*
Dear Cobalt:
My first officer is, from my professional viewpoint, and in a language only captains should speak…so boring!
She likes to do all the numbers reports daily. They never pile up (a good thing) and uses a tablet hunched over in her chair for hours, forgetting to eat.
Of course the fact that she sends me the reports daily means that I have to deal with them…daily. Sometimes I do like a Saturday off in space.
I went to her with a read-out on my handheld, all those wonderful colorful numbers. I said, “This one here, so many colors. Look at it. It’s an octopus swimming in a lavender cove beside a school of pink fish.”
She looked at me so blankly I thought she’d passed out standing up, eyes wide open. Then she said, “It’s not wrong.”
“No,” I said, “it’s beautiful.”
She frowned.
I said, “Good work.”
She shook her head and walked away. Her name is Ydar.
I am NOT making the impact I wished.
I have this yearning to order her…and my entire crew…to present me with at least one haiku by afternoon tomorrow! It can even be done with numbers, I don’t care.
I know I speak a different dialect from most of them, but I didn’t think it was that different.
I am one of those strange people who think math is fun and looks like art on the page. I like the result but I like the journey, too. I need Tiri here to tell me her little stories. She would give me a report and on her recommendation it would say, “Sector 5 by way of 1.248695 degree-slant is optimal. Head for that spot on the readout that looks like a tiny bit of cool grass in the shade.”
Our captain grew to like our enthusiasm.
Be well.
Love,
Liyan
*
Dear Liyan:
In the ancient science fictions, themes often postulated that science and technology might eventually (even fearfully) overtake the human heart.
In all its good and bad reflections, the human heart will be the last thing to die in any future, technological or otherwise…at least so far as you and I have lived it. You’ve proven it with your last wave, but some people believe their path to serious study and acceptance (success) is through grim struggle and dialog. Much sweat and furrowing of brows.
I am an android and I am smiling at that.
Uncover all of us and what are we underneath? Creatures who crave warmth as well as knowledge, comfort as well as excitation/challenge but above all, connection, love, and again love.
At least you command a ship that will always have interesting guests. Have them perform their plays and songs for each other and your crew, if they wish it. The option is there…like that windpoet only hopefully better.
Zim, whom I have mentioned before, may very much be a match for Ydar. She brought me the package from you, Lark and Tiri with the ring and the crystal in it. She works in accounting…more math. But I have never seen her make pictures with it, or light up in her sea-green eyes if anyone enters a room. When I see her around, which is rare, she appears half-asleep, sometimes even annoyed.
Once I thought to leave a poem on her desk. But I became strangely afraid. I thought she might think I was sick in the head and report me.
What sad paranoia is this that comes from simply wanting to connect with another being even if only with a scrap of words hoping to distract her for just one countable second?
You will do well in inspiring your crew, whatever motion you decide to make. I have no doubt.
Love,
Cobalt
*
27. Far Apart
Cobalt opened the package that had taken more than six months to arrive.
Zim watched him, a crease forming between her eyebrows.
All the pretty machine stamps on the outside distracted him for a moment, as they always did, announcing passage of it through exotic locales, Altair, Colcathar, Riza. The material of the box felt cold in his hands.
Inside was a holograph of Liyan, 33 now, and firm of jaw, his bright gaze seeming to see beyond the frame itself and right into Cobalt’s eyes.
Zim said, “So he’s that captain-guy?”
Cobalt nodded.
She tilted her head. “He’s sorta handsome, I guess. You know. For a spacer.”
Over time, Zim had warmed to him in her own way, which meant she actually spoke to Cobalt on occasion, after he’d left a scrap of writing on her desk. Winter walking on the light shards of broken stars.
She’d asked him the next day, “What’s that from?”
“I wrote it.”
She frowned, looked a little disgusted. Then she turned away and went back into her office, closing the door. Later, when she came out for lunch, she glanced at Cobalt through too long bangs and said coolly, “So where’s the rest?”
“Well, it’s like a game. I write one line, then you write one line. Like that.”
She said, hands on hips, “It might not make any sense!”
He shrugged. “Who’s around to care?”
“What would I say?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t write lines of her own for him, she was far too shy, but she found occasional quotes, printed them out (she was too shy for waves as well) and set them on his concierge desk on some mornings.
Now Cobalt pulled from the package a black cloudy sphere and a tiny silver stand. Thin gold lines zigzagged inside. “Lightning from Nod,” the note stated. “Guaranteed authentic.”
“That’s Tamolite,” Zim said suspiciously.
Cobalt just smiled. It would make a nice centerpiece amid all the other collectibles Liyan had sent him. The note was counter-signed by Lark, who had only last month finally passed enough tests to be officially appointed Liyan’s first officer, and Tiri who headed Siren Song’s nav department.
Zim said, “That guy, that Siren Captain, they say he has the fastest ship out there.”
“He has the best navigation team. It’s about cutting corners, not speed.”
Zim scowled. “There are no corners in space.”
“Not ones you can see.”
