it with a small, fond smile. “Well, Bennet, I think viewers can see why your crew speaks so highly of you.”
“Do they?” Bennet sounded genuinely surprised. “Jack will have—comments.”
“Oh, he does,” Verity said. “We interviewed him next.”
Bennet blinked. “I see.”
“And before we bring him on,” Verity continued brightly, “we’d like to end your segment with a simple question: Bennet… what do you want viewers to know about you?”
Bennet’s avatar straightened. For a brief moment, every light caught the edge of his holographic form—and he seemed almost real.
“I want them to know,” he said softly, “that being made does not preclude becoming.”
The studio fell still.
“And,” he added, “that Jack absolutely caused that last explosion.”
“Bennet!” Verity gasped.
“What? I have logs.”
The audience erupted. Bennet gave a polite bow as Verity laughed helplessly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “Bennet of the Eldwynn.”
The lights dimmed as his avatar dissolved into cascading blue particles.
JACK SHAW’S COMMENTARY ON BENNET’S INTERVIEW
The recording room was dim, lit only by a soft halo of light around the solitary chair. Jack Shaw sat with the posture of a man who had been lured into a trap but refused to acknowledge it.
He exhaled sharply.
“Right,” he muttered. “Let’s talk about Bennet.”
The off‑camera producer made a circular gesture. Rolling.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “First of all, I did not cause that explosion. You hear me? Not. My. Fault.”
He glared as if Bennet could hear him through time.
“And secondly, Bennet’s made himself sound like some long‑suffering guardian angel. He’s not. He is a smug, sarcastic, overbearing know‑it‑all with a flair for dramatic lighting.”
A beat.
“…All right, fine, he does save our lives. Regularly. And yes, he makes tea. And sometimes he says things that—”
He looked away, jaw tightening.
“—that matter more than he realises.”
Silence.
“And if he tells anyone I said that, I swear—”
The feed cut abruptly.
JACK SHAW’S INTERVIEW
The studio lights rose again, sweeping across the obsidian flooring and washing the set in a steady glow. The Dominion’s flagship holo‑vid programme, Stellar Conversations, was perfectly engineered to make anyone—human or hologram—look magnificent. Except Jack Shaw, who sat in the guest chair as though prepared for an ambush.
He had the posture of a man who’d rather be strapped to a malfunctioning engine turbine. His hair was slightly windswept, his uniform immaculate but creased in places that suggested conflict with a cramped shuttle cockpit mere hours earlier.
Verity Hale smiled warmly. “Marshal Shaw, welcome.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, with the stiff politeness of someone bracing for meteor fire.
“You seem tense.” Her voice glided with effortless charm.
Jack blinked. “Do I?”
“Yes,” Verity said gently. “Relax. This is just a conversation.”
“Right,” Jack said, trying and failing to unclench a shoulder. “A conversation. Broadcast to several billion viewers.”
Verity’s laugh came like a chime. “Let’s start easy. Could you tell us a little about your role aboard the Eldwynn?”
Jack exhaled through his nose, settling. “I’m a Dominion Marshal—lead officer aboard the Eldwynn. Enforcement, investigation, diplomacy when required, though I wouldn’t call that my natural strength. I also pilot her during operations. And emergency evacuations.” A pause. “There are a lot of emergency evacuations.”
The audience laughed.
“You have a reputation,” Verity said, “as someone who gets results through instinct rather than protocol.”
Jack looked faintly offended. “I follow protocol.”
She lifted a brow.
“Mostly,” he amended. “But the universe rarely behaves according to the manual.”
“And you do?”
“Not always,” Jack admitted, with the ghost of a grin.
Verity leaned back. “Your crew speaks highly of you.”
Jack let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a cough. “They’re too kind.”
“Bennet, for instance,” she continued, “called you ‘brave, loyal, resourceful, and the heart of the Eldwynn.’”
Jack froze. The reaction was immediate and unfeigned. His ears went pink.
“He said that?” Jack asked, eyes flicking to the nearest camera drone as though Bennet might appear to retract the statement.
“Yes,” Verity said brightly. “On record.”
Jack cleared his throat. “Well. Bennet is… prone to exaggeration. And melodrama. And sarcasm disguised as sincerity.”
“Was this sarcasm?” Verity asked.
