Flower-of-Sands: The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut (Seriously Intergalactic Book 1)

by Grahame R. Smith

‘Not manned, of course?’ Somehow, Flower-of-Sands hoped it would be.

  ‘Hardly.’ Something in Clayton’s manner indicated that he might be another intergalactic sceptic. Flower-of-Sands felt her heart poised yet again on the brink of disappointment.

  They entered a spacious control chamber. Technicians sat at desks with holo charts and symbols hovering at eye level, their fingers moving rapidly over invisible keyboards and control panels. High up were larger screens, each presenting a different view of a sleek interstellar ship.

  After a few minutes of quiet and confident exchange amongst the technicians, Flower-of-Sands watched in wonder as the unmanned ship slid away from its launch pad.

  ‘So!’ Clayton turned to Edge and Flower-of-Sands – Astral-La had moved over to a group of technicians she knew. ‘I think lunch is in order, or maybe for you, dinner.’

  ‘We have lost contact with our body clocks,’ Edge laughed and called over to Astral-La.

  Astral-La re-joined them. ‘Where to Uncle Clayton?’ She took his arm.

  ‘Nowhere spectacular,’ he grinned, obviously besotted with his niece.

  The restaurant looked out across the home planet, which was now in darkness. Generally, the restaurant was too bright for a clear view, but the management had created a dimly lit area for tourists wishing to gaze out at Liberty Primary, to the side of, or above, depending on the constantly changing attitude of the space station.

  Clayton chose a chaotic, busy, and crowded area. Flower-of-Sands would have liked somewhere quieter with a view of Liberty. She promised herself that later she would attend the meditation chapel and contemplate the majesty of the home planet through a massive panoramic window. That, if nothing else, would make this trip worthwhile.

  After lunch, which may have been dinner, Clayton took them on a grand tour that ended in the engineering research and development sector. He showed them massive engines and Faster-than-Light (FTL} drives that drove spaceships across their solar system and interstellar space. He dwelt on the complexities of the FTL-temporal drives – refined and perfected over centuries. But of the Shiloramedel intergalactic drives, he said nothing. Even in the museum section of the engineering sector, there was no sign of them.

  Flower-of-Sands grew impatient. ‘Clayton, I am really interested in seeing the Shiloramedel intergalactic drives. Edge tells me that you have examples here on this space station. That, to some extent, is why we are here – at least, why I am here.’

  Clayton hesitated, then spoke, his voice almost conspiratorial, ‘Indeed, we do have the Shiloramedel intergalactic drive-valves here in storage. We keep them sealed, as they tend to interact at a distance with the Field engines, creating unpredictable temporal anomalies. They also influence the space station’s life support, interfere with the artificial gravity systems, and affect some people’s minds. They are very powerful.’

  ‘Can we see them … please?’

  Clayton seemed reluctant, but agreed. ‘Remember they are, in a way that is mysterious and beyond our comprehension, sentient.’

  ‘Like the Field?’ Astral-La enquired. Flower-of-Sands’ expression indicated that she shared the question.

  Again, Clayton was strangely reticent.

  ‘Yes, of course. The Shiloramedel drives share aspects of the Field. Unlike the Field, however, they defy utilization, except for the purpose of intergalactic travel.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Flower-of-Sands asked.

  Clayton seemed irritated. ‘We have learned to use the Field in a practical sense. On its periphery, it is measurable and adaptable, as was physics in ancient times. It’s less logical aspects we leave to a few theorists and philosophers.’

  ‘Like Edge’s brother.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Can we see them, though? Please.’ Flower-of-Sands was almost childlike in her insistence.

  With an attitude of resignation, Clayton led them into a narrow chamber, the walls of which were pure white and lit from within. At the far end of the chamber, a panel opened revealing a row of cylinders. Producing a multipurpose card/key from his hip pocket, Clayton opened one of the cylinders. Bathed in blue-violet light, a dozen transparent valves pulsated as if alive. Flower-of-Sands immediately felt them connect with her. The effect was powerful, although not hostile. Inwardly she saw vistas of stars compelling her, inviting. Beside her, Astral-La was breathing heavily, obviously having a similar experience. Edge seemed relaxed and light-hearted, yet he too felt its effects.

