Chapter 4

Dr. Celeste Cina breezed through the entrance of her office, letting her medical jacket slide off her shoulder. She hung it up next to the door. Her ink-black hair bounced against her jaw as she sat in her chair. I moved and sat in her patients' chair. Her striking eyes pierced me, silently asking why I was here without an appointment.

"Doctor..."

"Please call me Celeste when in privacy of the counseling office." Dr. Cina's bright smile followed her announcement. The ceiling lights cast a glow on her olive check bones when she tilted her head.

I leaned towards her and nodded. "Sure. And, you should call me, Von." We both smiled like conspirators. "I wanted to offer my help."

"Oh." The surprise on her face shifted to confusion. "What do you mean, Von?"

"With Kate. She has explained that she will be having some sessions with you. I wouldn't be surprised if they are more than she expects."

Dr. Cina's mouth formed a response, but I pressed on. "If you and Kate decide my comments might be helpful with a joint session, please let me know. I am willing to take part. My feelings might be as muddled as hers; but, I care for her. I'm not looking for information. I am offering my aid separate from your responsibility to interview me."

Her shoulders softened and relaxed. Dr. Cina's smile became brighter and the edges of her slanted eye lids seemed to express pleasure. "I will keep that under consideration. If I sense your relationship with her is part of her post-mission stress, and we think your presence is needed; my office will contact you. I suspect you will be issued a limited access PDA for such communication needs, carry it like any other member of the ship."

"OK, Celeste. Thank you for seeing me. I will set up my appointment with the receptionist." I stood up and shook her hand.

"She always said you were a gentle soul, Von. I can see that now."

"Ya, maybe she felt that in the past. I can imagine the revulsion Kate must have felt when she heard my story about my lovers and wives," I thought, while whispering to myself as I walked out. "She might have dark thoughts about me now."

After setting up the appointment, I had the receptionist send a text to Merritt for me, explaining I was going to work-out in the officers' gym near my cabin. It was an enviable position to be in, doing what I wanted, when I wanted, while the crew ran the ship's business.

My mind made up, I travelled back to my residential floor. In the elevator, a bold crewman asked about my long hair. He had a good laugh when I said it was the latest in vacation fashion for castaways. The question made me pause in contemplation for a moment before asking him for directions to the personal-care lounge. I could get a haircut there. He happily granted my request. Fortunately, the stylists were located just off this elevator on deck ten, so it wouldn't be hard to find. He exited a floor below my own. I pushed the elevator button for my new destination and got a quick crew cut, before returning to my room.

A short hair style accommodated the occasional bouts of zero-gee life on an interstellar starship. Long hair was known to get people killed. I'd seen various documentaries with video of dead visitors floating in space stations and starships with hair sticking out of emergency suits, breaking the suits seals.

After a quick change of clothes, I walked into the small gym down the hall from my room. Red, padded mats filled the room. Against the near wall were a few resistance machines to keep muscles toned. Mirrors filled the back wall, giving the space a large feeling. One side wall was filled with practice swords, staffs and practice gear, the other wall had a couple of weight lifting machines. For an exclusive officer domain it was strangely utilitarian and not upscale.

My primary goal was to clear my mind and get sweaty, to that end I began stretching. My uncle had taught me focused movement is a type of mediation, a way to eliminate unwanted distractions. The emotions, which had built up around my change of fortunes nagged at me. I needed a clear mind and a hard workout would help a lot in draining tension.

After some time, the gentle loosening up of my muscles and joints completed, I aligned the axis of my bones with various postures. A few breathing exercises later with my muscles warmed up enough, I ran through the standard Fleet forms. To many of my fellow Academy cadets using kata wasn't a prerequisite to combat effectiveness. Many ignored the drills of the forms they were exposed to in their training. I'd embraced the formal techniques not only for the muscle memory but the clarity of mind the routines gave me. Of course, the forms were full of real-world fighting applications.

I was dripping with sweat, when an attractive, olive-skinned, crew-woman stepped into the room through a mirrored door. Behind the hidden door was a small locker room with a few more mats on the floor. I laughed when I noticed the locker room door was a two-way mirror. She had been watching me.

I stopped my form and bowed to her. She stepped onto the mat, and then bowed back, her almond-shaped eyes never left mine. Her olive colored face took me by surprise, looking so similar to Dr. Cina. The young petty officer's white, medical uniform looked out-of-place in the secluded gym. "She must have worked out and showered," I thought. The petite mystery woman smiled and walked out of the gym, never saying a word. She left me with a grin on my face, wondering why she had been here.

