USS Kepler Dawn

by Gerald Lane Summers

  Lieutenant Herman was a beautiful woman with long blond hair, a perfectly symmetrical body without a single detectable flaw and a brain to match. At the moment, she was not looking so good with a frown distorting her face.

  “You think you are so smart, Mr. Kelso,” she said as she took a step toward me. “You forget, however, that Ascension does not start for another hour. Your conduct will therefore be reported as required. Good luck getting into the space academy.”

  She was wrong, of course. Ascension Day did not start at the end of the day. It started at its beginning. The celebration of it starts at the end. I’d researched the point thoroughly before writing my historical concoction the previous year and had discovered one seventy year old legal precedent right on point. My father had been the subject of the challenge back then and he’d made his point exceptionally well.

  Chapter 2

  The end of the period bell rang and as one the class broke into cheers. It was a time for celebration as well as the choice of mates, if one had that in mind. I did. Miki Sakura was my choice. We had been immediate neighbors since birth, our apartments side by side. We’d played and studied together for fifteen years and had formed a bond. At least, I thought we had.

  Buryl Boggs was approaching Miki from behind. He had a wide grin on his face that became a scowl when she turned to face him. She’d put her hand up like a traffic director and stopped him cold. She then turned and deliberately hooked her arm in mine.

  “Nice work, Andy,” she whispered while leaning toward my ear. “You handled that beautifully. I’ll see you this evening in the lounge, if it’s okay with you? I think it’s time we stopped playing and took our relationship to an appropriate level, don’t you think?”

  I looked down at her and nodded, feeling enormous relief. She smelled wonderful and warm, a light sweet scent that reminded me again of the bakery on pie day. For a moment I was without words, so busy was I taking her into my senses. Finally, sanity came to the rescue.

  “Yes,” I whispered into her ear. “You’re too beautiful to be alone on such a special night.” She held me tighter and I could feel her breast brush up against my arm. Thank god, I had wanted her for much of my life and suddenly there she was, offering herself to me.

  We started into the hall and I glanced back. I would miss this place, known to all as the math lab, with its shiny metal walls, faux hard wood floors, moveable chalk boards with complex mathematical formulae scattered upon them and above all the galactic view-screen that surrounded the entire room. Sitting at your desk was like being alone in space with the entire universe at your command. Com/links to the ship’s AI computer were built into the desk tops, providing answers to any questions capable of being answered. They were only turned off during exams.

  Other students were doing the same, taking last nostalgic looks at what had been their habitat for so many years and would now live forever in their memories.

  Buryl was standing alone, face still red with his lips drawn down into an ugly frown. He obviously thought he’d had Miki in the bag. Now he was finding his assumptions had been based on false information. Most likely, he’d simply failed to do his reconnaissance. Any of the other girls could have told him what Miki intended, had he bothered to ask. They were not about to volunteer anything to him because his tendency was to grope a woman if she came close. One of Miki’s friends, Emily Argleben, a graduating student of German descent disgustingly called him der gropinfuhrer.

  My instincts told me to ignore him. Miki was fully committed and he no longer worried me. I gave him a toothy smile and turned back to Miki. She was soft and cuddly, twice as gorgeous as any other girl in the class, and now mine.

  Chapter 3

  As a woman, Miki Sakura was everything I had ever admired in the opposite sex. Her hair was dark and shiny, generally pulled back in a long perfectly brushed pony tail. It was imminently practical. She did not have to constantly wipe hair out of her eyes or toss her head around flipping or puffing it back into place while solving some great equation. Miki was the best mathematician in our class and we’d competed for honors on the subject at every opportunity.

  We did not do it to show each other up. It was our way of having fun. In fact, she’d taught me to love math. She would often beat me at resolving a particularly hard task and then run off as if inviting me to chase her. Occasionally, I did and when I caught her we both would have a good laugh rolling around on the floor. Only good friends could do such things and that had been the rub. As I got older, I’d been afraid she would see me as nothing more than a friend and that was definitely not what I wanted.

  Her complexion was free of blemishes and post-adolescent eruptions. In fact, her skin was smooth, almost white while her face was set off by widely spaced, dark epicanthic eyes that gave her a mysterious glance. That alone had been enough to make me cautious. Though we’d known each other forever, I was never sure what she was thinking or why I was so enticed with every move she made. When I saw other boys ogling her, my fist tended to double up to the point of cramping. When I glared at them, no one dared turn their back on me.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Miki and I went directly to the forward lounge and sat together in a booth with mutual friends. The large room was complete with old time traditional leatherette booths and a synthetic hard wood dance floor. It was all part of the Ascension celebration. Military stewards were hustling around, serving drinks while behind the mirrored metal bar mixologists were doing their thing making crazy concoctions for those of us who had never experienced the beauty of a well-made cocktail. Soft belly-rubbin’ love songs whispered in the background enticing us onto the floor where no one had yet dared to venture.

