Chameleon Ch 8

“Time to say good bye,” Jackson said, dropping into his chair. “Open a com frequency to the station.”

“Go, sir.”

“Novissimus dock master, this is Captain Thomas Jackson in command of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell, berth four, requesting release of moorings for departure.” He waited.

“Science Ship Maria Mitchell, stand by.” A moment later the ship vibrated and bounced vaguely like an elevator stopping after a speedy fall.

“We are cleared, sir,” Lee said.

“Thrusters at station keeping,” Jackson said blankly.

“Maria Mitchell, you are cleared for flight. You have eight minutes to clear the space port by ten thousand kilometers. Godspeed.”

“Thank you, Novissimus. Maria Mitchell out.” He sighed with relief and sat back in his chair. The seat, having been recently replaced by Quixote, was now stiff, not broken in to the shape of his butt, but still a reasonable, generic fit. That would change soon enough. “Mr. Lee, 90-0-0 degrees port and take us out at half intra solar system speed. Engage auto navigation at 100,000 kilometers distance.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Mr. Watson, I need a crew complement and roster as soon as convenient for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The elevator door opened and Cerebrus stepped out on to the bridge.

“Cerebrus Astronomite reporting as ordered.” Jackson swiveled and waved the droid into the nadir.

“I’d like you to observe Ensign Rougeau at the navigation con for this shift.”

“Aye, sir.” Cerebrus stood to one side and assumed a squat as if he were sitting on a chair.

“Get something to sit on,” Jackson said. “That can’t be a productive posture.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rougeau revolved his eyes toward Jackson, then back at his console. Cerebrus stood and took the nearest chair in hand and returned to the helm. Jackson smiled and touched the intercom. He signaled with an electronic boatswain.

“Attention, crew, this is Captain Jackson. We are leaving Novissimus. Oversee your stations and prepare for departure.”  It was time. He’d had enough space station and was itching to get back to work. “Mr. Lee, take us out.”

Jackson had some drama up his sleeve, a hand he wanted to play. Until the science crew had disembarked, he’d not mustered the courage to execute the cabaret. He retrieved a firm slip of aluminum from his pocket, a square centimeter, and fed it into a reader port on the arm of his chair. A soft light notified him of acceptance and readiness.

“Aye, sir, departure in three, two, one.” Jackson, Lee, Rougeau, Watson, and Cerebrus stared out the two-story bow windows as they pulled away from the docking stanchion. The view turned from a sparkling structure to a deep infinity of blackness punctured by countless white specks. He gently touched the green dot next to the reader port.

After a moment, an orchestral film score resonated over Maria Mitchell’s intercom throughout the ship. A kettle drum, muted trumpets, and French horns, set a heroic mood. Strings joined in, a cello, a crescendo and a crash of cymbals before the music dropped backed to the muted trumpets and strings. A snare drum began to march behind the softened strings, building tension as the music subsided and flourished in spikes of brass, creeping up the scale, higher, and ever higher.

As the ship continued her turn, the center of the galaxy came into the picture. Black, white, magenta, red, pink, purple, gold, and fawn clouds of dust wove in and out of bands of silvery stars. Impossible to fathom the distance and exponential number of stars, Jackson took the image, greater than the sum of its hundred billion parts, in whole.

The vision could still bring a tear to the corner of his eye. It was a staggering splendor he had the fortune to see not from Earth, or even the moon, but from deep space, back-lit by the warmth of a crimson star. He swallowed hard and avoided eye contact with the crew until the wave of emotion subsided. He’d not expected the intensity of emotion, the view and music combined, something of a mental ecstasy that raised the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.

His musical selection played for less than eight minutes. He was glad; he wasn’t sure he could endure much more. As the piece drew to a close, the open intercom bellowed with applause and calls of ‘thank you’ from the entire ship at once. The bridge crew remained seated but all swiveled to face the captain and salute.

“It was my pleasure.”

While stranded on Rianya’s planet, they had the fortune to watch a near total three-moon eclipse. The once-in-a-lifetime celestial affair caused near insanity, borderline ecstasy, among the humans. He pitied her absence of appreciation for cosmic wonders. Nevertheless, Rianya was devoted to him, and their daughter was a divine gift. Jackson savored the moment, awash in his fortune, convinced he was the happiest man in the vast, infinite universe.

þ

“Cerebrus, what’s our estimated time of arrival to the Tau Ceti system, specifically TC-D?” The android operated in the navigation station, glancing at a display and promptly accounting his estimate.

“Captain, at our current speed and trajectory we should arrive at the boundary of the Tau Ceti system in twelve weeks one day, fourteen point six hours. Tau Ceti D is in opposition to our point of advent and is an additional four days’ travel time once we slow to ISS speed.”

“Thank you. Your performance has improved significantly in the last ten days. Keep up the good work. Lieutenant Lee, you have the bridge.”