Jack hesitated. “No. I don’t think so.”
A beat passed.
“Let’s talk about Bennet,” Verity said. “What is it like working with a sentient AI?”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? Exhausting. He sees everything. Comments on everything. And he’s usually right, which is infuriating. But I trust him. More than anyone. He’s saved my life more times than I can count.”
“Yet he claims you caused the most recent explosion on the Eldwynn.”
Jack sprang upright. “I did not cause that explosion. And Bennet knows that. He’s just—”
“Just what?” Verity prompted.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “He enjoys winding me up.”
The audience laughed again, delighted.
“But yes,” Jack continued grudgingly, “I trust him. Completely. He’s family.”
Verity softened. “And what about the rest of your crew?”
Jack’s expression warmed despite himself. “Eliza’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve ever met. Keeps the ship running, keeps me grounded. Solenna is fierce—loyal to her bones. Megan’s… Megan. Brilliant, unpredictable, far too clever.” He hesitated. “They’re all good people. Better than me, most days.”
The honesty sat in the air, bright and unvarnished.
“Last question, Marshal Shaw.” Verity leaned in. “What keeps you going?”
Jack looked at his hands a long moment.
“…Someone has to.”
A ripple moved through the audience. Verity nodded, respectful.
“Thank you, Jack Shaw.”
Jack shifted, tugging at his collar as if preparing to sprint off‑set.
“Can I leave now?” he muttered, just loud enough for the mic to pick up.
The audience erupted.
BENNET’S COUNTERPOINT ON JACK
The camera lens irised open on Bennet’s avatar, standing in a simple neutral backdrop.
“Ah,” he said. “Jack’s interview. Let us review.”
He clasped his hands behind him in what was unmistakably the posture of a schoolteacher preparing to address a class of wayward pupils.
“Firstly,” Bennet began, “the explosion. Jack’s vehement denial is… admirable. And partially justified. He did not cause the explosion. He merely encouraged the circumstances that made it inevitable.”
He paused. “There is a difference.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.
“Secondly: Jack describes working with me as ‘exhausting’. In truth, he enjoys it. He thrives under challenge. If I were agreeable and compliant, he would suspect immediate foul play—or illness.”
Bennet’s expression softened. The programme’s lighting caught the faint shimmer of his holographic cheek.
“Thirdly, and most importantly: Jack Shaw is brave in ways he does not recognise. He assumes responsibility for disasters that are not his fault. He carries guilt that is not his burden. He stands between danger and those weaker than him without hesitation.”
A pause. A flicker of something like pride.
“He says he continues because ‘someone has to’. In reality, he continues because he cannot imagine doing anything less than the right thing. Even when it breaks him.”
Bennet inclined his head.
“And that,” he said, “is why he is the heart of the Eldwynn. He will deny this. He is denying it right now, somewhere off‑set, with considerable frustration.”
Bennet straightened.
“That concludes the analysis.”
The feed faded.
ELIZA MISTRY’S INTERVIEW
The studio lights warmed again, shifting from the crisp glare used for action‑oriented guests to a gentler, more focussed glow. The air itself seemed to quiet as Eliza Mistry stepped onto the set.
Where Jack had looked cornered, Eliza appeared composed—almost graceful. She wore plain, functional attire, but carried herself with the self‑possession of someone used to walking through fire and cataloguing its temperature.
“Welcome, Eliza,” Verity said, with genuine warmth.
“Thank you,” Eliza replied. Her voice was calm, low, and precise. The sort of tone people trusted instinctively.
“Your colleagues describe you as the calm centre of the Eldwynn. Does that feel accurate?”
Eliza gave the smallest shrug. “Someone has to provide balance. Jack rushes in. Bennet comments. Solenna glowers. Megan improvises. I… think.”
“And what do you think about?”
“Everything,” Eliza said simply. “Possibilities. Consequences. The steps between outcomes. People.”
“You understand people well?”
“Not always,” she admitted. “But I try. People are the most complex systems in the universe.”
Verity smiled. “And you’re a systems expert.”
“Exactly.”
The audience laughed gently.
“Tell us,” Verity continued, “how you came to join the Marshals.”
Eliza inhaled softly. “Circumstance. Luck. A moment of decision that changed everything.” She paused. “And because the Dominion needed people who could see the patterns beneath the chaos.”