“I read somewhere he’s crazy. The quasar-whisperer.”
“Tabloids?”
She shrugged. “Maybe… You know him. You tell me.”
“What we have discussed in private stays private. But I can say the best leaders into wilderness territory know their territories well. All the nuances. The whispers of any changes in the air, the seasons, all the bumps and hills, the dangerous parts, the safe parts, when to go forward, when to turn back.”
“There’s only one season in space. Sub-zero.”
“And then you introduce ships and synthetic moons and foldspace drives and maybe even a bit of war over the centuries, and what do you have? Something different in the mix and how you view it. For over a thousand years it’s not a cold, unreachable void anymore.”
“It’s still void. It’s nothing.” Practical, narrow, xenophobic Zim. It was the expected answer from someone stuck for a third of her days in a cubical-sized back room on a backwater asteroid.
Or an android indentured to the confines of a hotel for life.
But not his answer.
Cobalt’s eyes warmed and something in his solar plexus sparked. “No,” he said. “It’s everything.”
*
Dear Liyan:
Why on this quiet night when the town streets and the shipyards are unusually silent do you feel further away than ever?
The other day I was counting how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. A little more than three years ago I was in the hospital and when I woke you were there. In that amount of time, so much has changed. For both of us.
I have saved every one of your waves. So many! I look back on them all, amazed.
I have no reason to write this wave. Nothing impo
rtant to say, really.
But on nights like this when things are very still and I do not feel tired as I should, I miss you the most. I close my eyes and imagine the sparkle of stars dappling your ship’s hull. I see you gliding away. My heart skips a beat. Then goes back to normal. It’s all good.
Travel safe, my friend.
Love,
Cobalt
*
Dear Cobalt:
It must be a coincidence that I received your wave while we are in what I consider the darkest part of this galaxy. We are in what some call newspace, where the stars aren’t as thick, along the edge where suns have not yet spread so far in their eternal entropy.
There is an orphan world out here discovered only two centuries ago called Lone, encircled by a ring of moons all haloed with bands of phosphor green, amber, orange like embers in deepest ash. The terrain is white tundra and jagged peaks and silver seas. When the wind blows it sings like chimes, like Pan flutes. Kai the military poet wrote of Lone:
a world
made of dogs barking in the distance
made of saffron wind
There is a huge scientific and training military base that operates here. Our performers get paid a lot to stop off and entertain. Most are brought by military ships, round trip. But for the first time we got a group headed out there.
In orbit, we met Sekina and her ship. She had purple stripes in her black hair.
And for Tiri it was not a first time stopover. She had trained on Lone for six months when she was only 18.
So far away, I know. And so many years. Yet we still connect. Sometimes when I get your waves it’s as if you’re standing right in front of me again, talking to me. I can hear your voice. I can see your polite, half-smile.
Instead, I’m on the edge of the galaxy poised to jump. The journey of this abyss scrolls on like endless credits in some crazy movie.
I want to plan a visit to your sector in the coming months. I must do this. I will find a way to fit it in.
Love,
Liyan
*
Right after Liyan had sent his six hundred and seventy sixth wave to Cobalt, Lark said in a soft, almost whispering voice he rarely used, “Sometimes I wish you loved us the way you love him.”
They were in the captain’s quarters. Liyan got up from his desk, the marginal tone and the words startling him.
His stomach heated, hardened. There was a flurry of panic like bubbles billowing in his chest. Could it be true? Was his heart disloyal? Did he even know his heart? Or was Lark just jealously making him question his convictions?
For a first officer he was out of line.
For a lover his behavior was annoyingly appropriate.
“It’s not…” Liyan began.
“Don’t.” Lark held up a hand as if to block his words.
“But I…”
“Stop.”
For a moment he was infuriated. How dare Lark accuse him of this! He was with Lark every night. He saw Cobalt…almost never.
The fury, like a blackness fogging his gaze, just as quickly dissolved.
Lark’s ghost-gold eyes steadied him.
Liyan felt his own brows narrow. He took a breath. Strange, but he would remember that breath as if it were his first…so important. A stirring moment, so small but so huge, delineating ‘then’ from ‘now’.
Then Lark gave him his beautiful trademark smile, the one that made him friends everywhere they went, a smile that gave long nights and shaded rooms a meteoric hue. He said, “No worries. Captain Liyan, I have always loved you.” He turned and headed for the door.
A tide of urgency pulled Liyan at a jog across the room. He reached for the taller man’s shoulder, coming around to face him.
Liyan’s hand moved up, cupping Lark’s smooth cheek. His voice came as if filled with gravel. “I love you. You and Tiri.”
“Hell, I know that.”
He breathed out two words. “Okay. Then.”
A photon glimmer caught an edge of blue in Lark’s stare. “I was scheduled to be on deck five minutes ago.”
Liyan’s palm pressed the firm jaw. He leaned forward and kissed him, warm and soft, lip to lip. A moment later he stood back, dropping his hands. He crossed his arms. “I won’t keep you, then.”
