by Dom Testa
“I’m saying that I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of what Bon is feeling right now is guilt.”
“Guilt?”
Lita shrugged. “Well, yeah. If he knew how Alexa felt, but he didn’t exactly feel the same way, he might be feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t reciprocate, and now she’s gone.”
The door to the Dining Hall was open, and, as expected, a fairly long line had already formed. Channy and Lita picked up trays and took their place.
Now it was Channy’s turn to speak softly. She leaned in toward Lita and said, “You might be right. But I still think the least he could do would be to act sad, on some level. It’s like he has something to prove, and I hate that.”
“You shouldn’t worry about that, Channy. Listen, none of us know what goes on in the hearts and minds of others. It’s pretty easy to be fooled by someone’s attitude or expressions. Deep down inside you have no idea what’s churning away. In fact…”
They moved a few steps closer to the first food dispenser and answered several friendly greetings from the crew members around them. Then Lita finished her thought.
“In fact, I’d be willing to bet that Bon is really suffering over this, and just doesn’t know how to show it. A lot of it could be his background, his family life … who knows? Please don’t be so hard on him over this. I think he has a lot more heart than you suspect.”
Channy snorted. “You forget, I’m the heart expert on this ship.”
“But this time I think you have blinders on.”
They began to load up their trays and engaged in light conversation with the people around them, before filling some glasses with water and moving over to an empty table.
As they sat down, Channy gave Lita a sly look. “Just for the record, don’t think I didn’t pick up on that one comment.”
“Oh?” Lita said. “What comment is that?”
“The one where you called Bon a hunk.”
Lita smiled and wagged a finger. “Don’t even start with me on that stuff, my friend. You can’t make a case out of the obvious. There’s not a girl on this ship who doesn’t think Bon is beautiful. I won’t play that game with you.”
“Oh, all right,” Channy said with a chuckle.
They spent the next five minutes talking about the two fights that now had crew members whispering in hushed circles around the ship.
“I hate to say it,” Lita said with a sigh, “but I wondered if something like this might happen after two major shocks hit us so quickly. People react to stress so differently, and the tension can cause tempers to not only flare, but explode.”
Channy looked thoughtful. “So you think it’s just temporary?”
Galahad’s Health Director didn’t answer at first, but then shook her head. “Unfortunately, violence often only leads to more violence. I’m worried that it might get worse before it gets better. With Triana gone it’s almost like the inmates are running the asylum, and they can’t see how much worse they’re making everything. It gets out of control, you know?”
She suddenly felt uncomfortable with the topic. “But I could be wrong,” she said. “Maybe it is temporary. After the election things might settle down a bit.”
There was a lull in the conversation. Channy pushed some lettuce around on her plate with a fork and seemed to search for the best way to express what she was thinking. “I never thought I’d feel this way,” she said, “but as the days go by I get more angry at Triana. We shouldn’t even be worrying right now about an election for Council Leader.” She glanced up to see what reaction her comment had caused. “I mean … we need real leadership right now with this radiation thing, and instead we’re in a big mess. Now with these fights…” Her voice trailed away.
Lita kept her gaze on her own plate. “It’s easy to say that now. But when Triana left in the pod there wasn’t an issue with the shield, and we can’t deny that Triana’s intentions were honorable.” She lowered her voice and added, “I’m not sure I would’ve had the courage to do it.”
Channy looked up at Lita again and, with a trembling voice, said, “She’s not coming back, is she? I’ve been trying to think positive and all that, but … but c’mon, she went through a wormhole! I don’t care what Roc says, I don’t know how anyone could survive that.”
“It’s not that,” Lita said sadly. “I’ve thought about it a lot over the last couple of days, and I think she actually might have gone through just fine. No, what worries me the most is how she’ll find her way back.”
Channy pushed her tray aside and leaned on the table. “Oh. I guess I didn’t think about that.”
Lita nodded. “I would assume that whoever—or whatever—is responsible for the wormhole that swallowed her up could just as easily open up another one. But how will Triana know where we’ll be? We’re moving faster and faster each day, and eventually we’ll start to approach the speed of light. That means we’re moving a long, long way every twenty-four hours; just how will she know where to pop out?”
“Great,” Channy said. “Now I’m even more depressed. Is there a way we can send out a signal or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But I think that’s something we need to at least think about. Triana might, or might not, be coming back. But if there’s any chance at all, then we need to become a lighthouse for her.”
“Maybe you could bring it up during the forum.”
Lita shook her head. “No, I’ll just wait and mention it to Gap later. The forum is about their ideas, not mine.”
Channy looked across the crowded room. “So what’s the word on Bon? Is he still in the hospital?”
“I just sent him back to his room about an hour ago. He won’t be at the forum. I’m sure he’ll watch it on his vidscreen.”
Channy sniffed. “I doubt it. I don’t think he cares one way or the other.”
“You know,” Lita said, “at some point you have to get over this irritation with him. You’re both Council members, and you have to work together.”
