Flynn stepped up to the podium before the assembled crew. It wasn’t the entire crew, obviously, as some were needed to monitor ship’s systems, but it was enough of them. The rest would hear over the ship’s comms.
He opened up the folder to remove the paper. Some things were still done old-school by tradition. He read, “By order of the Admiralty, I Captain Peter Flynn take command of the Alliance Starship Atlas on this date, April 12th 2892, Earth Reckoning.”
Flynn tucked the paper with the admiralty’s seal on it back in his folder. I’ll frame it later.
“Stand at ease,” he ordered. The crew relaxed with hands behind their backs. “I’m not much for speeches. I know you to be a fine crew. I know that because we’re all Alliance. We’re dedicated to our service, and I know this ship is a fine ship. We will all do her proud. But it’s not enough just to be fine at what we do. We need to better ourselves. We’re going to be the best damn crew of the best damn ship in the fleet. When people speak of Atlas and her crew, they’ll do so with admiration in their voice. When you go on leave and people find out you served on Atlas, they’ll buy you a drink.”
That earned him some chuckles.
“But to be the best takes hard work and dedication, and we’re in the fleet, not those lazy ass ground-bound grunts, so we’re going to get to work right now. And when we have our ship shining, I’ll be buying the drinks for everyone. Dismissed.”
The crew cheered.