  Clayton closed the cylinder. ‘The Shiloramedel intergalactic drives are of a high-energy order. To the Shiloramedel, who, as you know, have left this part of the universe, this energy is life-blood. To us, it is destructive and distracting. We can’t exist at that level of energy; it is too much for us.’

  ‘But you work with the Field all the time,’ Flower-of-Sands insisted. Again, Clayton seemed irritated. ‘We have learned to work with the Field. In effect, we have muzzled it. As I have said repeatedly, we work with those areas of the Field that we can control. Its deeper levels we leave to the theorists.’

  ‘I’m surprised that you have not destroyed the Shiloramedel drives, as they seem so problematic.’

  ‘Not “seems”, my dear; they are problematic, and for the purposes of interstellar travel, unnecessary.’ Here Clayton looked almost sheepish, but at the same time annoyed. ‘We have tried to destroy the valves, bequeathed by the Shiloramedel, before they departed for another part of the cosmos. The valves are, to put it simply, indestructible. All we can do is isolate them.’

  ‘But why,’ Flower-of-Sands said. ‘I thought, looking back over eight hundred years, that our civilization had become part of the Shiloramedel Confederacy, that the great spiritual leader Omegali had united our worlds with theirs.’

  Clayton tried to hide his increasing annoyance. ‘Things became confused after the Rann wars and the Shiloramedel left. We are where we are.’

  ‘Does that mean that I we will not be able to use the Shiloramedel drives?’ Flower-of-Sands felt despondent.

  ‘Not at all. I gave Astral my word. I will make the valves available to you after your training. I have reserved a state of art ship at our station at the heliopause of this system. After your training, you will fly with the valves to the heliopause where engineers will install them.’ Suddenly he paused, his expression grim. ‘Frankly, I do not approve. We have enough here in this galaxy and the Home Galaxy to keep us busy for a hundred lifetimes. Why go to another galaxy? But Astral-La is close to my heart, and her abilities make her unique on this planet. I have no choice but to meet her demands. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.’ He gestured for them to leave the chamber and hurried away.

  Clayton’s attitude of disapproval astonished Flower-of-Sands. She had expected much more of him. She had hoped that he would inspire her, that he would be teeming with ideas and suggestions, that he would be bubbling over with excitement about the prospect, curious about the strange disappearances, that he would want to come with them even, and that above all the project would have his blessing.

  She felt discouragement verging on panic. Everything was going wrong. Astral-La’s uncle, the one person with the technical expertise and resources to help her, was against the project. Edge was a playboy, and essentially uninterested in any form of commitment except partying. And Astral-La was eccentric, enigmatic, frightening, and unfathomable. She felt desperately homesick for her time and friends. Her planet, the birthplace of intergalactic unification with the Shiloramedel, the home of the discovery of the Field, had, it seemed, passed into an alternate reality.

  ‘It will work out.’ Edge put an arm around her shoulders. Astral-La had already departed from the area to link up with old friends.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Definitely. Things always do. Worry not. Let’s go out. This is the place for it.’

  She turned to him, smiling, but also tearful. ‘I am not coming partying. I need some quiet time. Sorry.’

  He looked
nonplussed, unable to understand why anyone would not want to party.

  ‘Okay, as you wish. You know where your cabin is. I guess I will see you later. But if you change your mind, you know where I will be.’

  She found her cabin and went immediately to the shower. To her surprise, it was not a water shower; instead, jets of air brushed gently over her skin, filling her with warmth and relaxation. Afterwards she got to grips with the cabin technology, which was complex and far-reaching. With a touch of a symbol, her main room became a bedroom, sitting room, holo-bay, or gymnasium. Feeling calmer, she dialled for food and drink, scanning the clothes menu as she ate. Finishing her meal, she dialled for clothes – a simple orange and blue dress and sandals – dialled for a hair arrangement supplied by a three-armed synthetic, and finally dialled for a jump cradle, which, after less than a minute, slid into her cabin.