“Goodnight, Captain.”

For the first time in he didn’t know how long, he left the bridge at 18:00 and headed for the gymnasium. He would have dinner with his family, on time, and go back to his quarters, have some coffee, tuck his daughter in bed, watch a movie with Rianya. He steeled himself against the inevitable surprise chaos that would appear in the next 24 hours.

After four or five minutes with the ten kilo weights, Jackson took advantage of the empty room and started a treadmill run. His favorite hologram that surrounded him was the Pacific Coast along Baja California. Gulls and pelicans flew overhead, sandpipers followed the waves in and out, searching for food in the damp sand. The sun hovered low on the horizon casting a golden glow across his path of fine sand.

His program was a five-kilometer run just south of Ensenada, a port town with traditional boat slips, restaurants that served fish tacos, and green foothills to the east. He’d been there. The program was an embellished version of the area; he liked it anyway. The sights and sounds of the warm beach town were easily duplicated. The olfactory senses had to use their imagination, as did his feet, hitting the treadmill instead of giving sand.

He was out of shape. Those five kilometers were more like ten, but he had plenty of time to recondition from his Pegasi escapade before arriving at Tau Ceti D. He’d been ignoring the mission orders for two weeks. He guessed that the supplies would be delivered to the Earth compound. It had been sited not far from the Electricity Station. Several aliens had set up colonies on the planet, most in that continental capitol named Akteen.

He could open the orders tomorrow. He needed one night without an agenda in his head, vegetable time, he called it, something like being asleep but with his eyes open. After he stumbled off the treadmill he stumbled up to his quarters to shower. Nothing like being caught out of uniform in the dressing rooms, a certainty if there ever was one.

 Rianya and Zalara sat at the table near their pantry. The tiny tea set was employed for the two people and two stuffed creatures.

“Papa! Come and have some tea,” Zalara called from across the room.

“This looks special,” he said to both ladies as he approached. Zalara promptly poured some of her mother’s tea from the pot into a cup so small, had she served coffee, there’d be no room for his sugar.

“Sit?” Rianya asked. He swallowed the tea in one bad mannered gulp.

“Shower,” he explained, and left them alone before he committed any additional crimes of etiquette.

Rianya watched him disappear around the corner. He had stopped, greeted them, participated, and excused himself in under a minute. As quick as the encounter had been, it was more than any Kinnae man would have done. On her planet, men didn’t play with girl children. But this man did. He took Zalara seriously and respected her engagement with him.

The small life inside her woke, and stretched within her limited, warm, black world. Rianya’s connection to this child was not the same as it had been with Zalara; not wrong, but distinctive. Maybe it was just because she’d been through it before, but the soul seemed strong, as if the girl knew when to wake, sleep, and parallel Rianya’s circadian clock.

“Mama, I’m hungry.”

“We’ll go to dinner when Papa is ready. I have some lemon cookies,” she said, passing the bowl. Zalara looked them over and chose one from half a dozen identical nibbles.

“How come you don’t go to work anymore?”

“I do, but you’re in school with Honey so you don’t notice.”

“Does the new baby hurt?”

“No, not at all.”

“She talks to me now.” Rianya blinked and focused her attention on Zalara’s claim.

“How is that possible?” she asked with a straight face. Like Tom, she’d respect the girl’s imagination.

“Not talk, but think.” Zalara jumped down and put her tiny hand on her mother’s expanded belly. “Not words, just feelings. She’s happy.”

Rianya wasn’t sure what to make of her empathic daughter’s claim. She wasn’t a telepath. She could heal but that didn’t include reading minds. In fact, the healing was explained as her ability to amalgamate her circulating stem cells to another’s injury, and those stem cells would renew the organ. A physical occurrence, however unusual, supported what at first seemed impossible.

“I think you’re right,” she told the emerald-eyed child. Suddenly the girl twirled and dashed off to her own room leaving a trail of imaginary glitter and rainbows.

Rianya poured the remaining tea in an adult sized cup and enjoyed the familiar herbs of Earth teasing her tongue. A tingle, a sweet, tart, woodsy flavor, and she recognized it in a snap. It was the human flavor of Tom, of his hair, the soap he used, a peculiar mixture that was uniquely him. Everyone on the ship used the same soaps and shampoos, but whatever chemistry happened when he used them was inimitable, except for the tea.

“Love, are you ready to go?” the devil called from their bedroom.

“Quite,” she answered. Zalara bounded out and all but ricocheted of the furniture.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Tom said, coming up behind her and swinging her into the air before holding her upside down as if to drop her. She giggled wildly. Rianya watched them, her baby laughing, her husband fresh and adorned for dinner. She missed grasses, blue skies, and the sand between her toes, and the salty mist of the sea on her face, but she wouldn’t have traded that moment for all of it.