The Reign_Destiny_The Life Of Travis Rand

by Lance Berry

  The mess hall–make that bar–was packed to about half of its capacity it seemed, and Travis estimated there were at least two or three hundred crew personnel present. He politely made his way through the crowd and found a spot at the bar, where he managed to catch the attention of an unshaven, portly gentleman with an apron cinched tightly around his waist.

  “What can I do ya for, kid?” the portly man asked in a genial tone. Travis gestured around him. “What is all this?”

  The portly man chuckled. “New to the ship, huh?” Travis nodded and the man stuck out a big meat hook of a hand. “Name’s Harry. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Rand. Lieutenant-Commander Travis Rand,” he said importantly as he tentatively shook the meat hook. Harry shrugged and scratched his day-old stubble. “Well, Travis, this is ‘Down Time’. Captain Christenson asked that our mess hall be refurbished the last time we had a stopover at Earth. He wanted a change from the same old bland and boring of the usual mess, so here we are. Can I get you a beer?”

  “Beer?” Travis repeated, astonished and just a bit worried. Alcohol of any kind was illegal to have aboard a Heavy Cruiser, and even though Travis technically wasn’t on duty, he could get into a lot of trouble for drinking it, his going away party on the Archimedes notwithstanding.

  Harry saw the look of concern on Travis’ face. “Don’t worry, kid…it’s synthetic. Looks like the real thing, tastes like the real thing. Only you don’t get buzzed or drunk at all. Boy, that’s really a tight one you got wedged up there, ain’t it? Don’t worry, Travis–I’d never steer you wrong,” he said with a wink, then produced a tall mug of synthetic beer from under his counter. He set it down, and Travis stared at it for nearly a full minute before choosing to grasp its handle. He slowly put it to his mouth and gingerly took a sip. Harry was right; it did look and taste like the real thing, but as he drank more, he got no sense of loss of cognitive reasoning. In fact, he felt confident that he wouldn’t lose control of his faculties. He set the mug down, nearly three-quarters finished, and nodded to Harry for a refill.

  “LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER RAND!” a thunderous voice boomed from behind him. Travis nearly did a spit-take with the sip he had just taken, but swallowed quickly and spun around in his chair to face Ben Williams, who had a stern look on his face. “Not two seconds on board, and you are actually drinking alcohol while on duty?”

  For a moment, Travis was flustered; he had no explanation other than wanting to indulge himself, and–wait a second…he wasn’t on duty! Travis sighed in exasperation and stood, even as a wry smile crawled across the face of the big old bear of a black man standing before him. “You’re joking, right?” Travis asked, mildly annoyed. Ben’s answer was a loud guffaw which made several heads turn. Even though he was a commander by rank, the doctor never had been one to be overly stern with subordinates, unless it was related to a medical issue.

  “You ass,” Travis said, and couldn’t help but laugh himself; Ben’s laughter had always been infectious.

  “Caught you off guard again,” Ben said and wagged his finger. “I thought you had taken my lessons about thinking on your feet to heart.”

  “As you’ll recall, when you gave me your ‘lessons’, at the time I was spending most of my free hours on my back with my leg in a thermetic bone shifter,” Travis said as he playfully punched Ben in the arm, and the doctor feigned a look of hurt as if he were truly grievously injured. They shared a look of reminiscence, and then briefly hugged, which again drew a few curious looks.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Travis said as they separated. Ben cheerfully slapped his younger friend’s arm. “You too, my boy. You too.” Ben turned to the bar. “Hey, Harry–how about the usual poison?”

  Harry nodded and started to fill a mug from the tap. “One glass of dog-piss, comin’ right up.”

  “Don’t let Harry fool you,” Ben said loudly as he accepted the mug, making sure the bartender could hear. “He’s an abrasive know-it-all…but he’s also a heck of a standup guy.”

  “Hey, no givin’ out state secrets. That’s treason, y’know,” Harry answered, then went about tending to other patrons as Ben nudged Travis’ shoulder and nodded off to a point somewhere in the distance. “C’mon, David and Mara will be here soon. Let’s grab a seat at the Captain’s table.”

  The two friends made their way through the crowd of fellow soldiers, who seemed more relaxed and nearly carefree than any crew he had ever served with. Travis frowned slightly…he was beginning to have reservations about Christenson’s command style, if this type of lax behavior was normal aboard ship.

  Ben led him to a table near one of the bay windows, and Travis had to admit that the view was spectacular. The ship was currently cruising at one-third standard thrust and about to pass by a nebula. Starlight shone through it in multicolored hues, lighting up the surrounding space like the aurora borealis seen on Earth. Travis happened to take a look around, and saw a couple of crewmen–male and female –standing nearby, with her leaning against him as his arms wrapped lovingly around her.

  Ben happened to follow Travis’ gaze and then saw the look of remembrance which had clouded his youthful friend’s face. “Thinking about Marion again?” he gently prodded. Travis looked at him and nodded. During Travis’ recuperation on Titan, they had become the best of friends and Travis had told him about the mistake he made by abandoning his fiancée. “Have you tried to contact her at all?”

  “Once, a few years back. I actually managed to get hold of her, but she only had two words to say to me, and the second one was ‘off’.”

