They stood assembled, row on row, some dressed in the blue jumpsuits and tool belts of technicians, others in the black of the new International Police Space Force's dress uniform. Nearly two thousand people were assembled here, on a metal platform jutting out from a metal wall, under a ceiling so high - nearly a quarter-mile high - that it gave the impression of being a metal sky.

They stood, straight and proud, hands clasped behind their backs in the classic parade-rest position (that majority of them who were humanoid, anyway), facing a dais and podium erected at the end of the protruding platform, and facing what lay beyond the platform as well: a mind-bogglingly vast room, nearly a mile long and wide, half a mile high. The room's vastness was enhanced by the fact that most of it was dark. Only the space around the platform was lighted.

Off to one side was another, less regulated-looking group of people - not shipyard workers nor Space Force personnel, but friends of the Space Force and well-wishers, as well as a few members of the press, who had gathered to observe the occasion.

At the podium stood another man in an IPSF dress uniform, his scarlet shoulder tab and undershirt marking him as a command officer. He had slightly disordered brown hair cut short, a close-trimmed brown beard, and oblong spectacles.

"My friends," said IPO Chief and Space Force Fleet Captain Benjamin Hutchins (universally known as Gryphon), "welcome. Today is a great day, one which you and I have worked hard for over the last two years. Today the International Police Space Force gains a flagship. Today the first new-construction starship joins our fleet. It's a small fleet - at this point, a tiny fleet - but thanks to your great efforts, that will change.

"Together with our allies - the Wedge Defense Force; Starfleet; the Imperial Klingon Defense Forces; the Royal Salusian Navy; the Confederate Freespacers; GENOM Corporation; and others - we will make this galaxy a safer place... and it all starts right here."

Gryphon paused for a moment, then went on, "I thought long and hard about what to name this ship. Those of you who know a little something about history may understand, at least partly, why I chose the name I did." A little smile touched his lips as he added, "But it's not my place to speak that name now. Naval tradition demands that a new warship be sponsored by a woman, and I can think of no better woman to welcome this vessel into the galaxy than the Chief Technologist of the International Police - Professor Skuld Ravenhair."

Amid the ensuing applause, Gryphon moved over to make room for Skuld, neat and trim in her white lab coat, at the podium. She smiled, waited for the applause to die down, and then began her own remarks.

"Social historians have wondered for a long time why seafaring and spacefaring peoples almost invariably name their ships and call them by personal pronouns," she said. "Salusians, Romulans, Kilrathi, and most humans call them 'she'; Klingons and Cardassians call them 'he' - but almost no one in the galaxy calls them 'it'. No one really understands the reason why, but there are a lot of theories.

"It's a question that bears asking," Skuld went on seriously. "Names are powerful things. Many cultures recognize this. The giving of names is one of the key identifiers of sentience. Naming a thing gives it power, and gives the namer power over it as well. A name acknowledges uniqueness in that which is named, assures a place in history. Why do we bestow that honor on ships?

"Some think we personify ships because we depend on them to protect us from the hostile environments in which we travel, and we feel more comfortable putting our trust in someONE rather than someTHING. Some think giving ships names makes it easier for sailors to plead with the gods on their behalf in times of crisis. And some say it's just because most sentient lifeforms are superstitious and sentimental," she added with a grin, drawing a rippling laugh from the crowd.

"Me," she said, "I have my own theory. I think we give ships names because they deserve them. Because they are beings of a sort. Because they are each unique - even sister ships of an identical class. Because they live for us who sail in them... and they can die for us as well. Surely a name is the least we can give in return for that."

While her audience mulled that over, she reached beneath the podium and picked up a large green-glass bottle. She carried it gravely to the edge of the platform. At first glance, what awaited her there could have been mistaken for a safety wall - a vertical metal surface about three feet high, running the full width of the platform's edge, its top surface slightly angled. Only a closer look, with the rest of the bay in darkness as it was, would reveal that that surface sloped away for a great distance - that the "wall" was in fact the edge of a much, much larger object.

Skuld stepped to that object, placed her free hand flat upon it, bowed her head, and spoke quietly - too quietly for the public address pickups to hear her. What she had to say now was between her and the one she addressed only.

<My blessing upon thee,> she murmured in her most formal Old Norse. <May thou be strong and true, the stoutest of vessels, fit to carry the gods themselves into battle. May thou stride the stars bold and unafraid, and share thy boldness with those who sail in thee. May thou always bring them home again.>

A faint glow surrounded her hand where it lay flat against the metal, and for just a moment those watching thought they saw the entire outline of a vast structure flicker, limned faintly in silver light; but then it was gone, and Skuld was stepping back.