  Three other couples sat with us, all soon-to-be lovers, thigh to thigh, hugging and whispering, all cautious in making the first serious moves. It was a tradition for the graduates to have a drink or two before sneaking off to the dance floor or to do the deed. None of us had ever done any of these things, thanks to the puritanical prudes who had defined the nature our lives so long ago. I wanted to dance, to embrace Miki and never let go. Unfortunately, there was one thing wrong. The lights had not been turned down and I knew what would happen the moment we came together, body to body. The boss would make its move.

  Dirk Mahoney and Charlie Forrestal, two of my closest friends and compatriots at the table found their girls the same way I had. They’d known them for years and had never been able to guess for certain who the girls might choose. The girls, however, all knew exactly how the lineup would go. Meanwhile, the boys might have been trying to attract one girl’s attention while lurking for months on another, never knowing if their feelings were being welcomed or returned. Then, out of nowhere, their favorite just happened to select them when the time came. It was the sort of thing that exasperated and scared me at the same time. We were totally outclassed by these women who knew instinctively where everyone belonged.

  Miki had continued to hold on to my arm, her head on my shoulder, whispering soft and revealing things of her years of wanting and loving me. I was both amazed and relieved that my feelings were being returned. Still, although I felt the same, I had not been one to express such feelings openly. This time, I looked down at her with all the confidence of someone who had just been told they were loved, and with a level of bravery I had never been able to muster before, kissing her fully on her lips. Every couple at our table followed suit.

  Once we’d finished and had come up for air, I picked up the drink served in my absence. It was a scotch and soda, the name pulled from memory of an ancient folk song by the Kingston Trio. I felt the effect immediately, as if I’d been injected by some magic potion. Miki started sipping on her drink, a thing called a “Singapore Sling.” She was definitely enjoying the rum and sugary sweet flavor.

  I decided it was time for a toast. Holding up my half full glass of scotch, I said loud enough to overcome the music: “To a long and prosperous evening, one filled with joy and remembrance for us all. Let
it be forever.”

  A long murmur could be heard throughout the room. Many besides those of our own table had overheard and were responding. The toast became words of the night, repeated all around the room.

  “It wasn’t long before I realized a buzz coming on.

  “It’s going to be a long night,” I whispered to Miki. Perhaps we should ration these things? I’m beginning to like them too much.”

  She looked up at me with a smile, “Do whatever you want. I’m going to enjoy the night however long it is … and this is the best tasting thing I’ve ever had.”

  Many of Earth’s old customs were being maintained for purposes of continuity and Miki’s drink was one of them. Not knowing a thing about alcoholic beverages, I liked the scotch because it had been the drink of choice for many of the old timey heroes in classic movies. The “Sling” was sweet and Miki had once snuck a sip from her father’s drink and thought them wonderful. Charlie had a scotch on the rocks and we were all soon slurring our way through the night. Fortunately, Charlie’s girl, Tuesday Hom, an English language major, had been drinking the same thing because she’d had no idea what to order and had simply followed Charlie’s lead. They were soon singing off key to a thousand year old bawdy Scottish drinking song called, “A Wee Deoch-an Doris.”

  Dirk Mahoney was a Mormon frightened of alcohol and the devil within. Nevertheless, he was not about to miss out on his night of Ascension without having something to help with his anxiety. He chose a martini, which he promptly dubbed, ‘hair oil,’ and almost spat out. He sipped around the rim of the glass for some time, slopped a bit over the lip in the shallow glass and became braver as the night progressed. He finally discovered and ate the large olive that came with it. All the while his girl Samantha was playing with his thigh and he was no doubt worried about being laughed at. There was no way he was going to be the first to get up to dance either.

  At some point, I could take it no longer and started thinking of a strategic withdrawal. Miki had been telling me how she liked my short curly dark hair, Roman nose and blue eyes, all while rubbing her hand up and down my abdominal muscles. Having worked daily on them for years, I had to admit they were worthy of her admiration. The rest of it sounded like excessive flattery, because I had never looked at myself as particularly handsome. In fact, I hated the curly hair, thought my slightly crooked nose odd among others without a semblance of character and did not like comparing my body to those of muscle-men like Buryl. If I let my hair get too long, I looked like Medusa with snakes writhing on my head.

  I suggested we slip off to our designated room before I was forced by the removal of inhibition to jump her right on the spot. She was up before I was and we sauntered out of the lounge, probably looking as guilty and nervous as we really felt all while trying to avoid attention.

  Joey Marston, another of my good friends yelled out from somewhere at the back of the room, “Go get her, Stick!”

  I turned, dropped my head toward Joey and said, “It’s not a race, Joey, nor a one man competition. Keep that in mind or give it up now while you have a chance.”

  A number of the girls started whooping and laughter followed us out of the room. I could feel the warmth on my face, instilled no doubt by alcohol, the pounding of my heart and the glow of love as Miki put her arm around my waist and snuggled into my shoulder.

  Chapter 4

  Ihad no idea what the incident with Lieutenant Herman might ultimately mean for my career. While I’d been truthful, it still seemed an unsavory act to challenge a teacher on what she’d been required to do. I knew it was certain to draw attention from above. Students had been barred from the space academy for less and having committed the foul deed of telling the truth to power, there was nothing more I could do about it. The lieutenant had forced my hand.