  “She sounds just as stubborn as you. You really would have made the perfect couple.”

  “Thanks,” Travis said, non-appreciatively.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What more is there to say? I screwed up, and here I am.”

  Ben was about to try and offer some comfort, but then noticed something. “Here come David and Mara,” he said, then nodded meaningfully at Travis. “To be continued.”

  “Well, here they are,” David Christenson said as he and Mara arrived at the table. Christenson had a mug of beer in one hand and his other intertwined with his wife’s hand. Travis noticed this and had to keep from shaking his head. He really didn’t understand how the captain could expect to keep the troops organized, what with a bar on the ship and public displays of affection running rampant.

  Again, Ben noticed this look and decided to be devilish when the moment presented itself.

  “So, how are you two gentlemen doing this evening,” Christenson asked as he pulled a chair out for his wife beside Travis, then took a seat next to her.

  Before Travis could answer, Ben spoke up. “I do believe that the Lieutenant-Commander is having some doubts as to your command capability, Captain.”

  Ben swore to himself at that moment, that if he owned five priceless Rembrandts and five billionaires were bidding on them, he’d never sell them if part of the bargain meant turning the clock back in order to miss the expression on Travis’ face. The young man’s mouth had dropped open and a look of shock followed by embarrassment appeared, with his features actually darkening as he blushed. Travis mentally kicked himself; in the short few years he and Ben had known each other, the doctor had become more intimately familiar with how his mind worked than anyone he had ever known in his life. He would have thought that by now, he would’ve learned to keep on a poker face when in Ben’s presence.

  “Really, Travis? What is it you don’t like about my command style?” Christenson asked in a surprisingly mild tone. Travis gulped slightly, not knowing what to say. “It…it’s not that I have doubts per se,” he started, and Christenson waved him off. “This is Down Time, Travis. It’s a standing rule that rank comes off in here, and you can say anything to any officer at any time. You should feel free to express yourself to me, even if it’s a criticism. But if you don’t feel comfortable enough yet, we’ll change the subject,” he said, and took a brief swig of his be
er. The captain let out a satisfied sigh, then looked directly at Travis. “My wife tells me you were quite the fan of her breasts, back in your Academy days.”

  Travis swore that for a second he could feel his heart trying to leap out of his chest. He stuttered incoherently a moment, then clamped his mouth tight when he realized he wasn’t making any sense. Ben looked at him incredulously. “Oh, I gotta hear this one,” the doctor said as an expectant smile spread across his face. This was one story Travis had failed to tell during his convalescence.

  As Travis sat there impotently, withering under Christenson’s judicious gaze, Mara turned to Ben. “Well, back when I was a senior at Westview Academy, I was walking in the library halls one day with a friend of mine. From two floors up, I heard someone shout ‘Holy shit, look at the tits on that hot brunette!’ Well, to say the least, I was a bit perturbed,” she explained, her voice rising a bit to talk over the doctor’s laughter. “I looked up, and there was our Mister Rand staring down at me, a look of wonder on his face. I gave chase, but he eluded me by ducking out the back of the library. But I always had that embarrassing memory to carry with me.” She told the tale as casually as if she had been ordering lunch, but Travis still felt two inches tall. And the fact that Ben was laughing so hard he almost doubled over didn’t help.

  “It wasn’t me,” Travis blurted out. “I was with a friend too, Carver Mackee! He was the one who said that about your–about you! He just ducked aside in time so that you only saw me. I had nothing to do with it!”

  “So what are you saying, Travis? You don’t like my wife’s breasts?” David Christenson said sternly.

  “Of course not,” Travis replied, then rethought his statement. “I mean yes, but–y’know, no!”

  “Make a decision, man,” Christenson snapped. “Are they beautiful or ugly, it can only be one or the other,” he said as his wife nodded and looked at Travis expectantly.

  Travis was dumbfounded. “Well, of course they’re beauti–I mean…what?”

  All at once, the three senior officers burst into good-natured laughter. Mara patted Travis on the shoulder in reassurance. “When you walked into the conference room, I noticed that you were looking at me as if you knew me from somewhere, and that made me start digging through my mental files. That’s when I realized who you were. And yes, Travis, I know you’re innocent–I’ve always known it. David and I thought it would be fun to tease you a little bit, is all.”

  Travis nodded and pointed to the captain’s mug. “Could I have a sip of that, please?” And to his relief, the four of them shared a hearty laugh together.

  A couple of hours later, the quartet shared a lift to deck twelve, where their quarters were housed. The captain explained along the way that deck twelve was unofficially dubbed “Officers’ Deck”, since the senior staff’s quarters–command, security, engineering and medical–were located here. While not officially a member of the senior staff, as one of the three primary helmsmen, Travis was now included in the inner circle of the Secondary Officers: ranking just below the senior staff, and in the position to receive training in command tactics at some point.

  As they came upon the first row of quarters, they saw Jamie Hughes standing outside her room, speaking with an attractive young female corporal. They were chatting and giggling among themselves, a look of mutual attraction in their body language as they lingered outside Jamie’s open door. The corporal had a half-empty shot glass in her hand, and Christenson and Mara broke away from Ben and Travis to head over to them.

