by Dennis Young
“Nothing,” said Mitchell with finality. “But your words are taken as given. I guess I’m a bit surprised to hear such a conciliatory tone from you, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re taking no pleasure in what transpired. Your compassion is a strength, not a weakness.” He drank. “That’s another compliment, by the way.”
Trachenberg smiled, then grinned. As did Guererro. “Thank you, sir. And thank you also for your commendations to the crew. They did their duties well.”
“As did you, Commander,” said Mitchell gently. “As did you.”
She set down her empty cup. “Permission to return to Armstrong, sir? We’d like to get the ship trimmed out as much as possible before we reach base.”
“Of course, Commander. Dismissed.”
“Baruch HaShem,” said Guererro. She extended her hand, and Trachenberg took it gently.
“Indeed, Captain. Indeed.”
The door swished closed.
Mitchell watched after her for a few quiet moments. He showed a rueful smile, then said, “I’ve never been married, never had kids. But after having Trachenberg under my command, I’m beginning to understand what it must be like.” He glanced away. “Maybe it’s time to think about that a little more seriously.”
Guererro raised her face and looked him in the eye. She touched his hand with hers. “Let’s talk about it then, shall we?”
* * *
Home…
Fleet Base Twenty-four was a huge complex, orbiting a moon of the planet Thestu III in a frontier system not unlike that of Harmony. On arrival, all three ships had been drydocked for immediate repairs and refitting, and crews given thirty day’s liberty on the station. At Earth Alliance expense.
Trachenberg had completed her reports, walked through checkdowns in all of Armstrong’s departments, looked in on Captain Martinez in the base hospital, and taken the remainder of the day strolling the civilian sectors, simply walking alone and doing her best to keep melancholy from sneaking into her thoughts. She had encountered Lieutenant Rashim unexpectedly, and they sat in a park, just people-watching for a while and sharing small talk.
“I’ve been studying your culture,” said Rashim after they resumed their walking. “It appears to be much as Altair Four before our Great Awakening. War… genocide… racial conflicts over land and such. Subjugation. Your ancestors grew from that into a world power, but never lost their warrior ways. I confess, I have not read beyond what was called Earth’s early twentieth century. Can you offer some enlightenment?”
They strolled for several minutes before Trachenberg answered. “There was a time…” She paused and looked away.
Rashim waited patiently, then finally spoke. “Commander?”
She turned, wiping her eyes, then chuckled wryly. “An old memory. Once we had a motto: ‘Never Again!’ At times, I tend to apply it too liberally in situations such as our recent events.”
“I do not understand.”
“A horrific event in history, called the Holocaust, involving… people of my ancestry. But it was a long time ago. Very long.”
“Apparently,” replied Rashim nodding, “not long enough to forget.”
There was a pause between them as they walked through the promenade and into the arts sector. Trachenberg caught the scent of cholent stew. The spices simmering in the meat and beans brought thoughts of home and her childhood rushing through her mind. She stopped only paces from the restaurant entrance. A kosher restaurant, she noticed.
“Your support with the negotiations was invaluable.” She waited for a reply, but Rashim only nodded formally. “I’ve sent a letter of commendation and put a copy in your file. You’ll receive official notification and the award in the next honors cycle. Well done.”
“Thank you, Commander. Your words are appreciated.”
“This was possible only because you kept my focus on what was really important; a peaceful resolution to the crisis while we were on Harmony.”
Rashim frowned slightly. “I would hardly call the destruction of a Qoearc vessel and crippling of two others peaceful.”
“It depends on exactly what you told me; perspective. No further casualties on the planet, minimal losses to our ships.”
Rashim considered. “I see. Yet in my capacity as Communications Officer, I am trained not only to comprehend, but understand. And in my culture, death in any capacity is unacceptable. We have lost crew… and friends.”
Trachenberg countered, “In war, there is a level of acceptance, not because we wish or condone it, but because it is war, and unavoidable.”
“And in peace, nothing of the sort is necessary.” He showed a slight smile. “It appears we still have much to discuss between ourselves.”
Trachenberg grinned, glancing back to the restaurant entrance. “Let me buy you dinner and we can do just that.”
About the Author
Dennis Young’s writing experience began somewhere around the third grade and has continued since. Once through the grueling trials of school (grade, high, and college level, surviving all with a flourish) he found an outlet for his imagination in the world of fanzines and fan literature. Writing for friends, family, and once in a while actual publication, his appetite was only whetted.
Working in the International Construction industry, he found opportunity to direct his writing talents to presentations, articles, and project management.
In the early 2000’s he began assembling The Ardwellian Chronicles, an Epic Fantasy Saga of six novels and three compendiums totaling more than 1.3 million words.
With the Chronicles published between 2007 and 2018, he then turned to the genre of Military Science Fiction and The Mercenary Trilogy, detailing the adventures of Talice Wyloh.
His next foray was into SF adventure and The Earthfleet Saga Volumes One and Two, with further books in the works.
Never one to say no to a challenge, more genres lay in the future for his exploration.
Stay tuned…
Website – Ardwel.com
Website – dennisyoung64063.wixsite.com/author-dennis-young
Facebook – Working on the Ardwellian Chronicles and Hope I Live Long Enough to Finish
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Blog – theardwellianchronicles.blogspot.com
