Jeopardy Chap 1

Truth be told, Earth wasn’t home anymore for Captain Jackson. It hadn’t been his home in twenty-some years. A longer mission, more time in space, was analogous to putting extra sugar in his coffee. Time didn’t make much sense anyway, not when hurtling through space at a hundred times the speed of light.

Ten months had sailed by since Captain Jackson took command of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell. When they left Earth, the plan had been to return home in twelve, maybe fourteen months at the outside. From his center chair on the bridge, he sat, calmly, and stared out the bow windows at the infinite void, an expanse of a billion stars and galaxies, scattered like a bucket of diamonds on black velvet.  

The rest of the crew, however, fidgeted in their seats as if they were sitting on anthills. All morning his bridge officers used any excuse to get out of their chairs, wander around, or visit the galley. He looked down at the vial of green crystals the biologist had just handed him.

“They’re virtually indestructible. Enzymes within the crystals protect their structure despite every test engineering has thrown at it. We’d like to name it Fearless.” He rattled the petite, lime-colored cubes.

“The Fearless Ferris Enzyme?” Jackson chuckled.

“I’ll have to work on that,” she said. Her pale side was adjacent to him; her blue eye twinkled.

“Fear exists to be conquered,” Jackson said. He leaned on the right arm of his bridge chair and put on his poker face. “It protects us, raises the caution flags, but you can’t let it be in control. It’s a tool, an ally. You stand firm and be prepared to defend the castle. Sometimes you’re forced to choose between life and death, even your own.”

“If we can synthesize enough of these crystals in microscopic form, maybe suspend them in a kind of dehydrating gel, it would be a spectacular substance to paint on the hull.”

“I’m all for it, doctor.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Dr. Ferris said with a smile. She took a step backwards and left Jackson with the helmsman, navigator, and com officer. He heard the elevator door slide shut and considered the doctor’s point of view for a moment. Appearing fearless was at least as important as actually being fearless. It was as critical a skill when standing before the enemy as it was sitting in the captain’s chair.

He held the container up to his eyes and examined the few grams of green crystals. They could be mistaken for small raw emeralds. Leave it to the doctors to come up with such a compound that would give new meaning to the term ‘indestructible’.

“Ensign Rougeau, what’s our ETA to Beta Hydri?” Jackson looked through the transparent aluminum oxynitride windows of the ship and could see the star ahead. He knew well they had a week to go, but his navigator needed something to do besides think about shore leave.

It wasn’t a star that stood out against the millions behind it except for a magnitude of negative three. If standing on Earth, it would appear brighter than Sirius, yet dimmer than Venus.

“We have 1.05 light years to go, Captain, 8.2 days, approximately, at our current speed.” Rougeau tapped several icons on the dashboard touch screen. The 3D holographic image of the aforementioned light year began to rotate until it was aligned with the galactic plane. Jackson stepped down into the nadir and placed a hand on Rougeau’s shoulder.

“We’ve gone half a light year without any hiccups. Something must be wrong.” He glanced out at the galaxy then turned to Lieutenant Lee at the helm. “Carry on, gentlemen.”

Captain Jackson headed down two decks to the galley in search of coffee. It had been hours since his last fix, and when the journey was as uneventful as it had been for a few days, he was going to need the afternoon boost to literally stay awake.

“Hi, Papa!” Zalara greeted.

“Hi, Captain-sir,” Honey said.

Each carried a drink, a nondescript something the color of pomegranate juice, and two round sugar cookies.

“We’re going home,” Zalara told him, and the two girls dashed out of the archway and disappeared. Those two had been joined at the hip from the start of the mission, but he didn’t know how much longer it would stay that way. Now, living as sisters instead of as friends, Jackson expected sibling troubles would erupt any day.

He took his coffee and decided against retreat in their quarters, knowing the two little girls would be playing in the next room. He loved his daughter immeasurably, but today he wasn’t in the mood to attend a pink and purple tea party with Honey, several stuffed animals as guests, and imaginary tea. Anyway, sitting on the floor always gave him a leg cramp.

Sick bay might have something interesting going on. If not, he could at least find Rianya in the laboratory. On the same deck as the mess hall, he walked in the door two minutes later. He looked around at the empty beds, dim lights, and silent monitors. Sick bay was as humdrum as the bridge.

“Doc? Mills? Henderson?” Met with silence, he wandered back to the lab and found his wife engrossed with some kind of sample in a petri dish. She softly tapped a tablet and a hazy image of the life form emerged in holographic, three-dimensional, full-color glory.