“Too kind of you,” Lark muttered as he opened the door.
After he had gone, Liyan watched the shadows of the room reappear.
*
28. Spacewrecks and Other Anomalies
Orders were to wait at Lone for the acting troupes and performers to finish their obligations at the 14 bases located around the planet.
But a large ship, even a cruise ship like Siren Song orbiting useless for more than a couple weeks cost C&C too much in revenue. So they leased her to the base for eight weeks and Liyan took orders from a new commander. She was ranked as the admiral in charge of all 14 bases but Liyan never saw her in uniform. She always seemed to be between shifts when she spoke to him on the vids, and she always wore a blue fedora and a western style white shirt with silver buttons. She was in her 60s, had a fluty sort of no-nonsense voice, and when speaking was mostly distracted by something off-screen. He was never sure she even saw him at all.
For her first act, she had cargo delivered to him that turned out to be trash. “I’m not a dump ship,” he muttered, realizing everyone on the bridge had heard him. But as commanded, they ferried it to the nearby coordinates specified and returned for more orders.
He took on marines being sent to a nearby solar system. They got in a fight and wrecked the ship’s bar. Maintenance worked on it for two weeks while they hauled yet two more bays full of garbage.
He didn’t complain to anyone but Cobalt and even then he was circumspect. One never knew when the military was scanning all waves in and around the area of Lone. He knew from Tiri and Sekina that the military, despite fedoras and distracted admirals, took itself very seriously. But he did manage in the midst of his frustration to send off a few distraught passages to Cobalt.
Dear Cobalt:
I’ll be happy when we’re off from Lone, beautiful as it is with its “saffron winds,” to future unknown missions.
I’m tired of being the base errand boy. Sekina’s ship works with the military but she’s captaining a science ship so she gets the more exciting duties. New planetary investigations. Off-world rescues. Star-mapping. Even that last would be more exciting than dump duty.
Love,
Liyan
*
He stared at the three-d screen. This time the admiral did look at him. It was as if she were standing on the other side of an open door or window in space and if she took two steps forward she’d be on the bridge. She frowned with her bushy, white eyebrows and said, “The anomaly in sector 69875 began emitting frequency green.”
Liyan nodded patiently. He had no idea what that meant. And he’d never heard of a sector 69875 anomaly.
Then she frowned deeper. “Are you Captain Liyan?”
“I’ve been following your orders for four weeks now,” he calmly replied.
“Huh. You look young for a captain. Anyway, we just need to launch some probes right into its mouth. But you need to be within sight. It moves, you know. You’ll have to track it, set the launch codes with precision, etcetera. It’s all in the wave I sent, all the details of the orders.”
“We’re not a science ship,” he began.
“This is strictly a delivery. I know you’re a bit fancy for that, but it must be done and my other ships are busy.” She paused, looking down at something. “You have deflectors, don’t you?”
“Of course. Not military grade.” He knew impatience when he heard it. She wanted it done. He understood. His was a sleek starliner with titanium curves and triple lounge decks. The military ships were like ducks to his swan boat.
“They’re laughing at us,” Tiri had smirked one day.
He’d replied smartly, “We g
et better pay.”
“Why do you think I left to work for C&C?”
“My point exactly.”
Now he looked directly at the admiral who seemed to be not ten feet away from him. Her use of the word ‘fancy’ pissed him off but he was glad to do something other than haul trash.
Then she added, “When you get back we’ve got more level C cargo for you.”
Junk. Discards. Waste.
The environmentalists for Lone allowed dumping of organic compounds only. Thus Liyan’s beloved endless chore.
Where were the environmentalists for space?
He wasn’t going to say, “Aye, aye.” He wasn’t going to call her ‘sir.’ He wasn’t military. Instead, he forced a wide smile. “Fine. Liyan out.” He cut off the communication before she could. As petty as that seemed, it made him feel good.
Lark came over to him and leaned close, smelling of amber. “I might have to relieve you of command.”
“Huh?”
“You’re losing it, Captain.”
“Hey, I was polite.”
“Not military polite.”
Liyan smirked.
*
Dear Cobalt:
We’ll be gone for a week. Foldspace is only going to last one day but the anomaly we’re headed for messes with waves.
I can’t say anymore about it. I’ve never even heard anything about sector 69875. But we’ll be sending probes and taking holo pictures. I expect all will be highly secured, but if not I’ll send you one. If, that is, there’s anything to see.
In two weeks we’ll be away from Lone. I don’t care if the winds chime. I want out of there.
I never went into the military for many reasons. Tiri left for many reasons. And the androids there are owned for life.
I haven’t seen any on Lone but Tiri remembers boot camp with some of them. Highly trained soldiers, guards, warriors. Males and females alike created in the vats with DNA programmed for less emotion, more brawn. She had heard rumors of entire secret ships of them headed off to secret moons to train for secret missions. If they vanish, no one’s around to care. If they’re never heard from again, no one will miss them.
Letters to an Android Page 19
