Rain Check Checkmate
Joanni put down the plate and glass on the coffee table, that much she knew to do. The next step she was less certain of—wake him up or let him sleep? He looked so peaceful, she didn’t have the heart to rouse him, and there was an intimacy being there with him while he was disarmed, as it were, of his will and duty. She thought back on her travels with Jackie, how he often slept beside her, exhausted, as they traveled from gig to gig, though that was different. They were attracted to each other, she and Jackie, but there was not any foundation for love between them. Joanni sat down on the opposite side of the couch and pulled up her legs, hugging them as she rested her chin on her knees and watched her captain sleep. ‘We are on the same path; we are searching for the same things,’ she thought. ‘Must we do so separately? We could do it together; would you want that?’
So far, she had enjoyed keeping things on an intellectual level, teasingly witty and charming, but she knew that, while he could easily do the same, there was a more aggressive, explosive side, a taking side to him, and though she was not afraid of him, she was unsure of this explosiveness, and whether that tight control he kept over his emotions when in command would hold when in an amorous rapture. It both intrigued her and made her cautious; she was both curious to see if she could entice him to lose it, but also wary of the consequences. The proverbial poking of the bear. But that wasn’t the main reason for her holding back. It was his history, his “use” of women that everyone warned about that was stopping her. That women most likely used him as well didn’t seem to matter. She knew he had been hurt in the past; she was leery of dynamic men given her history with Jackie; she wanted commitment from him and she wasn’t sure she would get it. Would he see her as an encumbrance when she would want to walk with him through life; could she stand the pain and humiliation when he inevitably moved on to someone else, as everyone assured her he would. She was willing to play the sidekick, the second born, in all other walks of life; she actually preferred it, but not with love.
It was getting late—she needed to get to bed and he needed to leave. Just as Joanni decided to act, leaning forward toward Chipman to wake him, his eyes blinked open. It took a few seconds for him to realize where he was. He sat up straight and apologized. “Sorry. How long was I asleep?”
“No, no; don’t worry about it. You’re allowed to be tired.”
They smiled at each other. “It’s comfortable here,” he confessed.
“You like to experience life like how I used to like to experience the outdoors on Earth, I think.”
His groggy smile gave way to a look of puzzlement. “I don’t follow you.”
“Well . . . I used to like to hike the trails in the woods all day, but then come back to a nice hot shower, have a nice dinner, then sleep in a comfortable bed. You like adventure, risk taking, but then you want a nice, comfortable, welcoming stable place waiting for you . . . with pie.”
“Maybe, maybe so.” But he had other things on his mind. “How long was I . . .?”
“Look at your watch.”
It was almost 23:00. Chipman was chagrined and surprised he had slept so long; he thought it had only been a couple of minutes. “Great company, uh?” He pulled her close to him. “I’ll have to make up for it.”
“No, you have to leave. It’s late. I have to get to sleep.”
“Without me?”
“Yes, unfortunately so.” His push to stay and her pushback for him to go went gently back and forth—he could be persuasive—until she grew rattled. “Look, I’m not a one-night stand. Not just the next card in the deck. If you want a fly-by shag, go someplace else.”
“That statement is beneath you.”
This brought her up short. She remembered her conversation with Rez Yoshida weeks ago: If you wanna go for a ride, fine. But don’t lose your head. “I can’t be just one more plate on your smorgasbord of women!”
Chipman let out a laugh and dropped his hold on her shoulders at this ridiculous claim. He was both amused and irritated. He got up to leave, but she perversely wouldn’t let it go. “Take me seriously. Girls just fall into your lap; you don’t ever have to make any emotional investment, and you like it that way. I just want . . .”
“Why should I take you seriously? You believe the gossip. You believe it because somebody somewhere told you so.” He was disappointed that she saw him this way, that she fell into this common mind trap, that she couldn’t see that this was different. He thought she was different.
Joanni stood up. “Good night, Tom . . . don’t be mad.”
He shrugged.
They walked to the door. “The world’s out there waiting for you, Captain,” Joanni said, unable, apparently, to stop herself.
The captain turned to her. “Is a goodnight kiss verboten?”
“Of course not.”
He took her face in his hand and gave her a kiss, softly, but insistent enough that when he pulled away, she leaned forward to kiss him again, but he stopped this hypocrisy, putting his finger up to his face, wagging it back and forth in an exaggerated manner, saying “Uh-uh,” and left.
Joanni and Tom didn’t speak to each other again until the day of the ISEA gala down on Border Starbase 19, and when they did, it was in a cautiously considered manner. The evening of the gala, Chipman walked into Starbase 19’s grand ballroom with First Officer Samuel. He was in a dissatisfied mood, a funk he couldn’t shake, although only Samuel and Matulis sensed this; with others, he hid his feelings well.
“Curious as to what the Oreanian message will be,” Samuel said. ISEA had received a rare communication from the Oreanians regarding the official start of Operation Tarrash, which had been translated and which would be read to the assembled guests.
“Yes,” Chipman replied, without much interest at first, but as the two men spoke of the myriad of possibilities this message could reveal, the explorer within the captain regained its hold on his nature, and the conversation turned quite lively.
Brennan Vela walked by at one point, interrupting them with the whispered announcement, “M&M about to arrive.” This is what she called Ambassador and Mrs. Gillis (Manson and Mathea), when not in either of their presence. Both men’s eyes followed her retreating figure, then they resumed their talk. Samuel was eventually called away by some colleagues from his old academic haunts. Even though his mood had lifted, Chipman, normally gregarious, stayed in the background, observing the growing crowd. He perceived everything, missed nothing.
The ambassador and his wife and the rest of the diplomatic entourage had arrived. He saw Joanni walk in with some posh junior diplomat. She never looked better, flushed with excitement; her escort looked like a lightweight, he thought. Maybe she’d have more luck there for whatever it was she wanted. A huge view screen on one end of the room came to life, displaying the itinerary for the evening. Chipman was surprised how central Joanni was to the proceedings. She and the mission would first be introduced and lauded, then the message from the Oreanians broadcast. After dinner, Joanni would give a short performance on her clesig, then there would be dancing. Ms. Neiswender was the de facto star of the show, an unusual role for her.
‘Well, she doesn’t need me,’ was Chipman’s sullen response to all this. He thought of the old Ganymedian saying: to both set the beast upon her and to protect her from the beast. She didn’t seem to want or need either from him at this point. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect her hesitancy; he did. He just wasn’t sure exactly what her game was, flirting with him as she did, and he didn’t like that she fell for the exaggeration of his affairs that other women (particularly those who had tried to lasso him) promoted. Joanni now was working the room, holding her clesig in her arms, and many of the attendees were eager to have an image captured with her. He wouldn’t be part of her entourage. He felt his longing for her start to fade away like a fever breaking, and the duties of his ship became once again beckoning and enticing. His ship was an unwavering true beauty. The Eridanus played no games.
Image: Storm brewing. Source: Photograph by Ᾱn Kassel, edited by J. Weigley