by Kelly Curtis
“Nervous that some of the Indy’s crew will speak out against me? No, I would only be worried if no one said anything. I expect people to be unsettled. Especially Afia Kamau. I’m only nervous it’ll take more than a couple hours and I won’t have time to get my new captain’s uniform made in time for tomorrow.”
Christopher gave her a smile, “Well, at least Afia isn’t longwinded and neither is Admiral Jackson. Are you going to defend yourself?”
“No, I didn’t discuss it with Shana, but I don’t think there is any reason I should. She gave me the position, I think she’s more than prepared to defend it.”
Christopher wanted to ask if Alma had asked why she had been chosen over some of the other more experienced officers, but he knew the question would irritate Alma, so he decided he would ask around rather than ask her directly.
They walked the short distance from the Library to the Atlanta Military Guild’s Assembly Hall. It was a large, nondescript building and inside was a large and plain auditorium. As the Military Guild never put on any theater or musical performances, it was only ever used for assemblies or the occasional speech.
Alma and Christopher were met by many familiar faces as they had joined the guild at the age of ten years old. As most JC children did, they left their family homes to live in the guild dormitories and apprenticed specifically for the occupations they currently held. Their guild was just as much their family as their own biological families.
Alma and Christopher found seats in the middle of the auditorium, as there was never assigned seating in the JC, and waited as everyone else filed in. After about ten minutes, the Military Guild Crier came out and began, “Welcome to this week’s assembly. I’ll begin with the news of the JC. First on Enceladus, the winner of this year’s solar sailing competition is a young man from the Enceladus Military Guild. What’s truly extraordinary was that his solar sailing ship was of his own design and allowed him to completely outstrip the rest of the competition. He finished hours before anyone from the Mechanical or Engineering Guilds. With confidence, I can say, we can expect great things from this young man in the future.”
Alma murmured to Christopher, “It’s too bad he’ll only be able to use those ship designing skills on slow and harmless solar wind sailing ships.”
Christopher smiled, “Yes, but they are beautiful and the competition is becoming kind of a thing to see in the galaxy.”
“And,” the Crier continued before Alma could scoff at Christopher, “This competition brought in more UCs than ever before and caught the attention of quite a few off-worlder race enthusiasts. It was even suggested that next year it might be worthy of being included in the Galactic Universal’s, GU, schedule of noteworthy events.” The GU was a galactic organization made up of the thousands of spacefaring civilizations in the known galaxy. They released information about important events and tried to promote peaceful understandings between civilizations.
“See?” said Christopher with some humor to his voice.
Alma said nothing.
“Next, news from Mars Station Two, the oldest woman, Janet Kawlski, born on Mars died this week at the age of 202 years of age. She was surrounded by her family and at her request died in her favorite area of her botany lab. I mourn with you. We mourn together.”
“We mourn together,” everyone in the assembly repeated and then there was a moment of silence.
“On to the economy, our trade agreement with the Trappists now includes more potatoes and there is speculation that carrots may be added soon as well. I’ve no doubt a few of you will be seeing a lot more potatoes in your cargo. And from the Drama Guilds, underwater archeologists in California have recently uncovered more archived video drama’s from the 21st century that will be made available to the public from next week and shown locally at public viewing areas. However, I’m advised to warn you all of the susceptibility of tech flu from watching humans use technology in their daily lives and that these dramas should be evidence of why we chose to live such rich tech free lives now.” Most of the view screen dramas and books from the late 20th century to the late 22nd century were banned or heavily censored by the government.
There was a general smirk throughout the audience as the Military Guild’s Members were some of the only JC citizens allowed to use personal and general technology in their daily lives. It was very rare that anyone became infected with what was commonly known as ‘tech flu,’ an unhealthy addiction to technology that resulted in shorter sleeping hours, more fitful sleep, inability to concentrate, irritable and anti-social behavior and inability to switch from virtual to real experiences.
