decided survival was more important than a philosophical discussion centered around engaging primitive cultures. And it had been right thing to do in her opinion. But with the danger gone, the critics had come out again. By bending the rules so completely, the Jyrn were now responsible for Earth. For better or worse, the Jyrn had signed up to be Earth’s mentor, their guide, their teacher. A nasty and impossible job, she thought. The demonstrations by the Jryn directly against her depressed her more than the mobs trying to keep her from Earth. The days of walking amongst this alien race were over. She was a political pawn now. Nothing more.
“I want to go home,” she said to Jorlor. She draped her right arm over her left shoulder and curled it around her back to hook onto her arm again. It felt right like that. And kept the restless squirming to a minimum.
“I know you do, Captain, but Earth…” Jorlor began.
“No, not Earth. Home.”
Jorlor paused. It was odd for a creature who seemed in constant motion. She had mystified him.
“Your meaning is unclear to me, Captain.”
“Charity. Charity has always been my home. There is nothing wrong with her. I will go live there.”
“First, The Charity glows with the type of radiation that destroys our flesh.” He reached out and tapped her right arm. She uncoiled her arm and entwined herself around his. The Jyrn touched each other constantly. At this point, she would let her desire for that touch overcome her Human manners. She needed that touch. “Second, The Charity does not belong to you. Third, what will you do up there? You will be alone.”
“I will take my chances with the flesh. Second, I claim salvage rights to Charity. In effect, it is abandoned. Third, what I do up there is my business as long as I do not harm anyone.”
“When will you leave?”
“Immediately.”
Jorlor drew himself up. If she could not convince him, she was doomed. The unwanted hero without a home.
“I’ll get you a shuttle you can pilot yourself, Captain. Best be quick about this before anyone can throw their tentacles into the works.”
Jorlor was good to his words. She hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble. On the other hand, maybe getting her off planet was something that benefited everyone. And it was not like she was stealing something. Jorlor gave her a real Jyrn hug almost engulfing her in his tentacles.
“Remember,” he said releasing her finally. “You are always welcome back here. You are a true hero, my Captain. The small minded will not deprive you of our succor.”
She smiled, “Thank you for all your help, Jorlor. You’ve made my joy real.”
Then she was away. A few small souvenirs, some articles of clothing, enough supplies until she got life support fully functional, and the little package from her family. Still cool to the touch, it had been the last piece of the puzzle she had waited on.
Docking was tricky, but since she had made a small truce with her right arm, flying a Jyrn shuttle proved quite easy. Piloting the small craft made her feel as if she could actually breathe again. With a satisfying clunk, the small shuttle melded with the much larger ship. She’d forgotten how big it was. All she could remember was how small it was compared to the payload.
She’d activated life support on the way to the ship and she set about resetting all the command codes. No need to tempt someone into thinking they could do something with her ship. Her ship. The ship her mother had designed. The ship that had survived and saved them all.
She placed the small package from her father on the table of the bridge then found the small memorial with her mouse friend still entombed. She popped the top off and removed the little blue ornament.
“Remember me?” she asked.
It beamed back at her.
She closed the lid of the memorial and put it in a drawer. She hoped the little mouse would not mind but having her body around was a bit morbid for her. Time to check one very important thing. The most important thing. With a little portable medical device, she scanned her right arm. Nothing. Her right arm was still her right arm. A tentacle, yes, but not even a tingle. She would have had to remove it if things had gone badly. But she figured her Human DNA would protect her. It was a hope based on no scientific evidence. But it was a good working theory. And so far, it was working for her.
Then she opened the lid of the package from her mom and dad. She set the controls in the box and set it aside to let it finish.
She unfolded the last story her father had written, smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper, glanced briefly at the tale which for the most part she could not recall, and turned it over. Blueprints. Her mother’s blueprints for the ship. Plans that she had forgotten about until she had stumbled upon the story in her belongings. She didn’t know if it was luck or coincidence or what but these were just what she needed for Charity.