Curious, I peeked inside the hidden room. It wasn't much bigger than the gym. Besides the clothes lockers there were a few personal shower stalls, benches and a massage table. Behind the clear door of a cabinet were bottles of oil, towels and scent sticks, perhaps there were more items but it didn't matter to me. The whiff of moisture and a wet shower confirmed my suspicion about the woman's activities.

Satisfied, I ducked out of the locker room and picked a practice staff off the wall. My uncle always encouraged me to work with a staff or sword after warming up with unarmed forms. The weapons are an extension of the hand techniques. He was concerned about my mental discipline and Stephen really believed physical training honed focus. He once said, "It is easier to hold to your moral code if you are both spiritually and physically equipped with the right tools and concepts." Benevolence, honor, loyalty, and duty were hammered into me from a young age. Stephen was more a father figure to me than my real father, his beliefs had become my own. So, when my uncle said politeness and courage come from a trained mind and self-confidence, I accepted it as the truth.

Examining the staff, I could see it had been recently oiled, following the grain of wood. The fifty-inch staffs were stored, on the wall in racks, by laying them horizontally to prevent warping, a good sign that a traditional weapon master was on board.

Finding my center, I checked my stance for stability and balance. With my body erect, hips in place and weight distributed correctly, I moved with continuous fluid movements. Shifting from one stance to the other, I worked all my defensive and offensive footwork techniques. Over and over, I worked my muscles building up their memory, training for the sharp economy of motion that might save my life or the life of another. Lost in time, before I knew it my exercise shirt was soaked. My arms and legs were covered in a fresh sheen of sweat.

The corridor door opened. Merritt entered wearing her duty uniform with her PDA dangling from her hip.

She said, "There you are. Time for a shower, Von. The Captain wants to see you."

I sighed, wondering if this was going to be an introduction or interrogation. Merritt seemed relaxed about it, so I pushed my concerns behind my emotional mask. She escorted me to my cabin and let me shower, and then dress in a black skinsuit and white crew-overalls. I was pleased to see this skinsuit fit my frame snugly, making its minimal environmental-protection effective. With a limited, internal oxygen system, the suit gave me a chance in any decompression emergency. Clan trained crews almost always wear skinsuits while on duty, a tradition not shared by all members of the space going fraternity.

Most mainstream spacers only wear uniforms, which is more convenient. It's not like decompression is very common. Fleet trained personnel wear them on duty in a warship; but, combat ships are a minority in comparison to the throngs of freight vessels.

Merritt chatted about the upcoming formal dance and my need to hit the nightclub before Empire Day. She wanted my dance legs already exercised before the big event. Once I was reasonably dressed and groomed she escorted me to my meeting. We walked to the end of the corridor and up an incline to where the corridor forked into a "Y" intersection.

Merritt steered me left, the right fork's corridor was angled downward. "The right corridor leads down to the forward gunnery bay, the main deflector control room and the forward escape pods."

"Let's hope we don't need either the pulse lasers or the escape pods," I said cordially.

"Just keep in mind those are the closest pods to your cabin," Merritt responded.

"Noted." I grinned and beamed a smile at her. "It would be an unenviable position to become a castaway on an ice planet."

A chest-high, liquidarmor, check point was at the end of the short hallway with two armored guards. The liquidarmor was clear, like glass, with reflective properties that deflected laser fire. The checkpoint was designed as a choke point that covered the guards, while they protected the bulkhead door to the bridge. One of the guards was sealed up, protected from sudden decompression with a combat helmet. With the polarized visor down I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, who was looking at a PDA. The other guard was a woman with her visor up, looking relaxed with a laser carbine slung over her shoulder.

I expected her to challenge us but the woman said, "Merritt. Mr. Solon. You're expected and the door's keyed for your entry."

When we closed with them, the other guard made no attempt to hide the images displayed on his PDA. They were us. Merritt gave a friendly salute with two fingers and walked us through the sliding door.

I knew from experience, it was prudent to think before speaking on the command deck. Everything was recorded for posterity and available to the Captain or a board of inquiry if necessary. My father once snapped at a clan captain on the bridge of a merchant ship. An argument ensued and a minor docking accident occurred. The space station called a board of inquiry that made the recording public. My father's outburst caused us great embarrassment. The FastNews Network played it up for a week. They didn't like my father much.