“Now local news, one of our own, Lieutenant Alma Johnson has been elevated to the rank of captain and will take command of the starship Indy. She’s the youngest captain in the peaceful history of the JC. Congratulations Captain.”
Everyone looked to Alma, mostly with surprise, some with smiles and a lot with frowns. A few hands went up to speak.
The Crier announced, “We will have time for comments in a minute. Let me finish with the news.”
Alma and Christopher didn’t listen to the rest of the Crier’s report as they were whispering to each other.
“Afia, Rups and then Shana,” Christopher whispered, speculating about the order of the people who would probably speak against Alma’s promotion and then Admiral Jackson who would have to defend her decision.
“No, I think it’ll be Afia, Dixon, then Shana,” Alma replied back softly. “I don’t think Rups minds,” he was the Chief Engineer on the Indy.
When the Crier opened the floor up to comments, Afia was the first to stand and say, “Crier, I’ve a comment of concern, may I speak to the guild?”
“Speak member,” the Crier replied.
Afia took the stage and began without preamble, “I don’t believe that Captain Alma Johnson is suited to be captain of the Indy. Sure, she’s intelligent, but she lacks experience and is often reckless. Just last week in training she almost destroyed two fighters trying to show off. Is this the kind of woman we want commanding one of our precious starships? Admiral Jackson, I ask you kindly to reconsider.”
Afia looked to the Crier and nodded, indicating she was finished.
“Noted,” the Crier said and Afia left the stage. Then an older man raised his hand, and the Crier told him to come forward and speak.
“I’m the Chief Medical Officer on the Indy and I don’t think there’s any way this little spring chicken can run a starship with a crew complement of over 200 souls. So Admiral, I’m refusing to serve under her. You either find another position for her or me.”
“Is that all?” the Crier asked.
Dixon nodded and left the stage.
Shana then walked onto the Military Guild’s Assembly Hall’s Stage. She waited for the crowd to become quiet and looked at them all meanly. It wasn’t difficult as she had a long, angry scar running down one of her perfect brown cheeks, from the bottom of her right eye to under her chin. And her frown was so callous, it had scared a lot of them into action throughout their entire lives. When she did begin, her words were stern, “I’ve evaluated all of the candidates for the position. Captain Alma Johnson is the best person to command the Indy at this time. Doctor Dixon, if you feel you’re too old to learn new tricks under a young captain, so be it. Consider yourself transferred. Afia, I know you’re not an old dog like Dixon and so, I’d ask you kindly to give Captain Johnson a chance,” she said the word ‘kindly’ as if it was a profanity and a knowing look passed between the two women that no one missed. Shana looked out onto the entire guild and addressed them, “Hard work matters, we need the best and the brightest in charge. I’m tired of watching middle aged people floundering lazily on our JC ships, only picking off pirates and smugglers when it’s convenient for them. That’s not good enough people. We need some real action now. New and young energy. Terra Nova grows stronger by the day and we don’t need to make their quest any easier by fighting amongst ourselves. So by all means, h
old Alma Johnson accountable for her actions, I expect nothing less, but hold her accountable for anything else and you have me to answer to. Am I clear?”
“Yes Admiral,” they all replied loudly in unison.
Shana continued to look them all over angrily for a few moments longer in silence and then left the stage.
The Crier called the meeting to a close if there were no other queries or comments. There were not. No one would dare cross Admiral Jackson with her mood now.
Everyone quietly dispersed.
Alma and Christopher gave each other knowing looks and then walked out silently together with the crowd. A few people congratulated Alma, but most said nothing. Outside on the street again, Alma asked, “Do you want to come to the Tailor’s Guild with me to hash that over?”
“I can’t. I’ve a date with Betsy.”
“Oh really?” Betsy was a new woman Christopher had begun seeing a few weeks ago and he was already smitten.