"In the name of the International Police Organization," she announced in a voice loud enough to reach the pickups (and thus everyone in the room), "I christen thee - "

With a quick, deft motion like a sword stroke, she brought the champagne bottle smashing down on the corner of the "wall", shattering it and causing its contents to explode foamily forth onto the metal. As it struck, she drowned out the crash with her own voice, loud, clear, almost imperious:

"CHALLENGER!"

In the same instant, floodlamps snapped on all over the enormous structure people had caught a glimpse of a few moments before, bathing it in a soft white light. In the darkness of the vast spacedock, the effect was instantaneous and breathtaking. Where there had been nothing but blackness and an indefinable impression of bulk, there was now the sleek and gleaming shape of a huge and graceful starship, her streamlined primary hull sloping sharply away from where Skuld had just smashed the champagne bottle upon its leading edge. In addition to the hull lights, interior lights winked on as well, as did the scarlet-orange rampscoops and blue-lit coils of her long, narrow twin warp nacelles.

On the forward slope of that upper hull, painted in bold, red-outlined black capitals, were the ship's name and number:

I.P.S. CHALLENGER
N X - 0 4 4 6 2

Smiling triumphantly, Skuld discarded the splintered neck of the champagne bottle and strode back to the podium. She waited for the cheering to ebb, then turned to Gryphon, saluted, and announced,

"Captain, your ship is ready."

Gryphon returned the salute as snappily as he could, then removed a piece of heavy paper from under the flap of his dress uniform's jacket, unfolded it, and read,

"'Tuesday, October 12, 2404. I have it in command from the Chief of the International Police to direct you to repair with all due speed on board the ship Challenger lying at Zeta Cygni II. It is required that no time be lost in carrying the ship into deep space, taking on board her ammunition, water, provisions and stores of every kind, completing what work is yet to be done, shipping her crew, and preparing her in every respect for space.

"'As of the reading of these orders, the vessel is to be considered a commissioned warship of the Space Force, and you shall conduct yourself as her commanding officer, with all the rights and responsibilities thereunto ascribed by the Charter of the International Police Organization.

"'I remain, sir, your most humble and obedient servant: Ruri Hoshino, Lensman, Executive Assistant to the Chief of the International Police.'"

As the crowd applauded again, he folded the note up, tucked it away again, and then observed wryly, "Well, I guess I've given me my marching orders," which drew another laugh. The IPO was such a small organization, and its navy especially so, that Gryphon was Chief of the IPO, commander-in-chief of the Space Force, and captain of the vessel just commissioned. He was the chain of command, but for this occasion, he had seen fit to observe the traditional conventions, even if they did seem a bit silly under the circumstances.

Skuld waited for the laughter to pass, then grinned, swept a hand back to encompass the looming beauty of the vessel behind her, and declared,

"Now man our ship and bring her to life!"

As one, with a cheer, the black-clad Space Force contingent got moving, streaming across the platform and onto the gangways built into either side, onto the ship's primary hull and through what would normally be Challenger's forward dorsal maintenance airlocks.

The command was rhetorical, of course; Nadia Davion and her engineering crew had been aboard for hours, doing final checks and ensuring that the lights would come on and the warp engines come to standby mode exactly when the ceremony required it. But, like the ritual of christening itself, it was traditional, and like any good sailor, Gryphon was mindful of tradition.

"Shipyard personnel: Dismissed!" he declared; and then, in a warm voice, he added a heartfelt, "Well done!"

The shipyard workers applauded again, then broke ranks and milled about. The well-wishers broke up as well, some leaving, others mingling with the workers or going aboard for a look around. One, a striking redhead in jeans and a jacket that looked like an old-fashioned firefighter's turnout coat, sauntered over and put an arm around Gryphon's waist.

"That went well," Kei Morgan observed after her husband switched off the PA system.

Gryphon grinned. "It did at that."

"Your idea about the lights was a good one," Skuld added to Kei. "These people have been working on this ship for months, they know her inside and out, and they still got a thrill out of seeing her revealed from darkness like that."

"I figured it'd look cool, but then, you set it up nicely with that little speech," Kei said. "And you swing a mean champagne bottle," she added with a grin.

"I'll have to come up with something even cooler when we roll out the first DDNG," Skuld mused. "They're smaller ships, so they won't make as much of an impact as Challenger... I'd hate for Defiant's christening to be an anticlimax."

"We'll think of something," Gryphon said, smiling.

"Well, congratulations, Fleet Captain," Skuld said. "You're actually on your way to having a fleet."

Gryphon chuckled, a touch ruefully. "Yeah," he said, then added wryly, "Now I just have to finish that part about 'shipping her crew'... "

"Christening" (prologue to the unfinished Future Imperfect story Shakedown) by Benjamin D. Hutchins
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© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited