Chameleon 1

~1~

She was perhaps the largest technological endeavor humans had ever given their hearts, courage, and lives to complete. The technology employed to construct the thing was nearly outdated before it was finished. Her name: Novissimus, Space Station One, a jewel as bewitching as Saturn, pedantically assembled over eleven years, and painstakingly financed by four local species of the Near Systems.

Captain Thomas K. Jackson, commander of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell, felt his skin tighten and the hair on his arms stand at attention the moment she came into view through the broad, bow windows, an ornament against the backdrop of its gas-giant host. The crimson starlight of Omicron reflected off each energy cell as it slowly twirled on its own axis.

“Mr. Lee, distance to dock?” He turned back to the crew at the helm, stepping toward the center of the bridge.

“One hundred one thousand kilometers, Captain.” The station was still just a sparkle at that distance, a gnat fliting around a campfire on a moonless night. He’d expected to be nearer when the orbiting city came into its daylight position, but he’d see it closer soon enough.

“Slow to forty-thousand kilometers per hour. Mr. Watson, contact the station, notify them of our arrival, and request a docking berth for fifteen days.”

Jackson capered up the three steps from the nadir to his command chair, settling in for the final hours of the mission. As the weight of the ship diminished from his shoulders, they dropped several centimeters. He found a depth in his lungs starving for oxygen and filled his chest more deeply than he remembered it could.

Unlike robotically controlled space stations that supported alloy manufacturing or stellar photography, Novissimus was a colossus, a fully self-sustaining, self-contained sky resort. The top of the station was a fully transparent dome over a twenty-acre garden parkland, generating a ton of food every day including fish. It also processed a good deal of the CO2 back into oxygen. On the planet’s nearest moon, a solitary substation could provide life support in an emergency.

“We should reach Novissimus in just under two hours, Captain,” Lieutenant Lee said.

“The longest two hours of the mission.” Jackson couldn’t sit still. He slapped his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed off, headed for the elevator.

“Good to see you, Captain,” Dr. Adams called as Jackson entered sick bay. “I have good news.”

“You first.”

“Mr. Gregory is showing signs of pending consciousness.” Jackson closed his eyes and nodded. The spry old man, just into his eightieth decade, handed him a reading device. It displayed the vital statistics on the ship’s astronomer as he lay on the verge of awakening after several lapses in and out of a coma. “The delta waves are shallow, and are moving to from theta to alpha more frequently.”

“We’ve seen this before.” Jackson had been living the difficulties of his friend’s unreliable cognizance for several weeks now. “What’s different now?”

“It’s not necessarily different, but the peaks and valleys are not as acute as in the past.”

“Well, we’ll be docking on Novissimus in about two hours.”

“I’ll contact the infirmary there and take care of his needs.”

“Thanks, Doc. Is Rianya here? I want her to see the station as we approach.”

“She’s in the lab.”

“Are the girls here?”

“Class was over an hour ago.”

Jackson slipped into the lab quietly but it was in vain. Rianya turned away from her project to face him.

“Hello, Beautiful.” He stopped a meter away to appreciate her from head to toe. She brushed a long strand of her sable hair out of her face and put her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. Her hair fell again but she ignored it.

“Are we there?”

“Not yet. I just can’t sit still while we creep up at Interstellar Speed. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” He held her elbow out, inviting her to walk with him the short distance to the mess hall. She took his arm; he tried, with limited success, to shorten his pace to match hers.

“Make that decaf,” Adams warned as they walked by.

“What is wrong with the coffee you drink?” she asked. Jackson laughed in silence without breaking his stride.

“Nothing. Ignore him.”

“Ignore the doctor?” Jackson looked at her directly. The frilly pupils in her mulberry eyes seemed to surge before they minimized, the bright mess hall ceiling lights stimulating her sensitive visual capacity. He hugged her arm tighter against his body.

“He doesn’t want you to have caffeine. Frankly, I can’t see drinking coffee if it’s decaffeinated.” She pulled two mugs off a shelf and Jackson filled each from a carafe, slow-percolated coffee the galley made on his behalf. He handed her the cream and dumped a handful of sugar in his cup, then handed her the sugar. Her taste buds hadn’t adapted an appreciation for black coffee even after so many years.