“But I thought she wouldn’t see you again after she found out you were a traditionalist?” Christopher’s parents practiced some ancient human traditions, such as marriage and observed older religious customs. According to the JC government, traditionalists, were not fundamentalists, so they were not sent to the Ethereal, a protected area of Earth where humans lived freely to practice whatever religion they wanted and outside the strict social order that regulated everything from procreation to community gatherings. Still, most people wanted nothing to do with traditionalists, as they felt marriage and observations of ancient religious holidays only held humanity back.
“I explained to her that I wasn’t really a traditionalist myself, just that my parents were.”
“And that changed her mind?” Alma asked disbelievingly.
“For the time being she’s satisfied. There’s no question, I’m on borrowed time though,” admitted Christopher. “I should go, I’d like to change out of my uniform before I meet her.”
“Where are you going for your date?”
Christopher looked embarrassed, “Farm work in Mexico. We’re going to learn how coffee beans are grown.”
“Farm work? What?”
“You know they’ve these trial hours in different guilds? Betsy wants to see what it would be like to be a coffee farmer in Mexico. These are special events organized through the Friendship Guilds. We don’t have to use our travel passes or anything, but it’s expensive and only SCs can be used as payment.”
Alma laughed, “Well, I can safely say, I’ll never use any of my precious SCs on checking out farming in Mexico or any other area of the world. You have fun though and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Alma grabbed a local solar powered tram to Atlanta’s Tailor Guild. She sat down next to the window and there was an empty seat beside her. Alma hoped the seat would remain empty throughout her short journey so she wouldn’t have to make small talk. Unfortunately, it was taken by an old woman and Alma had to make conversation about small dogs for fifteen minutes. She didn’t know anything about dogs, but now was knowledgeable about Maltese dogs, in particular, how long they needed to be walked and the kinds of toys they preferred. Alma was happy to say when she saw her stop approaching, “Oh sorry, this is my stop. It’s been very nice speaking to you,” as she fled off the tram.
After walking through the customer doors at the Atlanta Tailor’s Guild, a receptionist met her with a clipboard and pencil, “How may I help you, Lieutenant?” the Receptionist was already eyeing her navy colored uniform before Alma could reply.
“I need to be fitted for a new uniform.”
“What’s the matter with this one? Are you expecting a child?” she eyed Alma’s trim waistline again.
“No, I’ve been promoted to Captain.”
“Oh,” she said without emotion. “I see. Follow me.”
Alma followed the Receptionist down a long glass hallway. As they walked she could see tailors working in each little glass room. Some had military customers like her being measured and others were working alone with fabric. Alma couldn’t help herself, she stopped when she saw a very young girl and an ancient woman working on a large midnight blue JC flag. The JC flag was rectangular with a large, black circle in the center and in the center of the black circle, in a straight line, were five differently sized circles in white, representing, Earth, the Moon, Mars, Europa and Enceladus.
The Receptionist turned back around when she realized Alma was no longer behind her, “Have you never seen a flag being embroidered before?”
Alma shook her head, “No. Do children always help with the flags?”
“Of course, it’s the easiest thing for them to do. Now, if you don’t mind, we do have a schedule here too.”
Alma followed the Receptionist into a glass room with an older woman in it. The Tailor slowly stood when Alma entered and the Receptionist explained what Alma required and then politely excused herself. The Tailor motioned for Alma to stand on an elevated box while she took her measurements, saying some of the numbers quietly out loud as she did so, “Height, 1.73,” then she expertly took Alma’s other measurements and murmured, “ Eighty-nine, sixty-two, ninety.”
“How do you like your uniforms to fit, Captain?”
“Like this one. Just right.”
The Tailor laughed, “Yes, okay. So a little bit loose. What about your formal uniforms? Tighter?”
“I don’t know,” said Alma honestly thinking out loud. She had always worn her uniforms a little bit on the loose side, but now, she was remembering Admiral Jackson’s formal uniform and said, “Make them more fitted.”
“Yes, you have a nice figure, it would be a shame to hide it all the time and you’re not a child any longer.”
“Thanks. I don’t really think about my figure like that.”
