Did you know? That if the Starsong were granted a boon of Olympus, and at once came into possession of ships and loyal souls enough to grow their fleet tenfold? The underworld would hardly know the difference. Sure, fewer would live under the heels of local tyrants and the long shadow of the Empire, and that would surely be a blessing. But it wouldn’t be enough. The edges of the former Empire needed so much more.

And, it shouldn’t be that hard. It doesn’t feel like it ought to be that hard, when what is bountiful on one planet may save lives on another. But worlds need more than the occasional passing ship to see the stars as anything more than dream and decoration. A regular flow of goods demands the impossible logistics of dedicated ships, moving between planets with anything approaching a reliable schedule. It begs trust, that when you give your possessions to the creatures that came from the stars, they will return again, at some point, with something they say you need. All this, without even considering the risk of the Armada striking wherever the Starsong put roots down.

“I can hardly imagine it.” Dolce shakes his head in wonder. “I would very much like to see it, sir Mars.” And then, a light shines in his eyes. “You know, that reminds me; our ship is attempting a system that’s not unlike the one above. We don’t know what it will be, exactly, but that’s the whole point; we’re abandoning the idea of a single Captain controlling the ship, and coming together, all of us, to decide how we would like the ship to run instead. Anyone who’s passing through the Rift will have their say. I don’t represent anyone myself, but I will be on hand to help mediate...”

Just mediate. And after that? Once they’ve decided on what will replace him?

Traditionally, the role of Captain was one that led to higher advancement in the political sphere, as he understood it. He did not think any would be racing to try and woo him to a new post. His service had been…adequate, certainly. He had brought them to their destination, as best as he could, and no one had asked him for anything more than that. Rather, no one *would* ask him for anything more than that. A day where they did not see their Captain was a good day, a day without emergencies, a day they would not be asked to fight for their lives. A Captain who reminded them his door was always open, who asked for their names, who asked about what they were up to, was surely administering a test, and they were still alive, so they must’ve passed. In all their memories of Captain Dolce, their happiest would surely be the day he left their lives forever, and returned to being just Dolce. Not the sort of person you’d think to put in charge of, well, much of anything.

Much less entire star sectors.

If there was no one for him to represent, then there was no one to tell him where they wanted him next. As it had been his choice to seek the Captain’s chair, so it was his choice of where to go next. One thing ending, that another could begin. In all [i]his[/i] memories of Captain Dolce, what did he hold closest to his heart? Where, in all this great, wide ship, might a sheep belong?

But the memories do not come easily. Trials and tests spring to mind at once, but though they give him courage, they are of little help. There is no job for leaping between a Princess and the bridge controls, and if there was, he wouldn’t be keen to do it again. Of the day to day responsibilities, of the average tasks, these slip through his fingers. No matter how he stares into his drink, one memory shines so brightly that all the rest seem faded and dusty. A kitchen, where he laid down his hat, and took up an apron. He could tell Mars how the spoon sounded as it scraped the bottom of the pot, and he’d have to consult his notes to remember what was discussed in his meetings yesterday. One hour, shining brighter than months of faithful service.

[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5396637][i]Maybe you are one of mine, after all...[/i][/url]

“Forgive my ignorance, sir Mars,” and he bows, and his eyes are averted, downcast from the vision of confident perfection. “but it rather sounds like you have all you could want, and the surface world is precisely to your liking. As for me, I’m afraid I may just be a chef now. Your favor is yours, and you may grant it to whom you wish, of course. But down here, it is difficult to see what use I could be.”