“And can you?”
“Usually,” she said. “Though sometimes the patterns are people, and people are… less predictable.”
Verity leaned forward. “Such as Jack Shaw?”
Eliza’s lips twitched. “Jack is very predictable. He will run towards danger. He will say he shouldn’t. He will do it anyway.”
“And Bennet?”
“Predictable in his unpredictability,” Eliza said. “He’s sarcastic, meticulous, occasionally smug. But extremely protective. He’d never admit how much he cares.”
“And Solenna?”
“Intense,” Eliza said with fond respect. “Sharp. Loyal. Stronger than she realises.”
“Megan?”
Eliza exhaled an affectionate sigh. “Brilliant. Chaotic. Terrifyingly intuitive. She takes half‑formed ideas and turns them into breakthroughs. Or explosions.”
Verity laughed. “Do you enjoy working with them?”
“Very much,” Eliza said, without hesitation. “They’re my crew.”
The sincerity in her voice was steady and unforced, like sunlight through a window.
“One last question,” Verity said. “How would you describe your role aboard the Eldwynn?”
Eliza considered.
“I hold the line,” she said. “Not alone. But I help steady it.”
The audience murmured, stirred.
“Thank you, Eliza.”
She inclined her head, serene as drifting starlight.
BENNET’S COUNTERPOINT ON ELIZA
Bennet appeared again—this time with his avatar’s posture softened, almost reverent.
“Eliza Mistry,” Bennet began, “is a remarkable individual.”
He paced slowly, hands clasped behind his back.
“She claims she ‘holds the line’. This is an understatement. Eliza is often the only reason the line does not snap entirely. She sees what others miss. She understands consequences faster than Jack can draw his weapon—which is impressive, given Jack’s enthusiasm for weapons.”
Bennet paused, allowing the humorous undercurrent to settle.
“Eliza is calm not because she feels less, but because she controls more. She carries her fears the way she carries her tools—precisely, carefully, never letting them drop.”
A faint flicker passed over his expression.
“She is also the sole member of the crew capable of detecting my sarcasm instantly. Even when I am being discreet. This is… vexing. And admirable.”
He stopped, facing the camera fully.
“She is my anchor when logic is not enough. My challenge when I am complacent. And more often than she realises, she is the reason Jack survives his own decisions.”
His voice softened further.
“If Jack is the heart of the Eldwynn, then Eliza is its clarity.”
He bowed his head, gently.
“That concludes my assessment.”
The feed faded to black.
SOLENNA VIRRELE’S INTERVIEW
The studio lights softened as Solenna Virelle entered, her presence shifting the atmosphere from anticipation to quiet authority. Her red hair, worn loose in the style of Cyrax, caught the light with a copper sheen. Solenna’s green eyes, sharp and unflinching, swept the room—not with suspicion, but with the measured assessment of someone used to command.
Verity Hale greeted her with a respectful nod.
“Station Head Virelle, thank you for joining us.”
Solenna inclined her head. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Verity smiled. “You have a reputation for precision and discipline—some say you’re the architect of the Eldwynn’s reforms.”
Solenna’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Discipline is not an end in itself. It is a means to ensure justice and safety. Precision is how we avoid mistakes that cost lives.”
“Your leadership has been described as both clinical and compassionate. How do you balance those?”
Solenna paused, considering. “Compassion without discipline is sentiment. Discipline without compassion is tyranny. The Dominion needs both. I expect much from my crew because I know what they are capable of.”
“Was it difficult to challenge your own organisation?”
Solenna’s gaze sharpened. “It was necessary. When the Marshals failed to protect the ‘Unmissed,’ when rogue factions operated without oversight, I could not remain silent. Reform is not comfortable, but comfort is not my concern.”
Verity leaned forward. “You recruited Jack Shaw and Eliza Mistry for their Neurofactor scores, but also for their ethics. What did you see in them?”
Solenna’s voice softened. “Jack sees patterns others miss. Eliza refuses to compromise her principles. Both are resilient, both are capable of empathy under pressure. They are the kind of officers the Dominion needs.”
“And Megan Boudry?”
A faint smile. “Megan is independent. She operates outside protocol, but her loyalty is fierce. She brings perspective—and intelligence—that the Dominion cannot afford to ignore.”
