Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut

by Grahame R. Smith

  The Rann on the left regarded her with deep unfriendly eyes that glowed yellow with a hint of orange. He wore an expression of contempt and scepticism. She guessed he was Captain Siliceous.

  ‘We understand that you have requested a tour of our ship under the guidance of one of our Marines. To begin with, we must determine that you came to this of your own free will and that he or his associates did not coerce you.'

  ‘No, of course not, nothing like that. It's all quite casual really.'

  The Rann officer changed his look of scepticism to that of distaste. He clearly had no proclivity for human females.

  ‘Frankly, we cannot understand why a Rann marine should agree to such a thing, but he has supported your request.'

  She questioned the use of the word ‘request' but said nothing. She was aghast at Captain Siliceous's rudeness and was still having difficulty believing that the situation was real.

  ‘This proposed ‘guided' tour is a potential security risk,' the other Rann spoke up, his face impassive as if wearing a mask.

  ‘What can I possibly do to threaten security?' Flower-of-Sands was amazed at all the fuss. ‘I'm not thinking of going undercover or anything and spying on the Rann Empire.'

  This utterance was a mistake. Both Rann reared up and rumbled like volcanoes about to erupt.

  ‘We insist that you change your attitude,' the first Rann male said. ‘Disrespect of Rann protocol is a punishable offence. We find your attitude insincere and offensive.'

  She felt sudden apprehension. She was, after all, amid a Rann top secret operation. To gain access to the Marleeseen planet, to Astral-La and the drives, she would need good will and approval from the Rann; and Clayton was against her. She must tread carefully, and that was not easy as the cultural divide between her and the Rann was such that she could inadvertently cause offence.

  ‘Forgive me. I am not well versed in Rann customs.'

  The Rann officers regarded her in silence for a long time. She had hoped her words would have softened their opinion of her. It was not so. When Captain Siliceous spoke, his tone was ominous.

  ‘We can grant you only limited access to this ship. All classified areas are off limits, and you are forbidden to take even a verbal interest in them. We understand that you have applied for access to the Marleeseen planet, at our expense as you have no transport of your own. For my part, I will be happy to see the back of you as I regard Confederacy persons, especially women, to be irresponsible and criminally slack in all matters concerning security.'

  She wanted to say that she had only half agreed to a tour of the ship in the first place, but she decided against this as every time she opened her mouth she made things worse.

  ‘The young marine in question,' the captain rasped, ‘has an impeccable record and is highly decorated. Out of respect for his record, we have allowed this arrangement, although we feel it is an inappropriate use of a young officer's leave time, which would be better spent with people of his own kind. Now, because this ship and its current operation are classified, you must sign various documents and disclaimers.'

  A series of hard copy parchments materialized before Flower-of-Sands. Leaning forward, she examined them briefly. The writing was mostly in the Rann primary language with an occasional clarification in standard galactic.

  ‘Press your thumb on each of the pages,' the second impassive Rann ordered.

  Reeling from the absurdity of the situation, and desperate to get away, she pressed her right thumb on each page. On completion, the pages vanished.

  ‘Now,' the first Rann said. ‘Please leave, and remember, we are watching you closely. Any sign of clandestine activity and we will arrest you.'

  She swallowed hard and rose respectfully under a gaze of suspicious disapproval.

  Jet was waiting for her in a large ante-chamber. He tried taking her arm, but she walked quickly ahead. She was humiliated by the Rann and stunned by her own behaviour. Why had she put herself into such an impossible out of character situation? Was she suffering from the effects of her recent adventures? Did she have a form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or time lag syndrome?

  Jet caught up with her and steered her towards a jump booth. She allowed him to take control momentarily as she was fast losing her ability to control anything. ‘I'm sorry,' she breathed. ‘They were so rude. Look, I don't feel in the mood for guided tours. Show me the holo-deck.'

  He nodded approval. Although distressed, she was intrigued. ‘Will not security, so-called, intervene?'