  The meditation chapel presented a panoramic view of Liberty Primary. Although it could accommodate at least a hundred people, every seat provided a perfect view of Liberty Primary. She was tired. Along the extent of the far wall were sleeping-bays. As the space station was in night mode, she decided to sleep awhile, if her busy thoughts allowed this. She slipped into a vacant bay and sank onto a comfortable, embracing mattress. Her implant requested darkness and she lay back in the hope that sleep would envelope her and free her from her growing disquiet.

  It was not to be. Disturbing thoughts entered her mind. She tried dismissing them, but they refused to go. What worried her was the cloak of disinformation and inaccessibility that surrounded the Shiloramedel intergalactic drives. She seemed to run up against a barrier every time she approached the subject. Had this civilization really made the advances it claimed to have done? Admittedly, the planet had advanced, but she could view these as mostly refinements of previous achievements. Where, for example, was this Shiloramedel Intergalactic Confederacy? And what was happening with the Field? There was much talk about the Field. But her understanding of the Field was that it was consciousness itself, its utilization dependent on a free and unbiased mind. Was this so-called Field bogus? Had she arrived into a benevolent totalitarian state? Surely not, after all the suffering that so many had been through during the Rann wars. Surely, the planet had made progress. And why the blocking of intergalactic travel? She was baffled and wanted clarification. Things were not what they seemed. Eventually, she fell asleep and dreamt of the rotating home planet.

  Chapter 9

  Dawn. New Salvation from space. Bands of aurora receding. Glorious, mystic blue. Cloud formations. Seas. Spaciousness, reaching into darker shades of blue. Water vapour.

  She felt warmth of spirit. Humanity. Looking down at her home, she felt closeness, intimacy.

  She left her seat and walked slowly towards the exit. She noticed Astral-La, who made a discreet gesture and followed her.

  Outside the hall, they linked up. ‘Breakfast?’ Astral-La said softly.

  ‘Definitely.’ After viewing the home planet in its transcendent majesty, Flower-of-Sands’ fears from the night before seemed far away. She was light of heart and ready to enjoy what the ‘day’ had to offer.

  They chose a small restaurant at the opposite end of the station to Sub-Station 10, close to the notorious Spectrum Club. Edge was already there, surrounded by fans in a state of considerable intoxication. Casually dumping his entourage, he found a new table and gestured for Flower-of-Sands and Astral-La to sit. A boomerang shaped menu materialized and they each ordered breakfast before it flew back to the kitchen. Edge spoke rapidly, his eyes almost luminous. Strangely, Flower-of-Sands thought he looked helpless.

  Her thoughts from the night before began to return. She was beginning to see this civilization in a new way. Perhaps these people were, in a hidden way, suppressed. Perhaps people knew this deep down, and perhaps each person had a way of coping. Edge’s way was partying. If this was true, what was Astral-La’s way?

  Breakfast arrived with a strong Yeola bean drink, which reminded Flower-of-Sands of Earth coffee. A smell of ozone pervaded. She felt buoyed up, ready for action. She wanted to begin training.

  Then it happened. The floor moved. Flower-of-Sands grabbed the table as dizziness swept over her. A distant rumble became a roar. She felt as if a waterfall was inside her head. Was the station under some sort of attack or was it just her? She felt something turning her inside out. Her head buzzed like a tuning fork top. Then it was all over.

  The restaurant fell silent as people looked about in amazement. After a few minutes, everyday life started up again, people talking rapidly and excitedly, general implant activity reaching maximum as people tried to find out what had happened. Eventually, it became clear that nobody was hurt and that the station was functioning normally. Nevertheless, the atmosphere remained tense as mishaps, even mild ones, were uncommon on the station.

  ‘What was that?’ Flower-of-Sands was breathless with alarm.

  Astral-La looked worried. ‘I don’t know. It may have been a solar flare. Maybe a malfunction in a FTL drive test. Clayton will know.’ Her eyes glazed as she tried to implant connect with her uncle

  Edge was leaning back and staring at the ceiling. Twisting around, he smiled warmly and carelessly at Flower-of-Sands.

  ‘You look scared, lovely Flower, but worry not. Nothing dangerous ever happens on space stations these days. It was probably something going down in the Spectrum club.’ He laughed and waved over to his fans, who seemed not in the least put out.