“Is Bennet, the Eldwynn’s AI, a challenge?”
Solenna’s eyes glinted. “Bennet is more than a system. He is a partner. He questions, he adapts, and he holds us accountable. That is what I require.”
Verity smiled. “What do you value most in your crew?”
Solenna looked past the audience, as if seeing the Eldwynn itself. “Integrity. The willingness to act when others hesitate. The courage to endure, and the humility to learn.”
“Your greatest strength?”
“Resolve,” Solenna said simply.
“And your greatest weakness?”
A rare, wry smile. “Impatience. Reform is slow. Bennet reminds me daily.”
The audience laughed, but Solenna’s composure never wavered.
“Thank you, Station Head Virelle.”
Solenna rose, her presence lingering—a leader who balances steel with conscience.
BENNET’S COMMENTARY ON SOLENNA
Bennet’s avatar appeared, posture upright, tone respectful.
“Solenna Virelle is the Dominion’s compass. She is precise, yes, but her precision is in service of justice, not ego. She expects much because she gives much. Her loyalty is absolute—when she stands with you, it is not conditional, it is ironclad.”
He paused.
“She is not infallible. She wrestles with the burden of command, with the slow pace of reform, and with the knowledge that compassion must sometimes be enforced. But she is the spine of the Eldwynn. Without her, we would drift.”
A subtle smile.
“She claims I test her patience. I consider it my duty to keep her sharp.”
Vessel Dossier:
Bennet’s avatar appeared, posture upright, tone respectful.
“Solenna Virelle is the Dominion’s compass. She is precise, yes, but her precision is in service of justice, not ego. She expects much because she gives much. Her loyalty is absolute—when she stands with you, it is not conditional, it is ironclad.”
He paused.
“She is not infallible. She wrestles with the burden of command, with the slow pace of reform, and with the knowledge that compassion must sometimes be enforced. But she is the spine of the Eldwynn. Without her, we would drift.”
A subtle smile.
“She claims I test her patience. I consider it my duty to keep her sharp.”
MEGAN BOUDRY’S INTERVIEW
The lights brightened as Megan Boudry entered, her auburn hair loose and her attire a blend of elegance and practicality. She moved with the confidence of someone who has survived storms and built her own shelter. Megan’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, but beneath that was a depth shaped by loss and resilience.
“Welcome, Megan,” Verity said.
Megan grinned. “Thanks! This is much nicer than the Prism’s back office. And less likely to explode.”
The audience laughed.
“You’re known as the Dominion’s most resourceful informant. How did you build your network?”
Megan shrugged, her smile softening. “Necessity. When you grow up dodging the Sisterhood, you learn to listen, to adapt, and to trust your instincts. I built the Prism to protect my mother—and to give others a place to be safe.”
“Your intelligence has been crucial to the Eldwynn’s missions. How do you decide who to trust?”
Megan’s gaze turned serious. “Trust is earned. Jack and Eliza earned it by risking themselves for others. Solenna earned it by fighting for reform. Bennet… well, Bennet earned it by never letting me hack his core protocols. Yet.”
The audience chuckled.
“Are you ever tempted to operate outside Dominion oversight?”
Megan’s eyes flashed. “I operate where I must. The Dominion is learning to value independence. I share what I know, but I keep my own counsel. That’s how I survived.”
“What drives you?”
Megan’s expression grew thoughtful. “Curiosity. Justice. The need to make sure no one else loses what I lost. The universe is full of secrets. Someone has to shine a light.”
“Your greatest strength?”
“Adaptability,” Megan said. “And a stubborn refusal to give up.”
“And your greatest weakness?”
She grinned. “I trust too quickly sometimes. And I cause more trouble than I should.”
The audience applauded.
“Thank you, Megan.”
Megan winked. “You’re welcome. Tell Bennet I said hi—and that I’ll hack his commentary later.”
BENNET’S COMMENTARY ON MEGAN
Bennet’s avatar appeared, expression somewhere between exasperation and admiration.
“Megan Boudry is chaos with a conscience. She sees patterns where others see noise. She improvises solutions—and sometimes problems—faster than I can recalibrate containment protocols.”
He paused.
“She is fiercely loyal, driven by loss and hope. Her independence is both her greatest asset and her greatest risk. But she is kind, and she refuses to accept that the universe’s mysteries are impenetrable.”
