Waypoint Magellan

by L S Roebuck

  He looked across the vacuum through the viewpoint at her. She realized she had been staring, blushed and turned away. Then something inside her forced her to look back, some burning curiosity to unravel the mystery of the stoic boy-man.

  He must have been absentmindedly staring at her, because when she looked back, they locked eyes. She felt, or perhaps imagined, something intense boring into her head — unintentional, almost looking through her. In an instant, she was disappointed, as if some primal impulses made her want him to be staring at her. But clearly he was just deep in thought.

  Suddenly, he realized he had been staring. His face changed, and he acknowledged Amberly with a charming, disarming smile, and he lifted his hand in a slight wave. She smiled back.

  She started to return the wave as well, but the man’s attention went to a beautiful woman who walked up beside him and took his hand. The woman was his opposite in many ways — remarkable in appearance, obviously dressed to catch the attention of wandering eyes, Amberly surmised. She roughly matched Amberly’s stature, but was probably five to ten years older, and slightly more filled out. She had unusually long strawberry blonde hair, especially for someone who was on a deep space flight. Hair care was problematic on many deep space ships because of water rationing and sub-par bathing facilities, and the American Spirit was not an exception.

  The young man turned with the woman, and hand-in-hand, walked back into the bowels of their ship.

  Amberly opened her mouth to ask Lydia what she made of him, but then realized she was standing alone. The rest of the researchers had gone to their various offices that overlooked the main hangar. Most, of course, wanted to see the Magellan’s civilian governor and Marine commander give the ceremonial permission to come ashore. Amberly scrambled to her office as well.

  An honor guard of Marines lined the main hangar floor. Amberly could see North among the Marines, looking sharp in his dress uniform and standing at attention with the unit he commanded. Behind the honor guard, about 300 citizens of Magellan crowded into the hangar to greet the arrivals. Those on the hangar floor could hear a loud hiss as the gangway causeway opened. The Magellan’s governor, a short, round man, stepped forward and shook the hand of a gaunt, white-haired fellow who presumably was captain of the American Spirit.

  The crowd erupted in a celebratory cheer. North broke from attention long enough to look in the direction of Amberly’s office and wink.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amberly and Kora ditched their work clothes to don something more attractive for mixing it up at Rick’s. The taller woman wore a single strap red dress that hung down to her knees, trimmed with glowing cords that gave off a faint ambient red light, shading Kora’s figure. Amberly wore a more conservative black dress, sleeveless, that would have draped the floor if not for her heels. Amberly disliked dresses, and hated heels, but Kora convinced her to doll up.

  For young single people who had not found love in the static mate market of a waypoint, the arrival of a vessel like American Spirit provided a rare opportunity to meet someone from outside the local dating pool. Focused on her work and following in her mother’s footsteps, Amberly made little time for social activities. Kora, on the other hand, made plenty of time for getting out.

  Amberly nearly tripped as they exited the Tube at Lincoln Station, just a few tenths of a kilometer from Rick’s.

  “Remind me why am I wearing these shoes?”

  Kora looked at her sister. “They make you look gorgeous.”

  “And remind me why I care how I look?” grumbled Amberly as she stood upright and pulled her hiking dress down.

  “Someday maybe even you will meet the right one and settle down. Even mom, the great progressive that she was, snagged a man,” Kora said, saying the word “progressive” with a hint of derision. “Good thing too, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  Amberly shook her head. “Mom regretted it. Also, she was a lot older than I am when she married.”

  “No rush,” Kora said, turning down a broad promenade filled with a mixture of passengers of the American Spirit and Magellan residents. “Except … the American Spirit is only going to be here for six weeks, so, you’ll have to move quick if you do meet a nice guy.”

  “I’m no good … at … this,” Amberly grunted mostly at her wardrobe.

  “No good at what did you say?”

  “Nothing. Remember how dad always told us to look for men at church.”

  “Yeah,” Kora looked up as if recalling something. “I remember how mad that would make mom when he said that sort of stuff. She was always like, ‘You sure as hell didn’t meet me at a church, Alroy.’”