  ‘Actually, they are more concerned about you seeing the ship. An intergalactic ship with enhanced FTL technology is top secret.' He smiled. ‘The holodeck is hardly that, but they would prefer you were Rann – that's all.'

  ‘I'm not suggesting we become intimate. I just want … look, just show me the holo-deck.' She felt defensive, victimized, coerced, and rebellious, all at the same time.

  They came out of the booth onto a holo-fantasy deck. The general atmosphere was of tranquillity and romance. A large moon hovered over a still seascape, and in the far distance were mountains. The light was warming, soft and embracing. A gentle wind smelt of roses and grass after rain. She exhaled deeply as relaxation flowed through her.

  They walked the beach, naked feet in the water, salt wind and birds, sunlight glinting in the wet sand. Reaching a rock formation, they clambered up a bank of waving grass and entered a cabin that smelt of evergreen forests. She tried several times to contact Ninthe, but there was no response. She was at the mercy of Providence. Ninthe, the Rann rudeness, it was all too much. Out of defiance more than anything else, she allowed Jet to move closer to her.

  Without warning, he gathered her up and carried to the bedroom. At first, she struggled and almost resorted to her combat training. But her efforts were half-hearted. Here was someone who wanted her – now, without questions and impenetrable Android protocol.

  It was like sleeping with a giant. At first, she couldn't find her way around him and allowed him to take the lead. In this, she had little choice as his arms flowed around her. He was immensely long and lean and she felt as if she was scrambling over a fallen tree that undulated and writhed with her every breath. She found herself wondering if they were compatible biologically, but whatever it was that he had going on was acceptable – perfectly. She gasped and gave into herself and her needs.

  Thus, began the equivalent of a three-day affair. The holo-world was extensive and detailed. They explored hills and valleys, took boat trips, found food, and drink in abundance, and lay for hours gazing at a sky that was unrelenting in its dream of ever expanding blue.

  At the end of the three days, she awakened to a strong resurgence of her reason for being in this part of the universe: to find Astral-La and to recover the missing Shiloramedel intergalactic valves. It was understandable that she had been distracted; in and out of hyperspace, space spores, space pirates, marooned in space, marooned on a dwarf planet. One of these alone, she told herself, was good reason. Nevertheless, the time had come to get back on topic.

  She decided to contact her team. Convincing herself that she could behave as if nothing had happened, she called Ninthe; but Ninthe was offline, as usual, so she tried Edge. He responded immediately, but was formal, his voice remote and unsympathetic.

  ‘Ah, Edge, we need to start looking for Astral-La. Can we get the team together to land on the Marleeseen planet? I presume we will have permission by now.'

  Silence.

  ‘Edge? Are you there?'

  ‘Of course.'

  ‘We need to begin searching for Astral-La.'

  ‘Do we?'

  ‘Edge, are you angry with me?'

  Silence. Then, ‘Whilst you have been otherwise engaged, we have investigated. She is not on the Marleeseen planet and neither are the intergalactic drives.'

  ‘Oh, so what …'

  ‘The Rann have finished cleaning up the fourth planet. They have information that may shed light on Astral-La. We are to accompany a mo
nitoring group to the surface where this supposed information is available. We leave in thirty of our home planet's minutes.'

  ‘Can I come?'

  ‘Seeing that it is your project in the first place, it's best that you do. Docking bay 5A.'

  ‘Will Ninthe be coming?'

  Edge broke contact and Flower-of-Sands experienced the first of what was to be a lengthy series of agonizing, emotional pangs. She had betrayed Ninthe. It was useless to pretend otherwise. Remorse flowed through her like a potent beverage, seeking every crevice and secret place of her mind and body.

  Courtesy of the holo-fantasy deck that had been her home for the past three days, she was sitting on the shore of a virtual sea. She looked around for Jet, but could not see him. Making her way back to the cabin that had been the altar of her carnal knowledge of him, she took a last look at the sea and skyscape and tried to shake off the growing feeling of guilt that was like an unremitting, incoming tide.

  Arriving at the cabin, she confronted a note from Jet telling her that his superiors had called him up on an unexpected special op. She was to help herself to breakfast and exit the holodeck through the booth in the sitting room.

