What One Must Do
Captain Chipman walked down the corridor heading toward the Deck 7 briefing room. Just ahead of him he caught a glimpse of a skirt hem disappearing around the curve. He picked up his pace and saw Joanni walking swiftly along in front of him as if late for an appointment, her fingers of her right hand lightly tapping against the wall of the ship. ‘Where is she going?’ he thought. He temporarily abandoned his original destination and followed her at a discreet distance as she meandered, seemingly aimlessly, down one hallway, then another.
After a few minutes, Joanni sensed that she was being followed; she slowed to a stop and turned around. Chipman came up to her. The captain made no explanation for his shadowing, but took the opportunity presented to apologize for his rudeness in gloating over winning at calliope the other day.
“No problem. No offense taken,” Joanni smiled.
The captain smiled back. Again, that uncommon feeling of being able to say anything rose up, unbidden. “Where are you off to?”
”Nowhere. Just taking a walk.”
“You’re aware areas of the Eridanus are off limits to civilians?”
“Wouldn’t those areas be labeled as such and restricted?” Chipman frowned at her logic. “I’m not likely to stumble into the warp drive,” she continued.
“All the same . . .”
“You’re not restricting me to my quarters, are you, Captain?” she asked, her voice rising a little in disingenuous alarm.
At this moment, Dr. Pissario walked up to the two of them. She nodded to Joanni, “How’s it going?”
“Fine, doctor. Just following your advice. Well, I’ll leave you two to your duties.” And with that, she turned her back on them and continued on with her journey.
“What advice was that?” Chipman asked the doctor.
“Oh . . . just to take a stroll now and again. Nothing wrong with a daily constitutional, is there.”
Chipman raised his eyebrows, annoyed with both of them. Thinking back to that now apologized-for card game, he felt that, this time, the girl had gotten the last word. It didn’t sit well with him. “C’mon. Let’s go,” he said to the doctor and they continued on in silence to the briefing room.
Chipman and Pissario joined the others already assembled around the table for the latest briefing on the transportation of diplomats to Oreana. They went through the packet with the itinerary for bringing the various contingents on board, starting with the picking up of minor officials as early as the end of the coming week, and ending with their stop at the farthest starbase to bring aboard the largest delegation of ambassadors, including Gillis, before heading out of the galaxy. There was updated information provided about Joanni Neiswender and her role in ensuring cooperation from the Oreanians. The inhabitants of that planet viewed her not as a novelty, but with ardent veneration, according to the latest analysis. She was the prophesied celestial being tasked with returning the missing Eight of the Origins back to its rightful owners. A queen among them, one with the ability to discern their ways, to learn the keys and music of their clesig, while asking nothing in return. For this reason and this reason alone, they would sign the treaty with the planetary governments represented by the ISEA diplomatic delegation. They had no inherent interest in mutual cooperation.
Joanni’s strained relationship with Gillis was touched on slightly. No one mentioned her issue with her father’s records, though that seemed to hang in the air. Pissario said she was settling in well and was developing good relations with McKaye and the library/research staff. Matulis said he found her to be easygoing albeit a little eccentric, always asking when and where she could look ‘outside’. All in all, the briefing was an informative one. The officers seated around the table on board the Eridanus as it warped its way toward Oreana were coming to the realization, voiced most succinctly by First Officer Samuel, that the success of the entire operation rested on this window-seeking, bureaucrat-trashing, clesig-playing ‘pain in the butt’. That this girl was, at this moment, the most powerful person in ISEA.
Later that evening, the captain entered his quarters and locked his door. He sat down at his desk and powered up his free standing data pad. He punched in a long series of code, some of which he needed to refresh and verify with his watch. This brought up his research from the day before on Commander Nelson and the Seridan Operation. Explorers explore the unknown, but not everything can be known. Or could it? He wanted to turn the key, get just a glimpse, a hint; nothing was really there yet, just the possibility. He sat for several minutes, staring at his screen, occasionally tapping the keys. When he got to the classified level goldenrod, series magenta, he entered his voice code, speaking into his watch, which allowed him entry. He searched for DESM File #187945ANNDR. Chipman scanned the text in front of him, and, overriding the eyes only feature, said, softly, “Download.”
Image: The power of knowing. Source: “Restricted Data stamp (6322624283).jpg” RestrictedData from Washington, DC, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain. Edited by J. Weigley.