“Caffeine doesn’t shrink my blood vessels, only for humans.”

“She’s half human,” he said, nodding at Rianya’s middle.

“You worry too much.”

“It’s my job to worry.” They sat together at the captain’s private table. While they watched the planet growing, ever so slowly, in the window, a plate of cheese and bread arrived on the steward’s tray.

“Are you here for dinner?” Mr. Harchett asked.

“Just coffee for now.”

“Very good, Captain. Rianya?”

“This is fine.”

Alone again, Jackson ran one finger around the rim of his coffee mug. His thoughts drifted, from his friend in sick bay, to his wife, their daughter, and then to the promise of Novissimus. His ship would be retrofitted and repaired. His friend would receive superlative medical attention. Passengers would disembark, including the one in his brig. Fresh food and drink would stock the larder.

“I’m sorry, Love, what did you say?”

“I said I like Dr. Chandra. I hope she stays on.”

“There will be casualties.” She frowned. “Not literally. Are you feeling all right?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Just asking. You up for a walk around the station?” With a break from the responsibility within an hour’s reach, he wanted to float, jog, dance, and take her for a walk in the arboretum.

“Maybe tomorrow. I have some cultures to finish.”

“It’s a date.” Jackson finished the rest of his brew, took a petal of cheese, and sat back, watching Rianya glow from across the table. “We won’t be here too long, maybe 15 days or so. Then we’re going home.”

“Earth? How long will that take?”

“Sixteen light years, about four months.”

“That’s cutting it close.”

“Let me do the worrying. You have enough to think about.”

“Captain Jackson, incoming message from Novissimus,” was Watson’s voice on the intercom. He gave Rianya a sheepish grin.

“Go on,” she told him. “We can always talk later.”

“On my way,” he responded, almost sprinting out. He wasn’t sure if he would be as accommodating if the roles were reversed. Her patience rivaled Job’s when it came to his ship, his crew, his missions. He was a damn lucky man to have her support and her love despite all the things thrown at her.

Before any of the crew said a word, Jackson held up a hand when he stepped on the bridge and passed through quickly to the doyen’s office. A green, marble sized light blinked leisurely to remind him of the pending call. He slid into his chair and rolled just under the counter top, then tapped the light.

“Captain Jackson?”

“Yes, this is Jackson.”

“I have a message for you from Admiral J. P. Wallace, Space Administration, Earth. It arrived an hour ago, dated today.”

“Thank you.” The captain entered a security code and the voice-only message promptly played.

Captain Jackson,

Congratulations on a successful series of missions! Our interstellar office received word that the Plague pandemic on Eta Cassiopeia V is officially in remission and expected to be manageable within the year. It could be near extinct within eighteen years.

I have personally read your report on the asteroid incident on Beta Hydri IV. Given the sudden and unexpected notification of the disaster, disrupting the asteroid seems to have been the best of the available choices at your disposal. Good work, Tom.

I have included the roster regarding the disposition of the scientists collected from Beta Hydri IV. Most will be taking a transport back to Earth or taking assignments on Novissimus. As for Huntington York’s arrangements, I’d like to speak with you live, in private, once you’re on Novissimus. Contact me at your earliest convenience.

Maria Mitchell is to receive a retrofit of her communication system so that you may transmit, not just receive, quantum text files. Also, given Dr. Gregory’s condition, we’ve arranged for an Astronomite android to serve aboard Maria Mitchell. The chief of engineering on the station will have the details for you and introduce you to it.

Many thanks for your dedication and actions over the last year. Look forward to speaking with you shortly.

Best Regards,

       J. P. Wallace

An android on his ship. That wasn’t something he was looking forward to. He didn’t even like the robotic vacuums that puttered around his feet, usually when he wanted a little privacy and quiet. In fact, he’d made it a point to avoid every opportunity to use robots aboard the ship. But this was a droid, a humanoid robot.

He preferred a computer to an artificial intelligence. Computers didn’t talk back, move around the ship, sneak up behind you, or take away those jobs that are mindless enough to be relaxing. Computers usually did what you programmed them to do, rather than think on their own. He preferred to be in control.