Mica

Chapter 3: Flint About Mica

Flint felt a faint quiver-a transparent fish fin-or as if a finger had lightly touched his shoulder. He awoke. It was probably a good hour before his wake-up call-pronounced by a variety of urgent, seductive, or matter-of fact voices; he looked forward to the new ones that gov. was able to rouse him with since he had signed on for the service. It was different every day.

Flint was almost always up early. After he prowled around his digs in his peculiar swaying cobra fashion he exercised strenuously for almost an hour. His consciousness remembered the ripple that had gotten him up; he figured it was an involuntary stemshiver flung off by Mica as his ship caught the darkstream.

In the bathroom, he cleansed his mouth, then showered. As he emerged from his cleansing, he noticed his naked form in the wall for the thousandth time. Tall and almost thin but decidedly muscular-as was expected for the men of Marble-kind of like wearing national colors. His face rather narrow above a sturdy neck. Eyes deep set and unamused under eyebrows that almost met in the middle; lips wide and rather thin. His hair, always short was brownish-gray; grizzled. His ribs were visible especially when Flint turned to one side, and testified to some self-inflicted suffering related to excessive exercise and strict food intake, likewise approved by the spiritual brotherhood to which he belonged. He did enjoy food so. There was a large blue scar between top left ribs that he did not notice but which bound him to Mica anyway. s*x organs hung between solid thick thighs. His feet were long and graceful. The overall impression Flint gave was of a rather primitive unevolved man-a false impression.

Another faint fluttering sensation. "Ah, Mica, I already miss you. I imagine this is the last I'll get from you for some months!" He applied the astringent hair remover to his face and wiped it off. Assumed his slickpants and workskin-tough and heat resistant while light.

Flint turned on the pickup with a gesture."Mica, I'm going to generate this word picture of you for Olivine and send it ahead on a darkpacket and send it also to my lovely Garnet who has been gone two months and who of course you have not yet met. I know I spoke offhandedly about travertines as if they were a substitute for actual love; maybe I thought I'd sound sophisticated. As if I could fool you! I'd like to describe her, maybe I will later! I'm starting this at home and will continue it probably in my silicat as I head to work. If you don't like it, well, it's not official.

**********

Olive, I know you haven't seen your guy Mica, and my spiritual brother, for close to eight months. He's heading your way but it will be a while as I'm sure he told you. I'm going to send this on a speedpacket.

First of all, don't expect a super trim specimen to appear at your door. Of course, he's still handsome I suppose, in a short broad enthusiastic way-usually bursting with energy. His chrome yellow hair is now long and shiny as silver, skin as you may have noticed is more pale than most of our pale bretheren. Of course you remember-one pale blue eye and the other a blurry purple. In this season he has allowed himself to put on a bit of excess flesh, just a tiny bit squishy he is. His fitness waxes and wanes with his mood. He's really been dreamy thinking of you.

But-he's still quick on his feet. I thought I'd tell you about an incident.Four days before he left Marble, he and Gladstone and I went to Badwit's Pit together. We were crunching badbits and quaffing Cheerbeer while of course inhaling that wonderful Smoothgas that they mix into the air supply truly relaxing-in discreet if not strictly lawful increments. We were surprised then when a heavy stone drinking mug suddenly hit me in the lip- it hurt like crazy. I saw red and jumped to my feet tasting quite a mouthful of warm blood. A larger deep ground miner from another table sauntered over and retrieved the cup. As he stood up, he looked me straight in the face and pushed me back down in my seat. Gladstone's smile never faded from his face, but Mica looked distressed-he does not like physical confrontations.

The cup's owner turned with a dismissive swagger to rejoin his three companions at their table. His hip thumped into my forehead- I jumped to my feet again, but he pushed me back into the chair behind my knees. There is something uniquely enraging about being kept physically down; it's like drowning or something. Anyway, his groin being right in my face, I put all my power into punching him in the balls; he went over with a loud groan. As I was taking this in appreciatively, a flashing pain bashed my ear. The hero on the floor's friends had joined us. Gladstone sank his fist into a fat one's belly. The other two leaped on Gladstone-arm around his neck, open hand across Gladstone's cheek. Mica leaned back palely in his chair.

The fat miner rose up off the floor where Gladstone had put him and swung the stone goblet roundhouse at my head. c***k! I swooned. I don't want you to get the idea that Mica and I are in the habit of getting into brawls, in fact we hadn't fought together since we were adolescents. But suddenly Mica jumped up. Splashed by my blood which was pouring out he yelled piercingly. Flew at the fat miner, grabbed him behind the nape of his neck, and buried his knee in the man's solar plexus. As he bent doubled over again Mica yanked his face down and smashed his knee into it; you could hear the nose pop. The man fell to the floor like a sack of wet sand; Mica kicked viciously in the ear, neck, jaw---so hard. "Stop, Mica," I croaked, then "STOP MICA!" I yelled as he drew back his foot again. I staggered to my wobbly feet and dragged him back; onto the chair next to me. He sagged back panting. The fat fellow was still, eyes closed on the floor. The remaining miners dragged their friend away, detouring around Mica's clear insanity. Gladstone shakily rose up. Mica was trembling too-but in a different way. "I was so mad, I started to go blind," he whispered. He regarded the pools of blood from his victim thoughtfully and, I think, without regret.

**********

You know how Mica gives the air of self-sufficiency even in dreamy times? I'm a little concerned about how he will deal with loneliness in the coming months as his speck of a flute crosses space. He does have a very warm heart.

Anyway, Mica is not simple. If someone asked me to pick a word to describe him, I wouldn't. I can say that he is very sensitive and very extravagant.

**********

Mica day 14 out. He is still so enamored of his flute that each day is a new discovery of its capabilities. He has put her through her paces in the darkstream. She is amazingly swift and responsive-he plots a course and she's on it almost before he can speak it. Almost as if the ship can intuit. Mica also has taken the flute to distant quiet eddies of the darkstream and turned twisted flipped and yawed. Nothing fazes her. Her communications are totally up to date. Of course, being in the amazing current of the stream he can't speak to Marble, but can catch passing signals from some systems and even theoretically from another ship travelling the same course.

Creature comforts are basic, but his nutrition is fine and he made himself forget his planned meals; hard to do for a four month trip. He has carefully stocked ingredients. His bed is comfortable and ingenious, he converts it into an exercise machine each morning. It seems very important to him to stick to a daily routine; I agree.

Aware that he had not yet named his boat, he was checking the temperature controls and noticed the shiny speedy flow of liquid metal in the torsion adjustor. 'That's it-it's Mercury. That's my little ship-Mercury!' Of course, Mercury had a coded designation at home, but now they could be familiar.