  Feeling abandoned, she dressed, skipped breakfast, and entered the booth, apprehension hanging over her like a dilapidated garment.

  Chapter 19

  She arrived at Central Hub, which was the Rann War ship’s primary connecting area. It was vast, as big as the average space station and filled with Rann military and civilian personnel, yet practical in design. She noticed a large display indicating docking bays and departure areas. Although in the Rann language, the numerology was roughly the same as that generally used by the Confederacy.

  Her second in the series of painful pangs that fate had decreed her occurred as she spotted Ninthe walking towards her; obviously on some mission and looking charming in a light-blue once-piece coverall. Flower-of-Sands heart leapt with hope, but Ninthe walked passed without looking and without recognition of her existence.

  This age-old tactic had the desired effect. Flower-of-Sands was devastated. Her third pang, slightly delayed by shock, hit her like a tsunami. She then looked back, called after Ninthe, and, as Ninthe continued to ignore her, received yet another pang that ran through her like white-hot lava.

  Edge and Faithe nodded curtly as she approached the entrance to bay 5A. Standing to one side, talking to a group of Rann, was Clayton. Immediately, they all stepped onto a moving ramp that took them directly onto a shuttle. Edge and Faithe ignored her, and the atmosphere of disapproval was palpable. Clayton was some distance behind, engaged in intense conversation with a group of Rann military.

  ‘Is Ninthe not coming with us?’ she asked, feeling stupid.

  Edge and Faithe exchanged significant looks. ‘What do you expect?’ Edge said flatly.

  An orange-skinned Rann female ushered them to large seats that were comfortable and equipped with safety harnesses that instantly folded around them. Edge and Faithe chatted quietly, leaving Flower-of-Sands to her own devices. Clayton was sitting further towards the shuttle’s pilot arena, talking with the crew, and looking at home in the Rann environment, which was unusual as the Rann and Confederacy had had little do with one another over the past few hundred years – supposedly.

  ‘Okay,’ Flower-of-Sands turned to Edge and Faithe. ‘I know you are both disappointed with me. Frankly, I am disappointed with myself. I know I have behaved badly, but please can you stop the deep freeze.’

  ‘We don’t understand it,’ Faithe spoke for the first time, looking across Edge. ‘We all had a traumatic time getting to this system, if that is what you are blaming your behaviour on. But honestly, Sands, you’ve broken Ninthe’s heart, and you also walked out on your friends, just left us high and dry.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Flower-of-Sands whispered as another pang gnawed through her like a hungry carnivore. She looked at Edge who remained impassive.

  This is what hurt the most. After all, Edge was, or rather had been, the playboy of the year, thoroughly daredevil, bad boy, risk taker, and debauchee. To have him taking a moral high ground over her behaviour, was surreal and distressing. She sighed and looked out of the window as the shuttle slid effortlessly away from the warship and plunged towards the clouds of the fourth planet.

  Later, they walked onto a ledge that overlooked an immense chasm. Glowing stalagmites illuminated jagged rock formations. A lava type substance flowed sporadically around gnarled mounds, almost artificial in appearance.

  They wore light-weight pressure suits over their smart-skins ensuring protection from the planet’s atmosphere, although the pirates had built relatively clean air installations and had begun elementary terra-forming.

  The ledge turned out to be a plateau stretching out from an oppressive cliff edge. They walked through an ominous series of doorways into a large area ring-fenced by prison cells and dungeons. By now, Clayton was walking with them. He chatted quietly to Edge and Faithe, but ignored Flower-of-Sands. Right on cue, Flower-of-Sands thought cynically.

  A Rann civilian, shorter than most Rann, who was probably a forensic scientist equivalent, showed them to a cell covered by a thin plastic-type alloy. The team feared the worst and fully expected to confront Astral-La’s body. Mercifully, this was not the case. The cell was reasonable comfortable with a bed, table, washing facilities and even an elementary computer setup.

