The Dance Eternal

Ch. 21

21

Steve pushed himself back from the console, grimacing at the fire in his leg, and hitched a crutch under his right arm, leaving the other. He hobbled through the ship, heading out through the back of the sleep chamber and toward the aft of the ship.

He made his way to the engine room and looked over the performance readouts on the screen at a terminal just inside the doors. He remembered all those years ago when this wonder was first shown to him. A squat little man from Western Russia named Pavel – he could never pronounce the man's last name – who had come in with the first refugees.

“So you're saying this thing will propel a ship through both atmosphere and vacuum?” Sam asked incredulously. His skepticism annoyed most, but Steve had always liked that about him, both as a friend and collegue.

“Absolewtely,” Pavel replied in his heavily-accented English. Sweat beaded his forehead, his clothes were always rumpled, even after being washed, and his girth suggested a sluggish individual; to the contrary, the man was an impressively accomplished engineer who had spent a decade at CERN. “Vill vork. Fusion pr-r-oduces force here, force pr-r-oduces propulsion, here.” He pointed to the specific points on the schematic as he spoke. His Russian accent caused him to growl-roll his R's, and Steve thought for sure that if the man ever said 'moose and squir-r-el', he would die laughing. “Vill also help pr-r-oduce gravity.” This time he traced a circle around a third section with a fat finger. His other hand worked at mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

Six months later, they were testing the system, built with materials scavenged during their trip to a military facility, to fantastic success. It had marked a milestone in the their endeavors, and made the goal appear much more attainable than ever before.

Two months after that, Pavel had disappeared, along with several others, in the middle of the night – caused a distraction to bypass the front guards and everything. No explanation had been left, verbally or written, and no trace of their passing had been found after – none of the outside guards or settlers saw hide-nor-hair of them, as if they vanished once out the door. Moreover, no connection seemed to exist between those who left, other than the work and surviving.

Haverstad headed back through the ship, leaning heavily on the crutch and weakening from the effort. He took a peek at John, sleeping in his pod, as he passed through, making his way toward the bridge. “Steve,” Celeste’s voice followed him as he went, “would you like me to tend to your leg?”

He paused in the common area, noting what truly felt like genuine concern in her voice. “Thank you, Celeste. I fear my injuries are beyond your physical capabilities.”

“I am afraid that you might underestimate my ability to interact -”

“That's okay, Celeste,” he gently cut in, his tone grave.

Steve hobbled into the bridge and made his way around to the fore, directly in front of the view screens, and gazed at the stars. A small panel showed the aft view, and Steve saw the Earth, a marble-sized blue ball in the distance. Saying his own, personal goodbyes, he sank against the navigation console so that he faced the screen.

“John, I hope you find something wonderful out here,” he mused, then fell into a coughing fit. His activity had exacerbated his internal injuries, and when he pulled his hand away from his mouth, there was fresh blood on his palm. “Celeste?”

“Yes, Steve,” she answered.

“You take care of John. He’s -” he covered his mouth as he coughed again.

“Steve, I can scan you and probably help.”

“No, Celeste. I will not make it long. Even if I let you fix me, and I went to sleep, I would die soon after waking. Just between you and me, I know just what John’s going through, at least to some extent. Though, I have felt a little… lonely… since I got aboard.” He had only just noticed in the last few minutes how peaceful his mind had been.

Steve had been feeling guilty ever since Craig changed; in truth, he explained to Celeste, the source of that guilt had fueled his entire obsession with Jakob Shandor’s work, had aided his research at times when he could see no other solution, and encouraged him to be on the lookout for John. It had also taken an interest in Craig, with the boy’s extremely singular intellect.

Steve had agreed talk Craig into accepting another like the one in him, after assurances to the boy's safety. He had long become used to the presence that he had discovered after his accident as a mechanic. It was due to that long standing symbiosis that he had felt betrayed when the boy began to lose his sanity, and it wasn’t until then that the Goirah, as it called itself, had explained that only certain minds can handle the presence of its kind, and it was sure that the boy was suitable. It explained, after the incident that killed him, that Craig had experienced some kind of trauma in the past that had damaged his mind, and it wasn't apparent until the other Goriah had moved in. He had forgiven before long, when it had become quite clear the level of sincerity, as it had lost a companion, as well.

“Listen, Celeste,” he said after a long pause as they passed through an asteroid belt, “you have… you’ve grown since we first installed your core programming. It really makes me proud to hear you speak with such personality. May I ask you a personal question?”

“Personal...?” she said, unsure, then, “You may ask.”

“Okay,” he paused now, a little unsure himself. He suppressed another bout of coughing, wiping more blood from his lip, then asked, “Can I ask, are you aware?”

The bridge filled with the warm sound of a woman laughing with genuine mirth, “Is that what you were so nervous to ask?” There was no maliciousness in the voice, just amusement at the situation, “I assure you, your query causes me no offense, and your pride in my development causes me joy. I am aware that Samuell was concerned with my advancement – he spoke about it at length when he thought he was alone in here,” she chuckled, and Steve smiled despite the agony in his body. “Also, Steve, you should know that Goirah is a name, not a kind.”

His eyes snapped to the sensor above the view screen. “How do you know that,” he grunted.

“The reason that your mind ‘went quiet’ is that Goirah transferred to me when she realized that she could not heal your injuries – she is truly sorry for abandoning you. She is a little uncomfortable with all of the technology, but she’s slowly growing to like it, I believe.”

“Amazing,” he muttered, truly feeling the word. “And to Goirah; I forgive you, and understand. I know your kind are destroyed if the host dies... I remember from Craig.”

The ship’s propulsion was working wonderfully, Steve thought, as they glided through the vastness. Steve had no idea how fast they were traveling, and didn’t care, as he reclined against the warm console. Despite that heat, his body shivered, gradually losing a battle against grave injury. In the distance ahead, Jupiter was coming into view, about the size of a basketball on the screen, with several of her moons visible.

After a period of reflective silence, Steve shifted a little with a groan. His voice was strained when he said, “I hope you never come to hate humanity – or anyone, for that matter.”

“I do not believe that you need fear such a thing. I know that there are good and bad people, and that not everyone will be comfortable with the idea of a sentient space craft. I have determined to 'keep a low profile'.” Steve could almost see a pair of digitized fingers appear, making the quotes, and smiled.

He groaned a bit, the pain getting the best of him, “Sounds good. Reasonable.” He slumped a little, looking over his glasses and lamenting that he hadn’t the energy to push them up. He looked up at the screen, seeing Jupiter fuzzy and up close as she filled the left half of his view, and through his blurred vision he could make out the angry blotch of the Great Red Spot.

“Hey, Celeste… you can tell…. John… what I said about… Goirah… when you feel… time is… is… right. … and tell him… to check his… room… real well… something… for…” His voice trailed off as his eyes slid closed one last time, his head lolling forward until his chin rested on his chest.

The bridge was silent for a short while, then Celeste quietly said, “Rest well, Steven Haverstad.”