  Miki came to the rescue of my ego later that night while we were taking a breather, lying face to face. She called my response to the lieutenant’s game a divine act of savoir faire. I had to think about that, not understanding the phrase at first. She explained her view in detail.

  “The lieutenant knew what was happening to the boys in anticipation of the end of class, as did most of the girls. Didn’t you notice? They were all fidgeting, tapping their fingers on their desks, bouncing their legs up and down. It was comical. Then, the Lieutenant purposefully picked you to embarrass because you were not doing the same.

  She did not know you had been the author of the history parody and by insisting that you recite the usual claptrap, she was giving you a divine opportunity. Everyone else knew you were the author of that piece and choosing to reveal it in class made you stand out as a rebel. I have never been more proud of you.”

  “So, you don’t think me a disrespectful smartass? Because that is how I feel about it. Lieutenant Herman is without doubt the best teacher we’ve ever had and I took the liberty of jumping all over her in a fit of pique. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I do. On the other hand, she invited it and has her own faults. We all have them. We wouldn’t be human if we did not. So, don’t worry so much. Your reputation will lead the way in what comes next and it will certainly not be damaged by one silly instance like this. You must think of it as one more Ascension Day story worth telling around a campfire some far off day in the future.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  While I’d been known by the nickname Buryl had pinned on me so many years ago, its true value arrived two weeks after graduation. I happened to meet the captain while walking down the ship’s central corridor. Since we were both covered, meaning we were both wearing our standard uniform hats, mine a school cadet’s white fore and aft cap and him with a very smart looking naval officer’s cap with a mass of scrambled eggs decorating the bill, I stopped and saluted him.

  “Good morning, Stick,” he said after returning my salute. “How’s everything going for you?”

  Lord, I thought. He knows who I am. “Uh, fine sir. Still in the madness of Ascension, but otherwise fine. If it keeps up much longer, I suppose I will have to go see the doctor.”

  I was surprised when he smiled, let out a booming laugh and started to walk away. Then, without warning he turned back and said, “How would you like to accompany me on morning inspection rounds? I’m heading for the reactor room and then to the anti-gravity propulsion unit.”

  For a moment, I was struck dumb. By tradition, students were not allowed in the propulsion or reactor rooms until they had graduated high school and had been enrolled in the academy. Even then, they must have completed their competency studies on each of the ship’s many other systems.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve studied up on them and am blown away by the complexity involved. Still, there is no way I can say I am competent to judge the status of either.”

  I had studied them in required courses that provided a simple overview and knew I was nowhere near ready for an assignment to either compartment. I still had most of the month free to do whatever I might choose and so far all I’d chosen was to have intimate relations with Miki. We’d become animals, thrashing about like two sex crazed foxes trying to establish a pecking order. By the time the month was up, I would likely be exhausted. She, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a supernova.

  “No matter, he said. Just pay attention. It will be your initiation into what makes this old crate soar.”

  Captain Johan Hollenbeck’s record of excellence in service went back to the mid-twenty third century. I had no idea how old he was, although I’d heard as a fighter pilot during Earth’s fourth world war he’d been unmatched with many kills to his credit. As a ship’s captain, no one had more experience. He’d been in overall charge of building Kepler Dawn and was the ultimate plank owner.

  Every time I thought about the ship and the effort involved in building it, I was staggered. Kepler Dawn was huge, ten miles long, two miles wide and a mile tall. It had three hundred decks, each of which was ten feet tall. Many corridors, elevators and transport tubes were available to allow ra
pid passage from one place on the ship to another. Additional massive spaces were located both above and below the interior living cube for the storage of vast amounts of cargo, spare parts and all the large and small equipment that would be needed to build out a functioning colony. The enormity of it left me feeling quite insignificant.

  As we walked the short distance to the closest transport tube, I could not help but note how fit the captain was. Kepler Dawn had been on this voyage for ninety years and yet Hollenbeck looked no more than thirty five. I made a note to myself to emulate this aspect of his character and to work out every day.

  Regular stem cell replenishment, telomere cap replacement on all strands of DNA along with anti-radiation gene transplants kept the ship’s complement young. Other genetic modifications allowed everyone to resist diseases like cancer, atherosclerosis and the entire spectrum of micro-organisms that had plagued humanity for eons. Thus, all people on board were likely to live a very long time. Nevertheless, a fit body took more than that. It took a lot of exercise, weight lifting and jogging about the ship. Looking good was impressive and being fit was an important asset for those aspiring to leadership. In order to gain and hold respect, a ship’s officer had to set standards.

  Captain Hollenbeck had been born in the Netherlands, a place just across the English Channel from Northern Scotland and was frequently referred to by his closest associates as, “Dutch.” His hair was blond, almost white and cut short in the military style known as “high and tight.” As the tallest man on the ship, he was always the focus of attention. I was not so tall, because no one else was either. From the first days of selection, the rule had been to keep the average height of the passengers at five foot eight inches in order to keep weight and food consumption down. Both of my parents were in that range. I was within the average at five nine if my hair needed cutting.