“Tom. What are you doing here?”

“I hope that’s not life size of that thing,” he said, pointing to the floating blue microbe, its flagella waving like kelp in a shallow lagoon. He stepped closer to the alien woman, glanced around quickly to assess the privacy factor, and pushed a few heavy locks of her hair away from her cheek to kiss her.

“Of course not.” Rianya gently leaned into him, and his cup of coffee was no longer as interesting as it had been two minutes earlier. “It’s not even alive, actually.” He slid his free hand into her hair.

“Why did you put in all the beads?” Dozens of pea-sized, glass beads in all the colors of a rainbow glinted in the bright sick bay lights. Her sable hair framed her face and cascaded down her back. “Afraid your family won’t recognize you without them?” he teased.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Only four years. People don’t change much in four years. Well, maybe Zalara has. Time is relative, especially at this speed,” Tom said, setting down his coffee.

“I haven’t been able to put my brain around the whole time-space twist. Especially with Commander Wiseman.”

“I have tried to explain it. We’re traveling in flat space, very little distortion.” He lost whatever interest he’d had in the life form swimming above a holopad. Rianya’s alien eyes, lush plum with scalloped black pupils, could still hypnotize him in a second. “Wiseman had to bend space with immense energy.”

“Forget I mentioned it. They will know Zalara by her eyes, if nothing else.” She turned her attention to the microscope.

He didn’t doubt that. Their daughter’s eyes had been, to say the least, a cause of serious consternation before she was even one large moon cycle of age. No one in her community had ever seen green eyes before. The reaction was less than welcoming; Zalara’s appearance confirmed exactly who her father was, and to her people, he was the alien.

“Where is everyone?” he asked her, finally taking a test sip of his coffee.

“Nothing happening here, so they all secured.” Tom grinned at the competency of her vernacular. When stressed she could barely put pidgin English together with any resemblance of syntax. The private moment at hand was too precious to disregard. Tom pulled her closer with one arm and buried his face in her hair, planting a series of slow, small kisses on each irregular, rose-colored blotch that ran along her hairline and down to her shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Tom whispered. The scent of lemon in her hair worked like a switch on him. Rianya squirmed, smiled, then broke into a giggle. “Let’s lock the door and turn out the lights.” The glass beads played on back of his hand.

“Bridge to Captain Jackson,” a metallic voice called.

“They have the timing down to an art form,” Tom grumbled, stretching to reach a button next to the speaker grill on the wall, but still holding his wife snug against his body.

“Permission to secure and attend the ceremony.”

“Aye, of course, Lieutenant. Call Mr. May to the bridge,” he said, and quickly tapped the button. “I have to go.”

Jackson had forgotten entirely, but wasn’t about to admit that aloud. Two crew members had earned promotions and the captain needed to be on deck at seventeen hundred to, well, promote them.

“I’ll see you there,” she called after him as he darted out and up to their quarters. Damn, he only had 20 minutes to dress and get to the podium in the reception room. Just below the bridge, the viewing deck shared the magnificent vista of the cosmos through the same windows that actually made up the bow.

Uniforms had evolved since working astronaut days when crews floated around their living habitats in T-shirts and shorts. Less than a century ago, khaki coveralls made the fashion statement on the original moon base from which Luna Colony was eventually built. Now, in the middle of the 22^nd century, aeronautical personnel dressed similar to the air armed services when on duty.

Dress uniforms, however, were substantially less practical and made for obvious formality. The higher the rank, the more obvious the un-workability of the garments. Daily wear could be cleaned by exposure to ultraviolet light, but not the ceremonial apparel.

He buttoned his jacket, burnished the lowest brass button with his cuff, then hustled to the observation deck. Most of the crew had already congregated and were enjoying assorted beverages and private conversations among themselves when he came in.

“Captain on deck!” Ensign Rougeau shouted before Jackson had made it through the door. Those not standing quickly rose to their feet and the rest snapped into a respectful attention.

“As you were,” he told them before anyone was pained. After more than a decade of commanding a starship, he could still be surprised backwards a step when every crewmember in a room would jump to attention. On an occasion of honor, he appreciated the protocol, but had made it clear that he expected the occasion to dictate actions as opposed to strict adherence to archaic military rules. Respect was earned at any level, not owed to an officer because of the stripes on his shoulders.