  “Corporal Vargas, Chief Hughes,” Christenson said in an all-business tone as he and his wife stood beside them. “Captain,” Jamie said pleasantly, but then her eyes darted to the glass in Vargas’ hand and she understood instantly why they had approached. She and Vargas both came to attention. “Synthetic or not, alcohol is forbidden outside of Down Time,” Christenson said sternly. “Corporal Vargas, I know you know better.”

  Vargas nodded, abashed. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Captain.”

  “Consider yourself on report,” the captain notified her. “Lieutenant- Commander Hughes, there had better not be one drop of alcohol or any type of container for it in your quarters.”

  “There isn’t, sir,” Jamie vowed. Nonetheless, Mara stepped past her wordlessly and entered the room. After a minute, she came back out. “It’s clean,” she told her husband. Christenson nodded and looked at Jamie. “Consider yourself lucky. Carry on.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Jamie said quietly. As Christenson and Mara headed back over to Travis and Ben, Vargas quickly went over to a recycle dump-chute attached to a corridor wall. She threw in the glass, drink and all, and pressed the button for inorganic recycling. She then went back to Jamie, and the two stepped into her quarters, the door closing behind them.

  The group resumed their walk, Christenson in the lead. “Although it seems I permit a lot on my ship, Travis, never forget that I uphold all regulations aboard this vessel. Down Time is for relaxing and blowing off steam as necessary. But when you step foot back aboard the deck plates outside the mess, you’d better damn well be prepared to be a soldier again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis answered, his confidence in Christenson restored once more.

  The next morning, Travis awoke nearly two hours early for his duty shift. He was eager for his first watch as helmsman, but since he had so much time to kill, he decided to take care of a few other details first. He did some push-ups and mild calisthenics, took a hot shower, put on his uniform and then sat down at his vid-com. He received a departmental e-mail from ship’s stores which stated that his uniform jacket from the Archimedes had been recycled so that all identifying patches and insignia now read Horizon. The missive notified him that he could either have the jacket delivered to his quarters or that he could stop by the non-organic recycling station at any time. He opted to pick it up, then decided to inquire as to what other items might be available, so that he could begin to decorate his quarters. Since Earth Force ships were away from home for so long–sometimes months or even years at a time–conservation of both organic and inorganic material was critical. Nothing was ever really discarded, just recycled into new materials for continual use.

  There were several articles of some minor interest; a few paintings, a plant–Travis had never been one for plants, so he passed–but then something caught his eye. It was a poster of Earth, with a slogan below it: “For Freedom. Forever,” it read. Travis liked the simplicity and forthrightness of the statement, so he ordered it. He then checked his duty roster for the day, which simply listed him as helmsman for first shift, and stated what times he was supposed to be at lunch and observe free time. It also had a caveat disclaimer, stating that in the event of an emergency, he would be required to stay at his post until whatever potential crisis had passed. He had already known coming into this position what his duties were, so he skimmed over the rest of the message and saved it to file before shutting down the computer.

  The non-organic material recycling/retrieval station was located on deck twenty-seven. It was a loud place, with superconducting evaporators and recycling processors working nonstop. A team of about fifty techs worked in the plant, constantly ensuring the system operated smoothly, even as they ran orders from personnel on what materials were being recycled for personal use as opposed to being returned to ship’s stores for general recycle.

  Travis spoke to a harried-looking young lieutenant of junior grade (j.g.), who listened to him explain what he was there for, with a polite but somewhat strained “please get to the point” expression on her face. She retrieved his jacket and poster for him, which she insisted he inspect before leaving the station. He checked them out as asked, and barely had time to tell her that he was satisfied, before she darted off to take care of another order.

  He briefly stopped back at his quarters to unwrap the jacket and put it on. He realized as he slipped his other arm in that the jacket had been taken in just enough so that it now fit in a perfectly comfortable
manner. When he had served aboard the Archimedes, he had had to get used to the jacket’s fit, which was off just slightly. But ship’ stores aboard the Horizon was obviously more efficient, and for that he was grateful. He left the poster lying still wrapped on his bed and headed out once more, the door lock cycling shut on his command. On his way to the lift, he passed Jamie’s quarters, and wondered if her company from the previous night was still inside with her. He wasn’t sure if he had interpreted the seeming attraction between her and Corporal Vargas correctly. Not that it mattered either way; as far as Travis was concerned, it was simply a stupid thing to give power to any stereotype, whether race or gender-specific. From what he knew of Jamie, she seemed to be a pleasant enough person, and deserved her happiness no matter what form it took.

  He went to Down Time, and found the place nowhere near as crowded as the previous evening. He ordered some lightly cooked bacon, an English muffin and tea. “I’m sure Doc Williams will be seeing you soon,” the woman behind the bar chuckled when Travis told her how many sugars he wanted in his tea. He politely chuckled with her, then sat at one of the tables near the windows. He was surprised to see another Heavy Cruiser beside them as it appeared within the window’s rotating purview, and it was only then that he realized the deck plates were not vibrating quite as much as when the ship was in forward motion; the Horizon was holding position.