The Most Beautiful Thing
The lift doors opened and Yeoman Johnson came onto the bridge and walked over to the captain’s chair. She waited until Captain Chipman was finished initialing the reports that had been handed to him. He turned to the yeoman and asked, “Is Ms. Neiswender settled in?”
“Yes, sir. I think so. She seemed keen to . . . er, find a vantage point for observing the Eridanus leave orbit. To ‘just see outside’ she kept saying.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I gave her directions to the observation deck. I offered to escort her there, but she said she wanted to finish unpacking first, and then she might wander down.”
Chipman nodded in dismissal. He thought for a moment, then told the yeoman, “Stand by, Johnson.” He turned round to his communications officer, “Put me through to diplomatic guest quarters . . .” He turned to Johnson.
“703.”
“703.”
Lt. Morrison responded, “Go ahead, sir.”
He pushed the intercom button on the panel to the side of his command chair.
“Hello?” a slightly startled voice answered after a few seconds.
‘Has she never been on a ship before?’ he thought to himself. “Ms. Neiswender? Captain Chipman here. I’m sending Yeoman Johnson back to bring you up to the bridge. I thought you might like to watch our leaving orbit from here.”
Silence.
“Ms. Neiswender?”
“Yes, Yes. I would love that. Thank you!”
Chipman turned to Johnson, “Bring her up, yeoman.”
A quarter of an hour later, Joanni stood mesmerized on the bridge of the massive galaxyship. To her, it was as if she had stepped into another world. Like opening a black and white door to behold a beautiful full spectrum Oz. Here was command central: a semicircle setup of computer screens, control centers, officers of various ranks—the best of the best, plus a huge view screen, and the captain’s chair in the middle. It excited her, made her feel anticipation rather than anxiety. Chipman got up to greet her. The look in her eyes, the emotion held there, made him think ‘she gets it.’ He introduced her to the senior bridge officers at their stations, then settled back into his chair with her standing to the side opposite his control panel. “Like it?” The captain was proud of his ship and crew.
“Amazing. Thanks for taking the time to show me around.”
“No problem, once we leave orbit, we won’t have the time. Not so busy right . . ..” He stopped, thinking this might come across as ungracious, but she didn’t seem to have taken offense; she stood staring at the view screen, though it was now dark and there was nothing to see.
“It's all so elegant and beautiful. Beautiful in form and function. And . . . much brighter than the ships I’ve been on.”
“New screen technologies.” The captain went into a detailed explanation; when she didn’t respond yet again, he turned to her with a questioning look.
Joanni apologized. “I’m sorry. I was just taking everything in.” Then the flood gates opened, and she gushed, “What a life, Captain. Every time you walk onto this bridge, it must feel like home. You sit in that chair and everyday you face . . . everything—the unknown, the beautiful, the dangerous. See things that no one, well, no one from Earth has ever seen before.” It was as if her father had returned from the vast nothingness of space into which he had vanished to now speak through his daughter, but, of course, the captain couldn’t know that.
‘Well, this isn’t what I expected,’ Chipman thought to himself. He respected the vivacity of her curiosity; he saw it as sincere, but wasn’t sure if it intrigued him or irritated him. “Excuse me,” he smiled at her. Then turning to Lt. Wynde, “Screen On. Prepare to leave orbit, helmsman.”
Joanni took a half step back and watched as the crew went about their business. Everyone around her appeared extremely competent, engaged, with a job to do; particularly Chipman, easily commanding each procedure as if he was born to do it. She felt in the way, painfully useless. She was not a member of this crew, not part of the diplomatic corps. She was a mascot. The girl with the harp. She belonged to no cohort on this adventure, she thought, and a momentary pang of loneliness struck her hard. But as she turned her gaze once again to the front of the bridge, the view screen now activated, her attention was captured by the stars. The vast universe, the path to Oreana—her future—appeared in front of her. Holding up her hand at eye level, Joanni cupped her palm, and closing one eye, proclaimed, mostly to herself, “The stars are all around us; we can hold them in our hand.” Then she realized she was being odd and silly, and dropped her arm.
She stepped back up to the captain’s chair. There was a short period of silence while they both watched the view screen, their thoughts kept to themselves, then she asked, “What’s the strangest thing you’ve seen out here in space, Captain?”
Chipman considered this. “Non-corporeal pure energy entities.”
“The most dangerous?”
“The same.”
“Aha . . . What’s the most beautiful? A comet? I would love to see a comet.”
“The most beautiful thing I’ve seen? You mean other than what’s standing beside me now?” He didn’t know why he said that, other than his synapses routinely fired off this bullshit glibness by habit.
Joanni was momentarily taken aback, then responded quickly, so as not to give the impression that she was not used to getting such compliments. She smiled and lightly put her hand on his arm for a moment, as if they were the only two present, saying, again in that confidential manner, “Ha, ha. I see why you sit in that chair.”
The science officer came over to join them, and there was a cursory conversation about the beautiful in science, the beauty of science. Joanni felt it was time to go and started to take her leave. “Please let me try to find my way back to my quarters, gentlemen. I’m an adult; I’m sure I’ll make it.”
“There’s a small gathering tonight—dinner—to welcome you aboard, Ms. Neiswender,” the captain said in reply. “The senior officers in attendance. We’ll be in dress uniform, but you’re welcome to wear whatever suits your fancy.” He fixed her with a look. “I trust you’ll be able to find something among those research books of yours.”
Joanni smiled at him again. She liked the mental back and forth with this handsome, self-assured man. “What time?”
“Nineteen hundred hours. Oh . . . and I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer another escort, down to Dining Room C. One of the officers will call on you.”
The bridge crew settled into their routines; this mission was going to be a long haul. The general consensus was that the young lady was pleasant enough and not as problematic as advertised. She had not made much of an impact on anyone. Only the captain seemed unsettled, periodically swiveling around in his chair to glance at the lift doors.
The third time he turned his gaze toward the elevator, his science officer asked, “Expecting someone?”
Chipman did feel restless, but that was his own business. “I don’t follow you. Why do you ask?”
Lt. Commander Samuel shrugged and turned back to his console.
Joanni had just finished dressing (with extra care it must be said), when her doorbell chimed. She buzzed open the door to reveal Dr. Pissario, who had arrived to accompany her down to dinner. Joanni was a woman who liked to come and go on her own accord, and this constant “assistance” was beginning to annoy her. “How does anything get done on this ship with the entire crew assigned to babysit me?” she asked the doctor as the two of them walked down the corridor toward the elevator.
The doctor half laughed. “I had a look at your medical records. I’d like you to come in for a chat, at your convenience.”
Image: The beauty of expectation. Source: British Library digitized image from Man: Palæolithic, Neolithic, and Several Other Races, Not Inconsistent With Scripture. By Nemo. Dublin, 1876. Edited by J. Weigley