  They came up to the double doors of Rick’s. A middle-aged doorman leered at the sisters as he held open the door to the café.

  Kora continued. “The problem is there are no lookers at church. I know; I’ve looked. And since you never go, well, that sort of makes dad’s advice moot.”

  “Let’s not hand-wring over relationships tonight. Let’s just enjoy ourselves,” Amberly said, smiling at her sister.

  “I vote yes,” Kora smiled back.

  The pair linked arms and walked into the smoky salon. Raucous music and joyful conversation overlapped in waves of sound, crashing against the sisters.

  Amberly had never seen the dimly lit café so crowded. Every chair was taken, and most people were standing around the score or so of high stainless steel tables scattered through the center of the main hall. In-wall benches outlined the room, so the interior perimeter was clustered with standing and sitting patrons. The room was heavy with the scent of soaps and some faint perfumes and light sweat. Strong perfumes were considered highly inappropriate and uncouth on Magellan and other waypoints. One couldn’t exactly open a window to air out the place.

  Magellan’s air temperature was highly controlled, almost always a constant 23 degrees Celsius. However, enough warm bodies were populating Rick’s that the cooling system was falling behind.

  A live band played an instrumental version of “Knock on Wood” as some of the club-goers attempted to use the crowded dance floor.

  The sisters staked out a spot near a half-used tall table as Kato, one of Rick’s bartenders walked up, collecting used beverage containers off the table and wiping it down.

  “Well, it’s my favorite Macready sisters,” the thin waiter said. “So which one of you is going to be the lucky girl to be my date tonight? Or did you just want a drink?”

  “Kato, you are too good for us humble waypoint natives.”

  “Just iced tea, please,” Amberly said. Kora ordered something stronger, and Kato took the orders back to the bar.

  “Don’t look now Amber, but I think that guy is staring at you,” Kora indicated with a flick of her head.

  “Oh, it’s him,” Amberly said, a bit of surprise in her voice and her face growing flush.

  “Wait … do you know him?”

  “No, well, I saw him when the American Spirit docked.”

  “What do you mean, saw him?”

  “I was in the lab, looking out the viewport, and I was staring at him … well, no … he was staring at me … well.”

  “Well, he is definitely the one staring now,” teased Kora.

  “Whatever.”

  Kato brought over the drinks and Kora reached for her credcard to pay, but Kato waved her off. “Apparently the transient over in the khaki outfit with messy brown hair already paid for you. I did warn him that the Macready sisters were the most legendary ice queens on Magellan, but he still insisted.”

  “Ice queens? You are too kind, Kato. We’re not ice queens. You just have to know how to get us to melt,” Kora teased.

  “Is there a class I can take –”

  “Hey, Kato, how about a beer for Skip and I?” said a familiar baritone voice coming from behind Amberly. North and Skip pushed up to the table next to the sisters. “And I am paying for whatever these ladies are drinking.”

  “Too late, jarhead,” Kato smirked, as he
danced back to the bar. Kato generally disliked what any military stood for, and thought maintaining a military force on a peaceful waypoint like Magellan was a waste of precious resources.

  North took no offense at Kato’s slur. Although North wouldn’t shy from a fight when it was upon him, he generally thought it best to avoid conflict. In as much as you are able, live at peace with others, North reminded himself of the ancient admonition.

  North was content with the opportunities he believed God had placed before him. North thought himself a blessed man. Growing up, he had loving, successful parents. He had known the best of both planetside and waypoint life. His friends brought him joy. He had a charmed career in the Marines, and with a little work ethic had enjoyed worthy promotions.

  For North, every day was a gift, and so he did his best to appreciate every moment, taking care to not worry too much about tomorrow and things out of his control.

  “So you got my message, Red?” North gave an infectious smile. “Have you scoped out any nice-looking, lonely ladies for us?”

  “What’s wrong with the ones sitting at here at the table?” Kora goaded.

