"Dive into the darkest waters. Step out into the black. And above all, trust yourself, Miran,"
Miran-Yi Nagoya ran through the words in her head as clearly as if her father were there speaking them to her. She knew that despite him being long since passed on, his wisdom held. His words always had a way of centering on her when she found herself frustrated and angry.
Now, more than ever, she would need those words as she found herself in an interrogation room on The Dream of Earth, capitalship of the fleet. It had been several years since she had last been in one of these rooms. She'd forgotten how dimly lit they can be. There was a winding squeak from the air recyclers, and the paint on the walls and the chair she sat on had begun to chip. The whole place had a mild, ever-present stench of burning metal.
"It's past time to change the bearings on that air recycler," Miran said, trying not to take the whole situation too seriously.
The man sitting opposite her in a tightly fitted naval jacket had three woven insignia; a triple chevron denoting his rank as captain, a circle strung with the eleven stars of the Federation, and an auroch with wide horns roaming green pastures, a symbol of their shared fleet known as the Cattleheart flock. His face was freshly shaved, his yellow hair trim and greased back, and his posture wreaked of a man drilled by tradition. He was handsome too.
"Miran-Yi Nagoya," The man said, his arms crossed on the table with one hand resting on the other's wrist. His free fingers rapped the table with boredom, "you know why you're here."
"Let's drop the preamble, Soren," Miran said, "It's not like there's much point to any of this."
"Captain Djucovik," Soren said, correcting her. "And for this interrogation, I would hope that you might defer to my appropriate title."
"Sorry, Captain," She rephrased, "proceed."
"As I was saying, you know why you are here. But, for the sake of the recording, let's lay out all the facts, shall we?"
Miran nodded.
"Thirty-eight hours ago, the last of twelve reported missing persons disappeared before starting their daily shift, is that correct?" Soren asked.
Miran nodded again. He continued, "–and the first of which went missing not more than three weeks before that. Now, those missing were all living aboard this ship and serving in your private guard, some with families on board as well, if I'm not mistaken?"
"That's correct," Miran confirmed.
"And so far, no exhaustive attempt has been made to uncover their whereabouts to the best of your knowledge?"
"Also correct."
"These men and women, they were all crew members. They are vanishing without so much as a trace, except for the frightened gossip of their families. We have hundreds of thousands of families just like onboard ships throughout the Cattleheart. We must look to someone for answers. Someone is responsible."
The Cattleheart flock, a nomadic flotilla of one hundred and ninety-eight military frigates, corvettes and other warships, mobile habitats, factory ships, and other mixed-use vessels of varying ages, housed a vast collective of humanity; as did other similar flocks in the Herd Federation. These flocks, subservient to no terrestrial footing, roamed the space between stars, only stopping at the Federation's few worlds for the occasional resupply of commodity goods and transfer of personnel. It was the endless travelling, from watering hole to watering hole, of these flocks that gave the Herd Federation its name. The millions of bodies – skipping from ship to ship – that called the Flock home represented a blend of unique cultures from throughout the Human Hold Worlds.
On these long voyages between systems, sometimes spanning several years, it was to each other that they sought reliance. Outside in the unknown, they had to depend on their neighbours.
"I know," Miran said, notably frustrated, "And you've no one to blame but myself."
"You understand protocol. I know. You've drilled protocol and procedure into me endlessly over the years," Soren said, his tone shifting to understanding, "you have mentored me, and for that, I am grateful, but that will not prevent an inquiry as is demanded by Federation law."
"So clap me in irons, then. I'm not sure what good that would do you."
"We have families to answer to. You are their Matriarch, their leader. You must be our light of guidance. That's what they elected you for. Locking you away would do no one any good," Soren pressed.
Miran knew she could simply get up from her seat and walk out, leaving formality behind. Though sitting here and submitting to an inquiry she hoped would hold some weight in the scheme of things.
She could see that Soren was having a difficult time masking his bias. As the senior ranking available military officer not stationed onboard her own flagship, he was bound by duty to perform the interrogation regardless of personal entanglements. And he was right. She had known for several days that the ultimate blame rested on her shoulders. She was Matriarch, after all, governor and sole ruler of the whole Cattleheart Flock. As such, she needed to act like it in desperate times such as these, not just in calm waters. What she wouldn't give to hear her father's advice right now.
Part of her wanted to escape, to back into a corner, bite and gnaw, and pass the blame to someone else as she had done when she was small. She knew that would be stupid; knew that at times like this, the people deserved a leader. Her father raised her to be better.
She nodded for Soren to continue.
"You are bound by the Herd to resolve the issue, to discover what has happened to our missing," said Soren, barely hiding his discomfort, "Failing that, you and only you will be held accountable. What say you?"
"It's time we get to the bottom of this," Miran said.
Sorren nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer and happy to have the whole mess over with. He stood, tapping his tablet to release the interrogation room door lock.
"Where do we start?" Soren asked.
"First, we have a party to plan," said Miran, "though I suppose we'll need to keep this whole business of our missing quiet for now. That would rule out any from my crew since they have far more ties with the families of the missing. Best we get a group of your finest over from your ship, Soren."
"You're forming some sort of secret task force?" Soren said.
"Precisely. Secret being the operative word here. Send for them in a day. I'll have quarters set up for them in one of The Dream's commerce levels. Not a prying eye in sight except for a few service bots."
"And our orders are?" asked Soren.
"Gather information on the missing and their families, their close ties, and see if you can't turn up a body or two? And above all, do be discreet." Miran said.
Soren nodded, turning to leave.
"Oh and Soren?" Miran asked after him, "you did well today."
He smiled before disappearing behind the door frame.
Miran let out a long breath. Her mind wandered amongst the missing, her duty, and began to lead her down a path of frustration over things she can't control. Until she remembered the preparations that still needed to be done.
Her flock was currently in orbit around the Valen system, one of the outermost in the whole of The Federation, let alone human space. Out past what her star-charts could tell her, were the realms of the trader Vass to the galactic east, whom she had had many dealings with in the past, and the isolationist Quisabar to the galactic north whom she knew little of. The other side of the charts far outside was referred to as the Rift Quarter – a region of the galaxy dotted by open paths through space known as rifts – were unknown to anyone she'd come across.
They had arrived in Valen several weeks ago to give her troops a much-needed break from ship life to explore the world's lush farmland and mountain ranges. It had given some of the flock's older ships time to take advantage of Valen's orbital shipyards to conduct much-needed repairs in the safety of drydock and specialise atmospheric chambers; some of the repairs having been on record for years.
The flock also took this time to stock new forms of crops and livestock unique to Valen's geography. They stocked all sorts of commodity goods too, loading their holds with a vast array of items to sell. And they would need them.
The Cattleheart and Miran had been summoned. An event that happened once every ten years, was set and a convergence of a flock with a terrestrial federation world was coming. Miran had only a few days more to ready her fleet and recall her citizens before they began their journey to Bordeaux's Folly, a peculiarly named world though Miran knew not the significance. Preparations were being made for a gaudy display of martial prowess and extravagant cooperation, unity and formality between the visiting factions of the federation, all culminating in aerial and ground-level processions known simply as Parade.
But this wasn't the only reason she had been summoned. Parade being a welcome result of two factions meeting, Miran and several hundred of her commanders, ship captains, and intelligence officers were set to attend a summit in the world's capital of Risen. There, they would meet to discuss matters that the local Matriarch, Brenna Lathe had described to her as, of dire importance and extreme sensitivity.
All this while she was dealing with those missing. She would have to take extreme care if she wanted to keep morale up while also getting to the bottom of things.