I gave a cursory glance around the bridge, trying to push away the feeling of unease at being summoned to see the captain. The bridge of the Entous was dominated by a main view screen above the forward crew stations. At present it displayed the solar system map with a symbol depicting our orbit around the ice world. The three people at their workstations against the forward bulkhead were too far forward to see the screen. All three crewmen had wonderful views into space through liquidarmor windows that were slightly larger than their workstation. The central crew station was helm control, left was gunnery control and the right crewman was the navigator. It was the standard Fleet designed layout with the captain's command chair directly behind them. At the rear of the bridge was an engineering station, sensor station and a communications console.

On our entry to the command deck, a chime toned twice, which alerted the captain to our presence. Captain Bank swiveled his chair to face us. His dirty-blonde hair was cut short, the first buzz cut I'd seen on the ship. He had big flappy ears that framed a round face, a flat nose, and a wide mouth. A hint of a tan covered his skin. The captain's uncommon, saffron eyes held no threat, just a curiosity. "Didn't know there were any Saffron's left," I thought.

His orange-yellow eyes were the mark of a first-generation genetic, born as a clone. Not many had lived longer than twenty years, due to a rare blood disease. He was likely a welcome aberration, since my father had made his name in the field of genetics, by treating and extending the lives of Saffrons that moved to Solon. Of course, the aggressive behavior of most Saffron's was worrisome to the Empire; so, clone experiments were then outlawed and the research data destroyed.

Captain Bank stood up, and then walked down the short-pedestal platform that raised his chair above the command deck. "Greetings, Mr. Solon," he said.

On the Captain's collar was a small, rectangular patch that was a blue field with an off-set circle of golden stars. The thirteen stars represented the primary sector of the Empire. The patch tagged the man as an active officer in the Empire's Reserve Fleet with the rank Commodore.

Not sure if I should salute or bow, call him Captain or Commodore, I decided to bow. "Commodore Bank."

Bank smiled broadly. "Just Captain."

"If he had another ship with him, we would be calling him Commodore Bank rather than Captain Bank," I thought.

Merritt broke my thoughts, moving to my elbow. "Reporting as ordered, sir."

"How is your sister?" Bank asked. His intense eyes focused on her.

"A good night's sleep has revived her and broken her anxiety," Merritt reported. "She is in a session with Dr. Cina talking about our experiences."

"I am glad to hear she is feeling better. You and Mr. Solon look well," he added, politely probing.

"The comfortable night's sleep in silk sheets did wonders for my recovery," I said.

"I'm fine, sir," Merritt added. "I will begin my normal work rotation in a couple of days, after Von's settled in. Today, to help him integrate with the ship we will eat in the crew's mess, and tonight we'll go to Shore Leave."

"Taking him dancing at the night club?" Bank asked.

"Yes, Captain. He is my date for Empire Day, so he needs practice."

Captain Bank's eyes seemed to twinkle, laughing.

"Sir, would it be acceptable for me to wear my ensign uniform for the formal or should I make other arrangements?" I inquired.

Bank's head snapped up and his eyes held mine. "You have a right to wear your uniform, ensign. You were awarded your rank in an unusual fashion, while missing in the wormhole; but, it is a real designation. Imperial records just list you as 'missing in action, ' which will be resolved when a message torpedo arrives at a starbase."

"Thank you, Captain," I said.

Bank waved me off. "I am glad you are in good shape, go enjoy your food and dancing. Welcome back to civilization. If you need anything don't be afraid to ask my Yeoman. If Richard Rogers can't handle it, I'll be disappointed. You are dismissed."

Merritt and I saluted and marched out. I thought I'd heard the start of laughter from the bridge crew when the bulkhead door was almost closed. It just firmed up my suspicion that the crew got along well together. I didn't dwell on whether they were laughing at the thought Yeoman Rogers couldn't solve a problem or the fact Merritt had captured me as her dancing partner.

"I'm glad you didn't say anything about returning to Haven," Merritt whispered.

"It wasn't the right moment," I answered.

"Remember it takes Kate's shuttle to survive that wormhole. It's the only one with the special emitters on it. The shuttle's damaged and needs repair, so don't start squawking about it," she snipped.

"You sound like Kate," I huffed.

"Just keeping my promise to her about keeping you out of trouble," Merritt answered, clearly pleased with herself.

"Where to?" I asked, changing the sore subject.

I decided to keep silent on the topic for now, and tried to keep my face impassive, like my mother did when my father was in a bossy mood.

Merritt grinned, pulled me close and linked her arm in mine. "Now we have the Captain's blessing for our date, I think we will go looking for my dress."

"You don't really want me to go shopping with you?" I squeaked.

"Of course, I do! You need to see more of the ship and I need to show you off. It's a perfect matching of needs," she cooed. "You aren't exactly busy or going on duty."