“If you say so,” Channy said, then let out a sigh. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Lita smiled at her and held out a strawberry. “Here, nobody can be blue when they eat one of these. It’s delicious.”
Channy returned the smile and accepted the gift. “All right, I get the message. Relax, don’t overthink things, enjoy what I have, et cetera, et cetera.”
Lita winked at her. “You got all of that from a strawberry?”
“You know what you’re doing,” Channy said. “And thank you. You’re right.”
“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Lita said. “Maybe not normal, because we left normal behind a long, long time ago. But it will all work out fine.” She stood and picked up her tray. “Before the forum gets started I need to wrap up some things in the Clinic. Oh, and one other thing: I don’t think we should sit in the front row tonight.”
“Why not? We always sit there during meetings.”
“I know,” Lita said. “But this is different. A Council spot is on the line, and I don’t think we should be there as Council representatives. Tonight we should simply be interested crew members.”
“Whatever you think,” Channy said. “See you in a bit. And thanks again.”
She tossed the remnants of the strawberry onto her plate and wiped her hands. She thought about the upcoming election, which soon had her once again thinking about Triana. Lita had a good point: would any of them have had the courage to do what Triana had done? The Council Leader had essentially sacrificed herself to buy time for the crew of Galahad.
Lita had also expressed a concern that Channy had not considered. Would Triana be able to find her way back? Lita had mentioned a lighthouse, which was an apt description. Triana would need a beacon of sorts to zero in on the ship as it streaked out of the solar system and across interstellar space. Did they have the technology to even do that?
And, if they did, would Triana know what to look for?
* * *
His ins
tructions from Lita had been clear: go to your room, stay there, and don’t even think of reporting to work until the next day. The first part, at least, had been satisfied. Bon sat at the desk in his room while his roommate, Desi, prepared to leave for the forum.
But he had no intention of staying there.
“Do you need anything before I go?” Desi said.
“No, thanks.”
“All right. I’ll be back after the meeting. Remember, take it easy. Doctor’s orders, right?”
Bon gave a slight nod. “Right.”
Once he was alone, Bon pushed himself out of the chair, pausing momentarily to steady himself as a dizzy spell struck. The forum was scheduled to begin in ten minutes, which meant that the corridors—and the domes—would be empty. Crew members who couldn’t attend because of work commitments would be watching on vidscreens around the ship. Even the extra hands working on the damaged irrigation system had a break for this one hour. Bon would be able to slip almost anywhere, unnoticed.
He’d told Lita that his headache was gone, but that had been a lie, crafted to get him out of the hospital as quickly as possible. The pain was centered in the middle of his forehead, a dull ache similar to what he’d experienced during his previous Cassini connections.
But it had never lasted this long.
What concerned him the most, however, was the fact that the link had once again landed him in Sick House. His casual attitude about the alien connection would no longer sway the Council. Because of that, it was imperative that he get back up to Dome 1 immediately. Should he bump into anyone on the way, his story was set: he simply was checking on repairs to the irrigation pump.
He waited another two minutes before slipping into the corridor. As expected, it was deserted. Bracing himself against the wall, he lurched along, stopping every few feet to clear his head and regain his balance. Once inside the lift, he leaned back and closed his eyes. When the door opened at the Farms, it took a moment to summon the strength to push himself out.
The humid air energized him somewhat, and, although his head still throbbed, the steps came easier. Passing his office, he trudged along the path towards the clearing. The lights had begun their evening cycle and were slowly dimming. Machinery along the route hummed, and an occasional light spray of moisture, carried along by the artificial breezes, struck his face. The cool mist felt good.
For no reason, a sudden image of his father burst into his mind, and with it the familiar mix of emotions. The lifelong farmer from Skane, Sweden, stood against a backdrop of lush, green fields that swayed with a silent wind. His weathered face stared across the months and the miles at Bon as he staggered down the path. His expression made it clear that he was disappointed in his son. No words were necessary; it was a look that Bon had labored under for many years.
Only this time, Bon knew that it had nothing to do with his farming efforts. His father had taught him well, had raised him to respect the land and the bounty that it produced, and had instilled a work ethic that could never be questioned.
No, this look signified something much worse. It said, “You are weak.”
Bon’s pace slowed for a moment, but then picked up again. “Yes,” he said to himself. “I am. I am weak.”
He lowered his head and pushed through the final overhang of leaves, into the clearing. The same clearing where he had spent hours talking with Alexa, listening to her pour out her thoughts and her fears. The same clearing that he used as his private sanctuary. The only place he had felt comfortable for the task that called to him.
In the fading light he found the disturbed soil where he’d connected with the Cassini. He dropped to both knees, thankful for the chance to rest and hopefully silence the painful pulse in his head. It should only take a moment, he thought, to find what he was looking for. It had to be right here.
But it wasn’t.
He crawled on all fours, fanning out from the spot where he’d collapsed during the link. He brushed his hand through the dirt and craned to look a few feet into the foliage that surrounded him. But it was pointless.
