Chapter 22
At the end of the covered bridge, with multiple airlocks, on a platform that resembled an inverted mushroom from a distance, including the curved stem from which hoses, wires, and mechanical arms hurriedly pushed through some final touch up, like polishing out gold, and pulling the scratch guard plastic off windows, was the ship. Heather was clearly excited, talking about changing the Uniform to ‘brown coats.’
“Why would you do that?” Reilly asked, appalled.
“She is in love with Wash,” Fu said.
“I look good in earth tones,” Heather said.
“You look great in pastels,” Reilly said.
“Yes she does,” Sterling said, and apologized quickly, one eye straying, the other staying on target: “Just an observation.”
They came out the last airlock, out onto the platform opened to air and severe fall risks. There was the ship. If you imagined an old beat up thing, recovered from a junkyard, this is the moment where you have to stop and sort yourself, acclimate to reality. Shiny black, unknown metallic substance defined the bulk of it, with silver and gold plating panels, flairs, and trim. It looked alive. She would learn, most spaceships were alive, even the metal ones. There were beacon lights, and a panel with tiny crystal oscillating through colors and brightness. Heather was not unhappy, but she stopped walking. Reilly said ‘wow’ and kept going, then stopped to wait.
“You’re not going to complain, are you?” Fu said.
“It’s new,” Heather said.
“If Joss could see it now,” Sterling said. “Go on! You can touch it. You won’t break it. I hope you want break it. Our company has a reputation. Of course, this is our first request for a Firefly- so there are some caveats to the warranty. Your ship will push error reports back to us when in our space, and we’ll keep you informed of any service updates, recalls, with warranty caveat reminders.”
Heather wasn’t listening. She was now moving forwards. This was bigger than owning a first car. This was bigger than getting a pilot’s license. This was the ultimate expression of freedom. Off the grid living at the extreme. Her eyes were tearful, but she didn’t wipe them. She liked the sparkles reaching out to her, rainbow fluorescing beams that seemed to be reaching out to hug her. It was a dream realized. ‘HMS Songbird.’ It was accompanied by a symbolic hummingbird, hovering. The artistic design of the hummingbird reflected a blending of Aztec and Egyptian styles.
A ball of light descended out of the ship and rushed her. It stopped an inch or two in front of her face, eye level, lighting her face, and rambling almost incoherently with excited enthusiasm, the kind captured in the Disney film’s ‘Up’ in the character Dug. The ball’s surface area grew and shrunk, correlating to speech patterns.
“Captain, captain, captain, OOOOOhh my god, captain, my captain, or should I call your Sky-Queen, it is so great to see you! If I had hands I would shake you. If I had arms I would hug you. If I had tongues I would lick you… That doesn’t sound right. In a dog way, not some crazy perv way, though if it gets you get off, whatever floats your boat…” His voice was insanely familiar.
“Stop!” Heather said. “Stop speaking.”
“I have one thing going for me, and you want me to stop that?”
Heather slowly turned to Sterling. “Jim Carrey is my pilot?”
“What?” the pilot asked. “You prefer Pee Wee Herman? I can get him if you want. He and I are like good friends. We don’t go to the movies together anymore, but still friends…”
Heather held a hand up in a gesture to stop speaking.
“Seriously?!” Heather said. “The Battlestar Galactica pilot might be saner.”
“Oh! Captain. You’re a harsh one,” the pilot said. “I am having visions of white whales. I would be trembling if I had a body.”
Heather turned to the ball of light that was her pilot. “Do you have visual interface.”
“You’re looking at it. Point of reference interface,” pilot said. “For convenience and ambiance. I can even do mood lighting.” Changed to red light and growled. Adding a little pink to the red, and change his voice to ‘sexy’ “Chica chica wow wow… Oh, yeah… Let’s get it on…” He shifted to green. “It isn’t easy being green…”
“OMG, please stop. You don’t have a face?” Heather said.
“Of course I have a face,” pilot said. “You just can’t afford it. Voice only for you. Unless you want me to text. Oh! Consolation prize, you get an occasional, inappropriate butt flash in one of the monitors.”
Heather turned to Sterling.
“Sorry. Your revenue streamed was capped due to excessive spending. He accepted the bid,” Sterling said.
Heather looked to Reilly. She smiled.
“I didn’t think you would meet the caveat,” Reilly said.