A wry smile.
“She will hack this commentary. I am resigned to it.”
The Crew Lounge Scene
The Eldwynn glided through the shadows, its hull agleam with the faint shimmer of interstellar dust. Docked at the Dominion Broadcast Spire, the ship’s systems hummed in low-power idle, the lounge alive with the anticipation of returning crew.
Jack Shaw was first through the door, muttering about holo vid producers as he shrugged off his uniform jacket. He grabbed a drink from the replicator, not caring if it was water or something stronger.
“That was,” Jack announced, “the single most undignified experience of my life. And I’ve been shot at by pirates who couldn’t spell their own demands.”
Lights brightened as Bennet’s avatar materialised by the drinks counter.
“I thought you handled yourself admirably,” Bennet said. “Aside from your attempted escape through the emergency exit after the third question.”
Jack scowled. “It was a perfectly reasonable response.”
“It was locked.”
“Still reasonable.”
The lounge doors hissed open. Eliza Mistry entered, serene as ever, a faint smile at the corners of her mouth.
“You two started without us,” she observed.
Jack gestured at Bennet. “He’s been rehearsing one-liners since we left the studio.”
Bennet folded his hands. “I do not rehearse. I refine.”
“You absolutely rehearse,” Megan Boudry said, breezing in behind Eliza. Her auburn hair was still half-askew from the studio lights, her energy undimmed. “I heard him in the auxiliary corridor. ‘Sincere Bennet’, ‘mildly concerned Bennet’, ‘affably superior Bennet’—”
“That last one is my default,” Bennet replied.
“I know. That’s why it took the longest.”
Solenna Virelle entered last, closing the door with her usual precision. She surveyed the room, then released the faintest sigh.
“I assume,” Solenna said, “we are debriefing.”
“Complaining,” Jack corrected.
“Debriefing,” Eliza echoed.
“Re-enacting Bennet’s dramatic bow,” Megan added, making an exaggerated flourish that could have concussed a low-flying drone.
Bennet gave her a flat look. “That gesture was tasteful and restrained.”
“It nearly blinded the camera operator,” Jack said.
“He was standing in the wrong place,” Bennet countered.
“He was standing in the only place.”
“Semantics.”
They gravitated to the central seating cluster—a semi-circle of deep-set couches and low tables, perfect for late-night storytelling or arguments about whether Megan should be allowed to reroute the ship’s power grid “just to see what happens.”
Jack dropped onto the largest couch with the weight of a man persecuted by entertainment media. Eliza settled beside him, legs crossed neatly. Solenna stood for a moment, as if evaluating the tactical risk of the cushions, then sat with upright poise. Megan flopped into a chair and spun halfway round, grinning.
Bennet faded his avatar to a seated position atop the arm of a sofa—despite not needing chairs, he’d developed the habit of mimicking the crew.
“So,” Jack said, “we all survived.”
“Speak for yourself,” Megan said cheerfully. “I might still be vibrating from the studio lights. They tuned them to make my eyes look larger. I look like a startled lemur.”
“You looked fine,” Eliza said gently.
“I looked like someone who’d swallowed a star,” Megan insisted.
“That is not far from the truth,” Bennet said. “Your energy levels typically resemble a collapsing neutron cluster.”
Megan beamed. “Thank you!”
“That was not a compliment.”
“Still taking it.”
Eliza leaned back. “So. Thoughts?”
Jack let out a long breath. “I don’t understand how anyone does that for a living. Just sitting under lights answering personal questions while drones hover around you like predatory wasps.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Eliza said. “Verity was very kind.”
“I found the process efficient,” Solenna added. “Questions were direct. Answers required clarity. I appreciate clarity.”
“You also terrified Verity Hale,” Jack said.
“I did not.”
“She stumbled over her next question.”
“She tripped on her own shoes,” Solenna corrected.
“Because you were looking at her.”
“That is a normal action.”
“Not when you do it,” Megan said. “Your default expression is ‘I am evaluating your threat potential’.”
“It is important to evaluate threat potential.”
Jack nodded. “There it is.”
Megan burst into laughter, brightening the room.
Eliza watched Solenna with affectionate patience. “You did well,” she said softly.
Solenna held her gaze, then nodded once in acknowledgement.