Maria Mitchell’s Quartermaster and Yeoman, Zoe Stone, met Jackson at the small podium to review the ceremony. She handed him two small boxes, one for Quixote and one for Wagner.

“I don’t get to do this very often,” Jackson said.

“Cake walk, sir,” Stone said with a smile. She promptly rounded up the troops and settled the room before leaving to fetch the recipients. Jackson admired her steady confidence in always accomplishing everything she needed to do, like a duck madly paddling underwater but floating serenely and calmly above the surface.

Jackson looked up and out at the small audience, all the officers, medical personnel, and mission specialists, all seated, and all dressed in formal uniforms with assorted insignias pinned to their chests. The timepiece on the wall: 16:59.

“Welcome everyone, thank you for attending. It’s my pleasure to make the following announcements and honors regarding two of our own.

“Clayton Wagner, front and center.” Mr. Wagner strode to the podium and stood at attention, saluting the captain. Jackson countered, nodded, opened the box, pulled out a bright, metal insignia, and held it up. “Mr. Wagner, over the past year you have demonstrated many qualities of a leaders and have demonstrated willingness to go above call of duty. I hereby grant you a field promotion in the North American Space Administration to Corporal, hereby granted.” Jackson pinned the coppery bronze knot on the young man’s left lapel and shook his hand firmly.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I also appoint you to the position of Chief of Security and Armory Officer of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell.” Wagner turned to face the crew and accept their applause, then sat down with a measure of dignity in one of the open seats in the front row.

“Quixote Kee, front and center.” The only Draconian on board took three long strides and stopped in front of Jackson. At more than two meters tall, the saurian engineer would have been intimidating even if xe were humanoid simply given xs presence. “You’re dressed pretty fancy, Quixote,” Jackson said for the reptile’s ears only.

“Best I can do, Captain.” Quixote wore a dark blue cape that hugged xs body more than it draped, with a split up the back allowing for a muscular tail that counterbalanced a large thoracic barrel.

“Quixote, your leadership for the last ten months has given our crew stability and confidence in you, and I am grateful to have you aboard my ship, and not just as our engineer. You are hereby granted a field promotion to Commander. You are also the first to hold the position of the new First Officer of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell. You’ll have to do that from Engineering rather than the bridge, but I doubt you’ll mind.” 

Jackson couldn’t help but grin, looking up at the orange eyeballs with scaled brow arches. He opened the box and lifted out a gold medallion with a lush lapis center, resembling the sun with the Earth in conjunction. Jackson pinned it on Quixote’s cape, in the center, where xs heart would be, more or less. He clasped the three-digit claw, carefully avoiding the sharp tips, and shook it once. Quixote turned to face the crew for their recognition. The alien dinosaur bowed his head slightly and took the other open seat.

“Congratulations, and thank you for your past and future service,” Jackson said with finality. As the crew broke up, he stepped away from the podium and caught Rianya’s eye. He’d not noticed her standing in the back of the room; he wasn’t sure how long she’d actually been there.

“When did you have time to get into this beautiful thing?” he asked her, tugging gently at the hip of her satin, gold gown. It hugged her subtle curves like a kidskin glove, igniting his imagination for the evening. For a fraction of a second, she resembled an African lion.

“So, Blackjack, when was the last time you pissed a night away playing poker?” Dr. Gregory’s question came from behind his back, jerking him out of his bed. He jumped a centimeter to one side.

“Heh, oh,” Tom chuckled. “What made you think of that?”

“This is a party, isn’t it?” his former dormitory bunkmate slapped him on the shoulder. Tom looked hard at the man. An odd jiggle in his grey eyes told of one too many shots of something. “So, when?”

“About the last time I saw you plastered. Here, sit down, Scott,” he said, leading the astrophysicist to a chair and helping him slump into it. Tom looked at Rianya with a surprised grimace on his face. He wasn’t sure if he should leave the man or call the doc over.

“I’m not on duty, sir.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be tonight, either.” He looked from Scott to Rianya again. “Go get Adams and tell him Dr. Gregory’s... intoxicated.” She hurried off. Tom looked down at his longest friend. He rarely drank alcohol, and when he did, it was one shot, maybe, maybe, two.

“Doc’s coming; he’ll take you to sick bay, Scott. Go with him.”

“Don’t you wanna play poker? Oh, no, you wanna play black jack, right?”

Rianya and Adams returned and Adams assisted Scott and took him away from the observation room.

“What’s wrong with Dr. Gregory?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out later.”