  “Well, you gals are sort of like my little sisters,” North said. “Now Skip here should be making his move.”

  Skip was the sort of person who didn’t enjoy crowds, and certainly didn’t enjoy being put on the spot. He and North were opposites in personality, skill sets and even appearance. Amberly wasn’t even sure why they were friends.

  “Um … please, North,” Skip grabbed a beer from the just-returned Kato. “I mean, you are both pleasant to look at, but I’m not so backwards as to be looking for a permanent relationship. Seriously, I thought humankind had evolved past the need for any of these Neanderthal gender roles.”

  “Now that is a very narrow view, my friend,” said the mysterious man who Amberly had seen on the American Spirit. He had made his way undetected from across Rick’s to be standing right next to Amberly, and his presence startled her.

  Amberly gulped her tea, and had to fight a strong reflex to spew the brew all over her tablemates.

  “Excuse me, but the progressive view is by definition, the broad view,” Skip said.

  “Then let me, as a fellow progressive, suggest that by definition the progressive view is not so black and white. A true understanding of the modern progressive movement would embrace traditionalism’s view of gender roles when it is desired by the individuals involved.”

  “Well, I don’t really understand all this philosophical stuff, but we do have manners here on Magellan,” smiled North, who stuck out his hand. “I’m North, and this is my friend Skip. The redhead is Amberly and her sister is Kora. Welcome to Rick’s, the best club within five light years. Join us?”

  “I’m Dek, you know, from the American Spirit. Pleased to meet you.” Dek shook North’s hand, but locked eye contact with Amberly. Amberly’s face went flush again, and she hoped the café’s dim lights had obscured her reaction.

  “Hey, Dek, was it? Thanks for the drinks,” Kora said.

  “Oh, so you were that guy,” North said. Amberly thought she caught a whiff of jealousy.

  “What can I say? When you’ve been stuck on a deep spacer for a year, you’re going to be a sucker for a pretty woman. Or two,” Dek smiled.

  Skip started again, “Now, you can call yourself broadminded, but if it acts like a traditional, and walks like a traditional and smells like —”

  “Skip, can we please talk about something else besides politics,” Kora said. “I’d for one, like to learn more about our new friend, Dek.”

  “Yes, Dek, what do you do on American Spirit? Passenger or crew?” asked North.

  “Passenger. I am a researcher actually – attempting to catalog new forms of stellar radiation. The stuff that is emitted from stellar anomalies, black holes, stars in various states of nova. Nothing exposes you to weird forms of stellar radiation like a deep space trip.”

  “Boring,” said Kora as she set her empty glass on the table. “But now that I think about it, Amberly don’t you study stellar whatever as well?”

  “Is that what they research at the dockside laboratory?” Dek looked intently at Amberly. “I’d love to see the labs on this waypoint.”

  “Well, a few of us research radiation, but I doubt our equipment is very impressive,” Amberly said. “Our spectral analysis tools are at least 30 years old, but we are scheduled to get updated equipment next year when the Magnus arrives. But even when it gets here, I suppose whatever they are using on earth will be two decades newer.”

  “And that’s if the Magnus arrives, and if it is carrying what people said they would put on it two decades ago when it left Earth,” North said.

  “That is the problem with Project Waypoint, isn’t it? We serve a home planet few of us have ever seen or ever will see,” Dek said. “We will always be, two or three decades behind Earth.”

  “Magnus should be on schedule,” Skip said. “It has reported status green for as long as I have been working in Central Communications — my whole career. Well, there have been a few inconsistencies with the transmissions dates that I haven’t been able to figure out. Probably just some bug in our triangulation software.”

  “Ugh … why do we care about tia -ang- whatever- software,” Kora yawned. “Anyone want to dance?”

  As usual, Skip ignored Kora and kept talking. “We know Magnus arrived at Waypoint Cartier — that communiqué left Cartier just over two years ago and we just got it, so by now it should be at Gilbert. Of course, we usually only get about a six month heads up from ships when they leave Gilbert. Signals take just over half a year to reach us from there, while the ships take about a full year.”