  Flower-of-Sands ignored Edge, whom she considered too far-gone to warrant an opinion about anything. But she could not relax. At the back of her mind was a graze of an idea that the Shiloramedel valves were to blame for the strange anomaly. She told herself that this was ridiculous, but it was a nagging feeling that she could not shake off.

  They resumed breakfast, but ate and drank in silence. Eventually Flower-of-Sands spoke.

  ‘I hope it was not my fault.’

  Edge was incredulous. ‘What? How could that possibly be? You were sitting here, innocently eating food.’

  ‘I know, but it could be something to do with the valves.’

  ‘We were all there when Clayton opened them. We could all be to blame, including Clayton. The idea is ridiculous. You are just over-anxious about getting off into intergalactic space. Well, if you are looking for an alternative mode of intergalactic travel you can try the Spectrum club.’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘He is right,’ Astral-La said. ‘The over-anxious bit, I mean, not the club (here she looked at Edge with mock distaste). There is no way you could have influenced the valves in that way.’

  ‘Mm, I suppose so. Do you think we will begin training soon? I would like to get moving with this project.’

  ‘Relax.’ Edge’s attitude was supportive and comforting despite his apparent inebriation. ‘There is time. We have only just arrived. Soon you will be training so hard you will be wish you had just come for the party.’

  ‘Somehow, I don’t think that is going to happen,’ Flower-of-Sands muttered dryly.

  Chapter 10

  Unable to shake off the feeling that she was responsible for the anomaly, she wandered aimlessly about, stopping occasionally to view recreational areas, window-shop vast galleries of interesting products, and watch ships taking off for Liberty, the moon, or the moons of the outer planets.

  The planetarium-observation tower was the one place that really held her interest. There were high resolution holos of all the planets of the Liberty system, the massive outer gas giants and the hundreds of moons and planetoids. Like most of the inhabited systems of the Confederacy, and the Earth’s solar system, the gas giant type planets were further out from their primary. Not in every case, however. Some systems had massive gas giants close to their sun, with smaller planets further out. Some of these planets and their moons had been colonized, some used for mining and research, others sustaining extraordinary life forms. Life was the norm in the universe.

  Spellbound b
y some of the extraordinary displays, she did not at first respond to an implant call from Astral-La. Eventually, she accepted it and a mini-holo appeared over her right wrist.

  ‘Hey, Sands, fancy coming over for a drink and chat?’

  ‘Err, I guess so.’

  ‘I’ll send a cradle. Stay where you are and it will be there shortly.’

  Later, she passed her hand over a small icon on Astral-La’s door and a voice drawled, ‘Come.’

  Astral-La was reclining on a sofa, a silver robe half open, her limbs disconcertingly vibrant and desirable.

  ‘Hey, Sands, don’t let me scare you, I know I’m always doing that. What have you been up to?’ It was a rhetorical question and Flower-of-sands did not answer. ‘Try this drink, it’s amazing,’ Astral-La went on. ‘Non-intoxicating, so don’t worry.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before.’

  ‘Hey, relax, it’s only me. I do bite, of course, but I do it nicely.’

  Flower-of-Sands winced playfully.

  A hover tray manifested and she helped herself to a long glass filled with a multi-coloured liquid. She wondered if Astral-La had a special reason for inviting her, perhaps even to discuss their training.

  ‘When do you think we will start training? I have tried connecting to Clayton, but he is unavailable.’

  ‘Training?’ Astral-La looked as if she was trying to remember the meaning of the word. ‘All in suitable time, my dear.’

  Flower-of-Sands sighed, something she had been doing a great deal of recently. ‘I keep hearing stuff like that. Why do I get the feeling that “all in suitable time” is a euphemism for “never”?’

  ‘There is an innate mistrust of Shiloramedel technology. As Clayton said, it is too high-energy, too unpredictable, and liable to entice one away from a stable, productive, and serene life, and to send one sailing off between galaxies.’

  ‘Do you really think that, or are you just trying to upset me.’ Flower-of-Sands resisted yet another sigh.