Engineers had designed the ship so at least seven people would man the bridge and seven more at stations scattered throughout the vessel. If things were going well, then that was all the personnel needed. But according to these drawings, Charity could, in an emergency, be manned by fewer people. According to her mother’s blueprints, as few as one. At each station she rewired hardware and reconfigured software, transferring control to her command. The Captain’s chair.
When she returned to the bridge, she gently shook the box. And the four mice stretched and yawned and woke up from their cryo sleep. She gave them a thumb’s up. They returned it. Or she thought they did. She knew mice really couldn’t but she loved how they nosed around and unpacked their belongings. Funny that her father had put in these little odds and ends, furniture, and clothing to accompany them. She unwrapped a cookie for each mouse and handed them out, Then, she reached out with her tentacle to one.
It shrieked and cowered back.
Oh no.
She jerked it away blanching.
Then the mouse laughed falling on its back, and pointed at her. Another mouse came over to kick him. She shook her finger at the grimacing mouse, shoved him one more time, then held out her paws. The little mouse pointed to the tentacle arm, her arm. Tentatively, she held it out. The little mouse scampered up the tentacle to perch on her shoulder. Captain Steffy nuzzled the little mouse a kiss. Her tears that she had dammed up behind her professionalism so no one could see her damage, her pain, her disappointment, flooded out. She sobbed. She ached. She hurt. The little mouse held her. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter. Finally, she was home.
She brought up the star charts on her console and pointed the ship in the direction of a new horizon. Something blue glinted. The other three mice were introducing themselves to the little blue Christmas ornament.
“I have not forgotten you,” she told it. She took it from them as they held it up to her. She hung it up in a place of honor. Things were going to become exciting again.
“Dad!” the little girl who wasn’t a little girl any more snapped at him. “Why are you crying? This isn’t a bad ending.”
“They treated you so mean,” he blubbered. “I should have armed that ship and had it go back and bring the rain down on those jerks! Treating you like that.”
His patient wife just sighed. “Why not simply have people behave more nicely in your stories?”
“It’s not realistic. I need to shine the harsh light of truth on the Human condition, revealing our inner failings and fallibilities, showing how flawed we are despite our self delusions for near god like powers.”
“I am not understanding,” said Jorlor, the engineer who still worked with his beautiful and patient wife on the last details of the ship, Charity, orbiting high above Earth. “Did you not write this story? You are after all, the author.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” he grimaced.
“Don’t worry, Jorlor,” said Commander Steffy, patting him on his tentacle. “No one understands writing. Now let’s get to the shuttle departure. I don’t want to be late for lift off. It would be bad for me to be tardy.”
They bundled
themselves into the large SUV, part of the big convoy destined for shuttle departure.
“This is kind of strange paper, dad,” Steffy said, examining the story he handed to her.
“Your mother said I should hand write it on this. Some of her old blue prints, right, hon?”
“Yes,” her mother smiled. “Never hurts to have a few extra blueprints around.”
Commander Steffy shrugged and shoved the story into her bag. Truthfully, she’d been only half listening to the traditional Christmas tale. The mission dominated her thoughts.
Her dad sighed as his wonderful and precious daughter crumpled the paper up. At least she still allowed him to continue on with his little Christmas tradition of writing then reading her a story. Even all grown up now, she was still his baby and always would be. The big, dramatic sighing and eye rolling during the teen years had been hard though.
Commander Steffy’s little mouse perched on her shoulder safely zippered into a big pouch. She would be transferred to a cryo box when the time came. Far fewer media gathered for their lift off. Faith and Hope had already departed for the Jyrn system and had drained the media and the crowds of any excitement. Which was just fine. The President still attended though to give them hugs and make a little speech.
“I’m sorry that you have to leave on Christmas day, Commander,” the President had said after the official hoopla.
“When it’s time to go, Mrs. President,