The translator was gone.
Sitting up on his heels, he brushed the dirt from his hands, then pushed a strand of unruly hair from his face. Obviously Gap had pocketed the metallic ball when he’d stumbled upon the clearing and found Bon sprawled unconscious. And of course Gap wouldn’t say a word about it, waiting for Bon to bring it up, so he could take back a measure of control.
The light continued to melt away, and the first visible stars began to appear through the panels of the dome. After sitting quietly for another few minutes, Bon finally climbed to his feet and steadied himself. The headache persisted, but now it was magnified by the disgust he felt for himself.
“I am weak,” he said again, before turning towards the path and a long, slow walk back to his room.
16
When people sit around and argue I tend to get bored easily. In most cases both sides have already made up their minds, and no amount of screaming and name-calling is going to have an effect. If you want my opinion, many times it’s about the screamer trying to convince themselves that they’re right, not the other person. The louder the voice, the more insecure they are about their position. Think about it.
But a good old-fashioned debate … now THAT’S practical. Sometimes referred to as persuasive speech, two people address a willing audience with the intent of making strong points that will convince the receptive crowd to join their side. It’s a valuable exercise, as long as the participants are being honest. By participants I mean both the debaters and the audience. Those arguing their points must present honest information, and those in the crowd must honestly be open to both messages.
Of course—and I’m whispering here—I personally have to admit that a little name-calling, while not productive, is good for a few laughs. Sadly, I don’t see either Gap or Hannah stooping to that.
Sigh.
* * *
Gap felt awkward sitting next to Hannah on the front row of the auditorium, especially since they had exchanged only cordial greetings and then not another word. With one chair separating them, both pretended to be absorbed in their notes, preparing for their moment in the spotlight. He knew that the buzz from the packed house behind them likely included more than a little gossip about the two candidates; the crew, he figured, had to be loving the show.
He found himself using every muscle of his peripheral vision to look at Hannah. Her hair was pulled back and up, a look that he had to admit was stunning. She wore a light blue shirt that, to him, seemed professional, yet warm and approachable. She sat with perfect posture and gave every indication that she was poised and perfectly at ease.
He, on the other hand, felt slumped and nervous. He shifted in his chair, setting his shoulders back and crossing one leg over the other. Tilting his head back, he draped an arm over the back of the chair beside him and accidentally tapped Hannah on the shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled, moving his hand back to his side.
Lita and Channy were nowhere to be seen, which meant they had chosen to melt into the background. Bon, of course, would not be here, even if he hadn’t been sent to his room to recover from the Cassini incident. For the first time since the launch, Gap would be out in front without any visible sign of Council support.
And that’s fine, he told himself. He’d performed solo dozens of times in front of packed gymnasiums while involved with the Chinese national gymnastics program. When he put on Airboarding exhibitions he was alone in the limelight, and he enjoyed it. This, he kept reminding himself, was no different.
And yet there was no denying the trickles of sweat that slipped down the back of his neck. He wondered if Hannah could see that.
They had agreed that the forum should be moderated by someone not associated with the Council or a close friend of either candidate. Gina Perotti had volunteered, and the auditorium grew hushed as the dark-haired girl from northern Italy made her way across the stage to one of the two podiums.
“Good evening,” she said. “We all know what tonight is about, but let me quickly tell you how it will work.”
Gap shifted again in his seat. Even Gina seemed to be completely relaxed. He casually dabbed at another drop of sweat near his temple.
“Two candidates have been nominated for the position of Council Leader: Gap Lee and Hannah Ross. Both candidates understand that this might be only a temporary measure, and have stated their intention to remain in office only until Triana Martell returns to the ship and is deemed fit to hold the position, or until the standard Council elections that take place in about twenty-two months.
“This forum tonight is the first of two; the second will take place on Friday, and the election will be held on Saturday morning. Tonight’s agenda is simple; both candidates will have a maximum of ten minutes to make a formal address, then we’ll have up to thirty minutes allotted for questions from the crowd. At the end, the candidates will be given five minutes each to summarize and make closing statements. That means everything should be wrapped up in about an hour.”
Gap chanced another sideways glance at Hannah. She still appeared completely unruffled. This time, however, she turned to look back at him and offered a polite smile.
“The order is unimportant,” Gina said, “but one name was chosen at random to go first, and that was Gap. So, please welcome our first candidate for the position of Council Leader: Gap Lee.”
Polite applause and a few whistles from the back of the room greeted him as he sprang up the steps. He nodded thanks to Gina and made his way to the first podium. He had a momentary flash of standing in this exact spot just a few days ago, addressing the crew, leading them through the first dark hours after Triana disappeared. Tonight was a different story; tonight he was making a sales pitch.
He had debated whether or not to use notes for his presentation and, in the end, opted to take a chance by simply shooting from the hip. He hoped that whatever he lost in crispness would be compensated for by a natural, conversational delivery. He’d heard of politicians long ago delivering what they called “fireside chats,” and decided to try a modern version.