“Being in the Tailor’s Guild that is all I do. But you know even people with the most perfect measurements don’t, as a rule, have beautiful figures. The human body is like a piece of art. Sometimes beauty is unexplainable by the math.”
Alma smiled, “Am I unexplainable by the math then?”
The Tailor answered, “No, your measurements are almost as close to what we consider the perfect human woman. But some people can be perfect and still look awkward, like they were born into the wrong body.”
“Do you speak to all of your customers this way?” Alma asked amused.
“Oh yes, you know when you are over 150 years old, there’s little you keep to yourself anymore,” the Tailor smiled and Alma couldn’t help but smile back.
The woman brought out some purple fabric and held it up for Alma to touch, “This is the new fabric for the formal uniforms. It’s a wool and silk mix. Isn’t it divine?”
Alma touched the fabric and tried to be excited for her, “Yes.”
The woman frowned a little bit at Alma not being as excited as she should be and asked roughly, “When do you need these by?”
“I need one uniform by early tomorrow morning, please send it to my apartment by courier. Then the rest by the day after.”
“You military people are always pushing us last minute. Please remember that we must make these uniforms from hand. Go now. I’m assuming it’ll all be paid with Guild Credits, GC?” she asked rhetorically.
Alma nodded and then left as the Tailor was muttering to herself about last minute commanding officers.
Chapter 2
April 25th 2635, Atlanta, Georgia, North America
Alma heard the doorbell. She opened her eyes and saw the bright morning sun, streaming in through her old curtains. She felt Scott’s strong hand running up and down her naked back. Alma turned to him and kissed his warm lips sensually. Then she shifted on to her back and pushed his next advance gently away with a chaste kiss, “Please, will you go let that courier in. It’s my new uniform,” she said softly.
“The youngest fleet captain too busy to get her own uniform?” Scott asked, already moving away from her semi clad body and getting out of bed. Naked, he walked quickly acro
ss the room.
“Yes, I need a few minutes to think the day through,” she watched him grab her rose-colored Japanese silk robe from the back of her door and go out to meet the courier. When he returned a few minutes later he was carrying a cloth bag with the name ‘A.H. Johnson’ embroidered in yellow on it and set it on the edge of the end of her bed.
“Should I even bother getting back into bed or has our sexy moment passed?”
Alma looked at Scott’s large handsome body, barely covered in her small silk robe, and replied, “I’m already thinking about work, I’m sorry. Thanks for getting my uniform though.”
Scott nodded and sighed as he went into the ancient bathroom and closed the door. He loved Alma, but he didn’t understand her. He always perceived her as running hot as hell or as cold as ice, and he hadn’t learned how to predict her moods. But, as much as this unsettled him, it also made him desire her more than he had ever desired any other woman.
From the moment Scott closed the door, Alma began thinking about all of her tasks for the day as if the sound of the door closing had been an indicator for her mind to start racing. She was both excited and nervous for her first day as captain. Today would present more challenges and obstacles than she had faced in a long time, if ever, and she liked to go over everything in her mind in the morning to prepare for how her day may turn out.
When Scott emerged from the bathroom, Alma gave his athletic body, still somewhat damp from the shower, a longing once over with her eyes, but she didn’t touch him as she passed him on the cold tiles. Inside the bathroom, she showered and then wiped her hand across the steam on the mirror. She looked at herself and said, barely above a whisper, “I deserve command of the Indy.”
When Alma emerged from the bathroom, she gave Scott a small smile. He was dressed for work as a chef in all black. Still she could see both annoyance and desire across his handsome face and in his blue eyes. But this didn’t bother her, after a year of being in a relationship, she realized that he would always feel this way about her, regardless of her actions. So she simply began putting on her purple one-piece uniform that denoted her rank as captain and stood in front of the antique full length mirror. She turned to the side and smiled, then combed her chin length brown hair behind her ears. Her eyes focused on the ‘Cpt. A. H. Johnson’ embroidered in black across the top right hand side of her uniform and ran a finger over it while her other hand held the sandalwood comb.