Old Voyages ‘SEE YOU MORNING’ 054 Captain Lübeck

Captain Lübeck stood on the bridge atop the console, the faint moonlight illuminating the stopwatch in his hand. Moored at this remote dock, no other vessels came or went; the night was unusually still, with neither sea breeze nor clouds.
From the console below, reports from the sailors kept coming in:
"Evacuation personnel, 34 embarked,"
"Bow port forward mooring line released, fore main deck hatch closed,"
"Stern port forward mooring line released, aft main deck hatch closed,"
Lübeck estimated the time—the crew was nearly ready—and gave the order to set sail. In the quiet night, they breathed in the cool sea air for a while longer. Below, intermittent shouts and conversations echoed; no matter how loud or soft, near or far, in the narrow, enclosed cabin, every sound filled every corner and lingered without fading.
It was about time to leave the coast. Lübeck returned to the conning tower and sealed the hatch. From the control tower back to his own captain’s quarters, he locked the door, retrieved the encrypted navigation coordinates delivered via the pneumatic tube by the telegraph operator, decoded them against his codebook, then input the navigation coordinates and issued the order to the first mate to activate the anti-gravity engines for outer space departure.
Lübeck sat routinely in his captain’s quarters, monitoring the instrument readings for the anti-gravity engine startup. But today something seemed off—the first mate had tried twice to start it without success. Even as captain, he was puzzled. He reviewed the various technical parameter displays, pondering possible causes of failure.
After ordering the first mate to pause, he replayed the engine parameters before and after the failed attempts. It had seemed like an overload—but there hadn’t been one; it was just a routine passenger load. After a moment’s hesitation, Lübeck couldn’t help but suspect: could there be a distinguished guest aboard today?
After notifying the passenger cabin to prepare for inspection, Lübeck arrived at the passenger compartment with two sailors. In the cramped space, along both sides of the bulkhead, some thirty-odd people sat on seats, others lay on bunks.
Lübeck swept his gaze over them, then walked up to each person, pulled out a playing card from his pocket, handed it to them, told them to remember that card, and instructed them to keep it in their pocket or close to their chest. He even smiled and said, “This is your ticket—hold onto it tight.” It was almost as if he were joking with them. Then, standing to the side with the sailors who had come with him, he picked up the phone and issued an order to the control console:
“Anti-gravity engine frequency test, Procedure 1036.”
With the phone to his ear, his eyes scanned every person in the passenger cabin. The passengers looked back curiously, some glancing at those beside them, none the wiser.
As different frequencies were tested—some humming, some screeching—Lübeck saw a playing card drop to the floor. He immediately ordered the test stopped, hung up the phone, and walked over to pick up the card.
“Ace of Spades—is this your ticket?” Lübeck said to a young man lying on his side on a bunk, who still didn’t seem to understand what was happening.
The young man glanced at the card and wanted to say yes, but the words caught in his throat. He distinctly remembered tucking it into his pants pocket. Thinking of this, he hurriedly reached in—nothing. He groped deeper—and it truly wasn’t there. A look of astonishment spread across the young man’s face.
“What’s your name?” Lübeck asked.
“John.”
“John,” Lübeck repeated, sizing up the young man—fair-skinned but gaunt, dark eyes, black hair.
“John what? Your surname?”
“John Hitler.”
Lübeck listened, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on him, making the young man feel a little nervous. After a moment, Lübeck patted his shoulder and said:
“I can’t take you away. You must stay here. Stay here, marry, have children—that too is your contribution to the Empire and the nation.”
“Oh.” Though he answered, the young man clearly didn’t grasp the meaning.
The two sailors accompanying the captain didn’t understand either. They looked at the young man, then at the captain, not daring to ask. After all, they both admired and trusted their captain—whatever he said, they would do without question.
“Holger, Paul—take him back ashore in the lifeboat,” Lübeck said, pressing some silver coins into their hands and instructing them:
“You can have a drink, but don’t go looking for trouble. Wait for me to pick you up on my next return.”
“Yes, Captain.” After saluting, they stepped forward to help the young man prepare to disembark.
As they passed by, Lübeck stopped the young man, also gave him some silver coins, patted his shoulder, and said:
“Don’t forget to marry and have children when you get back.”
“Yes, thank you, Captain.” This time, a faint smile finally appeared on the young man’s face.
After they left, Lübeck turned back to the others.
“Alright, you can return the playing cards to me now. Inspection over.”
Lübeck returned once more to his captain’s quarters, checked the equipment readings, then gave the order to depart. This time, everything went smoothly. Just as usual, the ship hovered via anti-gravity, adjusted its spatial field, and jumped into outer space. Then, following standard procedure, it calibrated its parameters and prepared for the long-range spatial jump.
The cabin was entirely enclosed, without a single window to see the outside scenery—not even for the captain. All he could do was monitor the ship’s systems and wait to reach the next spatial jump node.
Although the organization he served functioned like a military body—obeying orders in all things, not even knowing who his superiors were, acting only according to fixed procedures and superior directives—Captain Lübeck still had his own exploratory urges. Within his permitted scope, he introduced slight errors into the navigation coordinates he supplied, probing the gravitational fields along the way, trying to understand the spatial characteristics of the routes his transport ship traversed.
After several spatial jumps, Captain Lübeck led his ship and crew back once more to their new homeland—what they all called Zufluchtsland. For ordinary people, the purpose of coming here was simple: to live quietly. But for Captain Lübeck’s mission, he was to lead these people in propagating the population, preserving the spark for the nation. Thus, he had to ferry new members here again and again, while also managing local social production and stability. He was captain, and also the benevolent dictator here. Because the population was small, dictatorial rule was efficient; likewise, because there weren’t many people and everyone knew each other, interpersonal relations were decent—so the dictatorship was gentle.
When the spacecraft docked at the land berth and the mooring lines were secured, sailors first escorted the newly arrived members to the local community, while crew shut down the ship’s systems in preparation for the next voyage. Most sailors without specialized posts had already left the dock for home. Captain Lübeck and the senior officers inspected the ship, then parted ways at the dock, each heading home.
The spaceport was guarded by militiamen in simple rough-spun uniforms, armed with black-powder flintlock muskets—all resources producible by pre-industrial civilian workshops. It was a self-sufficient socio-ecological circle. For various reasons, although Lübeck knew of Earth’s technological progress, he had no intention of developing technology here. （Translated by Yuanbao）
Even the captain’s transport home was a product of the same technological base: a horse-drawn carriage. As the carriage left the dock and turned onto the road, Captain Lübeck looked back once more at his ship, U-2513—its beautiful lines, bow and stern bound with mooring ropes, resting quietly on the landing cradle.