Discussing the other ships in the fleet led to an impromptu Earth geography lesson. Jessa knew some of the basics—she, in fact, informed me that the Rochester’s origin was the United States of America, and she was accordingly familiar with its place on the map. I pointed out the farm belt of the U.S., where most of the Stalwart’s ancestors had come from. She pointed to the northern end of the state of California and told me her ancestors came from someplace called Silicon Valley. We couldn’t find it on the map.
By the time Orion appeared with a dinner tray, exhaustion had caught up with me. A quick mental calculation reminded me I’d gotten only about four hours of sleep since I arrived. I didn’t even have the energy to be impressed by dinner, which was a far cry from the mush I was used to. I dipped large chunks of bread into hot, buttery butternut squash soup, taking bites between yawns.
After relying on Orion to show me the way back to my quarters, I peeled off my clothes and changed into my new nightdress, then collapsed into bed. My first day aboard the Rochester faded into sleep.
I awoke with a start the next morning to Rori informing me that it was seven a.m. and time for me to get up. She was very nice about it, but still I groaned, pulling myself out of bed. I surveyed my closet of new clothes, reminding myself that I could now wear a fresh bodysuit each day, if I wanted. Laundry was every Sunday, and there were seven to choose from. It felt weird, so I put on the same one as yesterday instead.
For my overdress, I chose one of the numerous black numbers, thumbing right past three alarmingly bright options of magenta, turquoise, and azure that I was sure I would never have occasion to wear. It took me a minute of turning my safe black choice over and inside out to figure out how it went on. On top, it was cut like a jacket, formfitting but not corseted. Once I slipped my arms through the sleeves, I had to pull the stiff panel of cloth across my chest to fasten it nearly under the other arm. Simple and not too fussy, just as I liked it. But then it had a flaring, mostly decorative skirt that jutted from my hips, accentuating my curves. I found it curious to wear a dress meant more for fashion than form, as there was only one set of pockets sewn between the bodice and the skirt lining. Then I pulled my hair into a bun and put on my comm piece, sitting on the edge of the bed and wondering how to kill time.
My desktop tab caught my eye. Several new icons greeted me. Clicking on one, I found the Rochester ship schematic. Another showed me my teaching subject schedule for Jessa, with corresponding links to the required textbooks. A pop-up said they would be synced to my private reader tab, which I found after searching the desk’s drawers. On the Stalwart, we had shared readers preloaded with textbooks and a few children’s stories—none of the great literature or history books I had come to love on my aunt’s ship. But this one was stocked with hundreds of fiction titles, not just textbooks, and it was mine. I held it tight to my chest and hugged it like an old friend.
The message app on the desk tab blinked, and I found I had not one message, but three. All from George. Warmth flicked at my insides. I started with the oldest message first, the one he’d promised me in the shuttle bay that he’d go and write immediately upon my departure. It was brief and earnest, i.e., quintessential George.
Hey, Stella—
You just shot off into space, and here I am writing to you, as promised. I’ll miss you, Stel, you can be sure of that. Don’t be a stranger, and, well . . . I’m sorry about the other night. I was a jerk.
Fly safe,
George
The next message he transposed on behalf of my Ancient Earth Sciences class—one line per pupil, so it was a tedious read, but one that made me smile. And then the third was from George again, worrying about my lack of reply. I fired off a quick missive letting him know that I was okay, briefly mentioning things like the lack of water rations, the smorgasbord for breakfast. The tiniest part of me maybe wanted him to feel a bit jealous, but then guilt burned in my gut and I deleted the unlimited-water-rations part, just to be nice. I sent it off and left my quarters with fifteen minutes to spare before breakfast.
Within three days, I had the ship layout down pat. At least the parts I traversed most often. It was clear from the schematics that there was a lot more to the ship than I had seen, including a top level only accessible via a locked elevator by the bridge and a staircase with a NO ENTRY sign taped beside it. When I asked Xiao about it, she calmly explained that the captain preferred we keep out of certain spaces while he was away, and much of the upper and lower decks consisted merely of cold storage, nothing to concern myself about. When I asked Rori about this so-called storage, because of course I regularly conversed with her now, she intoned that I was not authorized to access such information.
Quickly we fell into a comfortable routine and rapport. I shared breakfast with Xiao, often but not always interrupted by a nonverbal Lieutenant Poole lumbering in and absconding with enough food to feed three, then spent my day teaching Jessa, and afterward ate dinner with the whole crew. The mysterious Mari never appeared, and when I asked Xiao about her, she waved me off.
“Officer Hanada likes to keep to herself. Why do you ask?” Her voice edged up in pitch just slightly.
“I’m just surprised I haven’t met her yet. And I guess I’m curious what she does all day, when no one needs medical care.”
“That is neither here nor there. It’s not my job to police Officer Hanada’s time, nor is it yours.” Xiao pursed her lips and looked me over. Then she seemed to soften. “You’re new, so I understand the questions, but there’s a hierarchy of both command and information on board. It’s best to just accept things for how they are and focus on your job.” Xiao offered a smile and patted me on the shoulder. “We’re very glad you’re here, and I for one hope you stay for quite some time.”
I was left with more questions, not fewer, but her parting words had seemed genuine. No one on board wanted to answer my questions, but at least I had George as a sounding board. We wrote to each other every day.
Dear Stella,
It is a bit odd that you haven’t seen this woman, and I agree that she can’t possibly have that much medical work with such a small crew on board, but I doubt it’s a conspiracy. She’s probably just a loner, a lot like someone I know who shall remain nameless.
Or, here’s a thought: maybe she’s the captain’s mistress? Would explain why she’s off by herself and they don’t want you to ask about her.
You’ve stepped into some real drama, Stel . . . maybe you should come home? Joking. Or am I?
Cheers,
George
Dear George,
Not funny. I’m sticking it out here. I finally get to do something I love, and I’ve mentioned all the perks, right? The food alone is worth putting up with loner mistresses and mysterious cargo. I just can’t imagine what they would need to keep in cargo on a tiny private ship all the way out here by the moon.
Let me know what the next movie night is. I can see if Jessa has it and watch it out here. It’ll be like I never left! Now I must go shower. Another reason I’m staying here. (Don’t hate me.)
Best,
Stella