  ‘My name is Isaac,’ the Rann scientist said. ‘We believe your friend was held here in this specially prepared cell, and that whoever was holding her captive escaped with her before we had the opportunity to save her.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Flower-of-Sands announced. ‘She would have been difficult to hold prisoner.’

  Faithe and Edge looked puzzled and waited for her to continue, forgetting briefly their hostility towards her.

  ‘She could read minds,’ Flower-of-Sands said shakily. ‘Most people knew about that, of course. She was also telekinetic. Some knew about that.’ Here she looked briefly at Clayton who remained impassive. ‘But, as I have already disclosed, she had the ability to teleport without a booth.’

  Isaac looked startled. ‘That explains the nature of the cell. Whoever abducted her must have known of this ability and constructed this cell encased in a powerful temporal molecular alloy, to prevent her escaping.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’ Flower-of-Sands breathed.

  ‘It is difficult to imagine. But the reason we brought you here is that Astral-La has constructed a virtual capsule from a part of her implant technology. How she managed that without an anaesthetic is again difficult to imagine. She has built it into the far-right corner of the cell. We only discovered it by accident during our forensic examination of the cell. We know it’s her because the capsule projects her bio-ID, confirmed by Clayton. We can’t open it, however. I suspect it is for her friends’ eyes only.’ Isaac looked significantly at Edge, Faithe and Flower-of-Sands.

  ‘How did she do such a thing,’ Faithe uttered tearfully. ‘Poor Astral.’

  ‘She had a lot of tech ability,’ Edge said thoughtfully.

  Clayton nodded. ‘She is highly gifted and resourceful. Let our friends look.’

  Isaac directed them to an area in the cell.

  ‘Here.’ He pointed to a circular patch, almost invisible, stuck discretely onto the smooth alloy that was the wall of the cell. Superficially, it was difficult to determine whether the patch was part of the wall alloy or not.

  ‘Analysis reveals it is a complex message device,’ the scientist went on.

  Edge went up to the device and stared directly at it. He placed a finger over it and tried speaking. There was no response from the device.

  Faithe tried next, placing fingers and hands over the device and speaking to it. There was no response.

  Faithe turned to Flower-of-Sands. ‘It has to be you,’ she said with certain reluctance. ‘You were her best friend.’

  ‘I don’t know about “best”.’ Flower-of-
Sands went towards the patch, but Clayton pushed her away and stepped up to the patch, examining, speaking to it, placing fingers and hands onto it. All to no avail.

  ‘There is no way this thing is going to open,’ he said, ignoring Flower-of-Sands. ‘We should remove it and subject it to analysis.’

  ‘Let’s give Sands a chance,’ Faithe said. ‘She and Astral were close.’

  ‘I see little point in that,’ Clayton said rudely. ‘Flower-of-Sands is a stranger to our culture. Astral-La would not have considered her as a candidate for a communication of this sort. I say we remove the device and subject it to analysis.’

  Clayton gestured to a group of Rann guards who immediately formed a parameter around the unfortunate patch. Accompanied by Isaac and two assistants, he quickly examined the patch with view to removing it.

  They began work, using tools handed them by assistants. After half an hour, they had failed to make any impression on the device.

  ‘Why don’t you let Sands have a go,’ Edge said. ‘It can’t do any harm, and, who knows, she might be successful.’

  ‘Thanks, Edge.’ Flower-of-Sands stepped towards the patch on the wall only to have Clayton intercept her. Simultaneously, the Rann guards closed ranks around the area.

  ‘Why are you preventing her from approaching the patch?’ Edge spoke loudly.

  ‘I have reasons that I am not able to disclose,’ Clayton said enigmatically.

  Although Clayton and the Rann were preventing her from going near to the patch, she could make eye contact with it. Opening her plant-net, she attempted a scan of the patch. ‘Astral?’ she whispered.

  ‘Stop her!’ Clayton rasped.

  Too late. A holo appeared in the centre of the cell. It began as a small bubble, but rapidly expanded into a life-size image of Astral-La. When she spoke, she sounded remote, yet was clearly Astral-La. Clayton looked furious, but was helpless to stop the procedure.