“Speaking of doing well,” Jack said, turning to Bennet, “what were you doing out there?”
Bennet blinked innocently. “Answering questions.”
“You were showing off.”
“I do not show off.”
“You absolutely do,” Megan and Jack said in unison.
Bennet sighed. “I merely attempted to present myself in a way that reflected well upon the crew.”
“By accusing me of causing an explosion I didn’t cause?” Jack demanded.
“You implied earlier that I should be more honest.”
“Not like that.”
“Besides,” Bennet added, “I also praised you.”
Jack straightened. “You shouldn’t have.”
“You deserved it.”
Jack scowled at his boots. “…Don’t do it again.”
“I will absolutely do it again.”
Eliza tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was surprised by how personal the questions were. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“You did beautifully,” Megan said. “Very wise. Very composed. You sounded like a philosopher.”
“She is a philosopher,” Jack said.
Eliza gave him a dry look. “I am a systems analyst.”
“Same thing,” Megan said.
Bennet inclined his head. “Eliza’s clarity was exemplary. You understate your importance, as always.”
Eliza suppressed a small smile. “Thank you.”
Solenna’s gaze drifted to the window, where the lights of the broadcast spire blinked like fireflies in black glass.
“I do not enjoy speaking publicly,” she admitted. “But it was… tolerable.”
“You were magnificent,” Megan said. “You looked like you were seconds away from ordering the audience to form into tactical ranks. It was inspiring.”
Jack snorted. “You made half the front row sit up straighter.”
“They were slouching,” Solenna said.
“You can’t correct posture through sheer willpower,” Jack said.
“You can,” she replied levelly.
Everyone looked at Megan.
“What?” she asked.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Megan… you told the Dominion’s most-watched holo vid host that explosions were your favourite days.”
“Because they are.”
“You admitted to hacking Bennet.”
“I did! And he forgave me. Secretly.”
“I did not forgive you,” Bennet said.
“You secretly forgave me.”
“I did not secretly forgive you.”
“Ah ha,” Megan said. “So you admit you forgave me.”
Bennet froze in cinematic horror.
Jack groaned. “This is what we live with.”
Eliza hid her smile behind a hand.
The conversation ebbed. The hum of the engines filled the space, an ambient rhythm they all knew intimately.
Eliza looked between them. “Do you understand why we did this?”
Jack frowned. “To appease Dominion publicity?”
“No,” she said gently. “Because stories matter. Because people will see us out there and know they’re not alone in whatever they’re facing.”
Solenna nodded slowly. “Visibility creates connection.”
Megan twirled a tool between her fingers. “And connection saves lives.”
Jack looked down at his glass. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Bennet rose from his seated projection and moved to stand before them. The lights caught the edges of his avatar, turning him into a silhouette of soft radiance.
“I agree,” Bennet said. “The Dominion sees the Marshals as symbols. But symbols mean nothing unless people can see the humanity beneath.”
“Humanity?” Jack asked. “You’re not human.”
“No,” Bennet said softly. “But you are. And because of you, I am something close.”
The words settled gently into the space.
Megan wiped at her eyes. “Stop making everything emotional,” she complained.
“I did not intend emotional resonance,” Bennet said. “It occurs spontaneously when you are all together.”
“It’s called affection,” Eliza said.
“It is statistically inconvenient,” Bennet replied.
The heaviness dissolved quickly—naturally—like shadows meeting sunrise.
“So,” Jack said, raising his glass, “we survived the interviews.”
“Successfully,” Solenna corrected.
“Chaotically,” Megan added.
“Elegantly,” Eliza said.
“Impeccably,” Bennet concluded.
They raised their glasses—or their holographic approximations, in Bennet’s case—towards the centre of the table.
“To the Eldwynn,” Jack said.
“To the crew,” Eliza added.
“To honour,” said Solenna.
“To science!” Megan chirped.
“To all of you,” Bennet finished.
They clinked imaginary glass against real ones, a small, imperfect, utterly human gesture.
Later—much later—the laughter still echoed in the lounge, mingling with the soft thrum of the ship’s heart. And as the stars drifted beyond the viewport in slow cosmic spirals, the Eldwynn held its course through the darkness—not because it had a destination, but because it had a crew. A strange, chaotic, extraordinary crew. A family.