  “We know that signals travel faster through space than deep space ships. We all learned that in grade school,” Kora said with some exasperation. Skip looked perturbed. She continued, “So, Dek, since you are not so ideological about your progressive views, do you have a family tucked away on American Spirit? Wife? Kids? That sort of thing?”

  “No, just a sister,” Dek said, turning to Amberly. Amberly wanted to feel relieved or even hopeful that strawberry blonde she saw hanging on Dek’s arm through the viewport on the American Spirit was not a significant other. Then she had a strange feeling that somehow the others in the group could somehow read that relief in her.

  “I suppose today’s Earth military tech is pretty awesome, too. We’ll see in 30 years,” North said, trying to change the subject.

  “Or not,” Dek said. “You think that Earth would ever send its best weaponry to the waypoints, or Arara? What makes you think that anything they are sending on Magnus was even top of the line when it left Earth?”

  “I agree. Anyone who studies the news feeds can see the trends,” Skip said. “Earth is dominated by traditionalists. Half of them are religious, anti-science freaks. We would do better to stop depending on Earth to send us their intellectual hand-me downs and start developing our own initiatives and evolving in our own ways.”

  A drunken Marine pilot named Croix stepped up to the table and pointed a figure at Skip.

  “Excuse me, I but I think you need to show a little more respect for the homeworld. Our ancestors on Earth made this waypoint, and you progressives need to remember that we’d be nothing without Earth. Have some respect. Reeeespect,” Croix blustered.

  Skip stood up. “Who invited you to this conversation? The way I see it, as long as we keep following backwards Earth, we’ll never reach our true potential.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” Croix asked rhetorically. “‘We’ is all humanity, you cowardly little runt.”

  North stood up between Skip and the intoxicated Croix. “Listen friend,” North said to his fellow Marine. “Skip doesn’t mean anything by it. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

  “Do I look like I need another drink? I’m already swim— swimming,” the Marine said, with a slight slur, and turned to Kora and Amberly. “Your dad was a friend of mine. He was a hell of
a pilot. Somewhere his ghost must be crying — cryyyiiing — because you stand by while these pra- pra- progs slander the great waypoint builders.”

  North, a strike commander in the Magellan Marines, held the rank of Lt. Commander. The corvette wing wasn’t in his chain of command, but he was higher on the totem pole than the flyboy who was insulting his friends and making the women uncomfortable.

  “That’s enough,” North said, his face becoming stony.

  “I know you outrank me, North, but you’re as bad as this scrawny civy is, trash mouthing earth,” Croix pointed at Skip, and then stood toe-to-toe with North. “How can you wear that uniform? You’re defending this earth-hating, ungrateful, perverted scum —”

  North handed the Marine his jaw. The flash of violence caused the conversation across the club to stop. The musicians joined the silence.

  “Sorry,” North said, as he shook his right hand. “Skip may be all those things, but he’s my friend, and I can’t let you get away with insulting him and —”

  The Marine rubbed this mouth, blood running down his chin, and noticed he was missing a few teeth he had only a few moments earlier.

  “Why you sonofa...”

  The drunken Croix swung back, throwing his clenched fist into North’s stomach, hitting North with enough force that the Marine knocked the air out of North’s lungs. North doubled over and a glass of beer flew over his hunched body and right into the face of the intoxicated Marine, dislodging several more teeth. Croix reeled in pain, falling back into a table of transient women who were trying to mind their own business, alcoholic beverages flying off the table splashing on scores of bar patrons.

  Amberly was shocked to see the outstretched hand of Skip, who had obviously thrown the glass.

  “Who is the coward now? YEAH!” yelled an excited Skip.

  “Skip, not sure that was such a good idea,” Kora mumbled.

  “No kidding, jerk,” said one of the women at the table. “You better buy me a new drink!”

  “Forget that,” said another, who proceeded to break her glass over the head of Skip, rendering him unconscious.