Oh Captain! My Captain!

Our fearful trip is done...

Commanding a vessel is one of the most stressful positions I can think of, for both military and civilian craft. My job as The Archivist of Safeharbor comes with a weight, a heavy burden holding me down with every passing day. Every day I fail to find something new is a day someone could die from not having it. I try not to think on it, and it's easy to get away from that dark place. A captain doesn't have this luxury.
Captains are constantly reminded of their responsibilities. They can have dozens, maybe even hundreds of people relying on them to make the best decision. A crew relies on their captain to keep them alive, to remain steadfast in the face of danger, and to console them should they need to accept an inevitable fate. Captains pick their crew from scratch. They know they are not only selecting based on skill but also on psychological synergy. They will be spending quite a bit of time together, after all.
A good captain will know the name of everyone on their crew, and will never forget those who die under their command. Some even go out of their way to develop lasting connections with those who serve under them. Every death hurts, like losing a dear friend, and just imagine what it's like to lose a captain. The next captain has the impossible task of filling their shoes. Oftentimes, the crew moves on, leaving the new captain to construct their crew from scratch, and so the cycle continues.

Great expectations

Becoming a captain is no small feat. Becoming a successful one is even more so. Even aboard military vessels, a ship can often organize itself into what could easily be considered a community. This community has its own sense of government, regardless of outside sources. A captain is the head of this government, the chief of the tribe. Their officers are trusted advisors, better skilled and equipped with the knowledge needed to advise their leader properly.
Every member of the crew is a cog in a machine, and how well oiled that machine is will be a critical factor in the success of any voyage. Out in the void, there are not many rules for what can and can't happen on a vessel. The captain can execute anyone without consequence. Those paranoid enough, or who have reason to suspect mutiny, often do exactly that. A crew must be unified to succeed. This is a fine line to walk, as unjust actions can easily unify the crew in mutiny, instead of solidifying faith in their captain.
The captain can often appear older than they truly are. The older they look compared to their age is often a testament to the challenges they faced. Miranda Thrace, the hero of The First War, the cool-headed admiral who only recently turned 47, developed graying hair in her early thirties. The lines on her face are like scars, a map of her world. Every landmark signifies a decision that weighs down on her very soul. Such is the consequence of greatness.

Respect and mutiny

A captain must always watch for problems among their crew. The void does things to us, makes us question everything we are. It shows us our insignificance. And offers a choice: rise above it, or succumb to the vista of an endless black sea. Madness isn't particularly common, but spacers have their quirks, eccentric would be an appropriate term.
Mutiny is exceedingly rare. It's an ever present fear to realize you are always one hull breach away from death. Any lack of harmony, or god forbid, a violent uprising, would prove catastrophic. Mutiny has never happened on a human vessel, thus far. Many stories exist among other species of captains violating the trust of their crew, performing acts of cruelty, or making a decision so obviously wrong that the crew felt there was little choice than to remove them from power.
A captain is forced to earn, maintain, and enforce the respect of their crew. This task is easier said than done, but some have found their methods. Invicta, of The Origin Exiles may be our enemy, but everyone aboard her vessel has a voice, even prisoners. She allows them to speak their mind freely so their problems can be addressed, as opposed to allowing hushed whispers in dark corners to make matters worse.

Becoming The Captain

The title of captain is not easy to obtain. It's the sole rank of Safeharbor's navy that can't be bestowed by higher military authorities. Historically, higher ranks for humanity were gained through dedication, merit, and time in service. Commanding a ship requires experience, merit, and dedication, but it also requires a special something only another captain would know to look for.
When you're promoted to captain, the one granting the title believes you to be someone who exemplifies the culture on the ship. Every ship has a different ship culture, and sufficient rapport must be built with the crew, your superiors, and the ship itself to justify the promotion. In other words, your captain has faith in your ability to clean up the mess of their retirement, whether by death, or by choice.
While it usually leads to a large turn over in the crew, the captain has to love their ship. They must be invested in the ship. Without this, they wouldn't care as much as they should. A captain's word is final, and is rarely questioned. The only thing one should worry about is if the captain dies before being able to relinquish command. There can be disagreements regarding their successor and it doesn't always end well.

"Oh Captain! My Captain!"

While replacing a captain is never easy, and often ends in rebuilding a crew from the ground up, there is a special command we use in our vessels. It's our own way of replicating The Safe Harbor protocols, though it's merely a voice recognition system obeying the command.
A captain can relinquish command to anyone aboard a vessel, and after giving the order, the new captain will end their predecessor's command with the phrase, "Oh captain! My Captain!" This grants the title, and powers of that title, to the new captain. It's a time honored tradition on earth vessels. Old earth ships feature the same function in the form of a Safe Harbor Protocol, and was likely used in a ceremony aboard earth vessels.
This tradition can be extremely powerful when used correctly. An example is Captain Ward of The S.V.N Alexander, who died during The Battle of Sepia-7. Kinetic rounds punctured the vessel and tore through the CIC, hitting the captain in the chest. He immediately reached up and activated a ship wide broadcast...

"This is Captain Richard Luther Ward." He said, sliding down the metal side of the communications panel. He heard his voice echoing off the metal walls throughout the ship. He always hated the sound of his voice. Strange what you think about in your final moments. "I sustained an injury from enemy fire penetrating into the CIC. I won't be there to celebrate with you when this is all over. My XO will be assuming command. I pass my title, and the powers of my title, to Commanding Officer Daniel Lee Gage. My final act as captain..." Ward stopped, pulling the mic away from his face as he cried out in pain.
He continued only when he managed to compose himself, "My final command is for you to treat him with the same respect, diligence, and kindness you've shown me. It's been an honor to serve with you all."
He heard frantic steps and turned to see Gage running down the halls and into the CIC. His face showed traces of tears hastily wiped away so they wouldn't show. Ward smiled and handed the mic over.
Gage shook his head, his face shifting between shock, sorrow, and violent rage. He reluctantly took the mic. "This-" he began, but stopped as his voice wavered and cracked. He cleared his throat, "This is Commanding Officer Daniel Lee Gage, and I accept the title of captain and all powers of the title." Gage watched the screen on the bloodstained console. The words "Awaiting Command Phrase" appeared, and he looked his captain in the eye.
Ward nodded, his life fading away, "Say it."
Gage took a deep breath, mustered the strength to speak the words, and the pain shattered all composure as he finished the broadcast, "Oh, captain. My captain."