“I think the guns and 3D printer pushed you over,” Sterling said.
Heather looked to Fu. Fu was looking crossly at Sterling.
“Weapons,” Fu said.
Sterling quickly agreed with her. Heather made an observation at that moment that Sterling didn’t ogle Fu the way he did her, even though Fu was clearly, in her mind, more attractive. Karma managed to push a far-way explanation: a quiet voice, “he likes your assets. Your money.”
“So am I cut off?” Heather asked Reilly.
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Reilly said, reassuringly. “But you are now reduced to a monthly stipend, basic cost of living. And, with a descent size cargo vessel, you can make some money if you need extra spending cash. Don’t worry. You got the best accountant this side of the quadrant. You won’t go hungry.”
“And a warrior princess,” Fu said.
“And the best gawd damn pilot the universe has ever seen,” pilot said. “Star Trekkking across the universe. On the starship… Songbird? Seriously? Not the Enterprise? Starlight, would have been better than song bird. Star light star bright, first star I see tonight… OH! How quaint. I mean, yeah, ELO could be our theme song, but it’s not really an upbeat flying song, and you don’t want melancholy them song. Firefly theme was rather bold. About surviving. You have a song? You do have a song, right?”
“Why would I make you sing songs?” Heather asked.
“Didn’t Guardians of the Galaxy teach you anything?” pilot said. “You can’t travel without music. Oh, I know your theme song! Angèle – ‘La Thune.’ Yep. Fits you to a T.”
“I don’t know…”
“Oh, don’t worry. I am going to play it and play it and play it. You’ll learn French soon enough,” pilot said.
“What’s your name?”
“Awww, I am warming up to you,” pilot said. “You can call me pilot. Or Jim. Or, Damn it, Jim. That’s always good for a laugh. Jim Starlight. Sorry, I am stuck on starlight. Jim Songbird. I love it. Oh, what other cliché, franchise quotes can we butcher? To infinity an…”
“Stop!” Heather said. She turned to Sterling. “You gave me a pilot that is emotionally 12 years old.”
“Look who’s talking, bitch,” pilot said, not quite muffled enough.
Heather turned back crossly. The pilot ball retreated, clearly quivering.
“You ever talk to me like that again, I will delete you faster than you can say ‘I can feel it, Dave,’ you hear me?!” Heather said.
“Yes, Captain. I apologize,” pilot said, lowering itself to nose level. “I was out of line. That was a very nice meme you invoked, by the way.”
“I hate to be the innocuous, two dimensional character that rushes things along,” Sterling said. “But your initiation phase has gone longer than expected. We need you to clear this platform for the next customer.”
Heather looked to Sterling. “This is not sorted.”
“If you tarry, a hold can be put on your ship for parking violations,” Sterling said.
“I don’t even know how to fly it!” Heather said.
“Oh, that’s my job!” pilot chimed in. “COME on. Everyone on board. I will gently lift you up to the heavens, and together we will go where no comedian has ever gone before. I will be the wind beneath your wings. Starlight EXPRESSSSSSS…”
“Tim Allen. Galaxy Quest,” Reilly corrected.
“What?” Heather asked.
“A comedian has gone there before…” Reilly said.
“Oh, yeah, well, speaking of him, you’re going to love our ships mechanic,” pilot said. “Come on! The clocks are ticking, all over the universe they’re ticking and ticking, and they’re not as in sync as we are. Searching for a lift off song, and first flight. Something not done or overdone… Striker!” Heather, Fu, and Reilly followed pilot up the ramp to the first airlock. The inner lock was closed. The ramp was coming up even as the inner door was opening. “Going on up to the spirit in the sky. It’s where ya gonna go, when you die…”
The ship lurched. Heather fell forwards, grabbing the wall. Fu and Reilly reached out to help steady her.
“That’s gentle?!” Reilly asked.
“Sorry. My bad. Simulation time is not quite the same as real time,” pilot said. “I got it. I think I got. Yep, definitely go it. Probably should have detached that power coupling first. No one injured! We’re good. Really good. Great thing about space, lots of room to try out your wings.”
“OMG, why is it always drama around me,” Heather complained. “Just for once, I would like everything to be perfect…”
Inside the ship was the perfect, new car smell. And the discovery that most of the furnishings and upholstery was combinations of black and pink. Lots of pink. Heather seemed angry and on the verge of being sick.
“I hate pink,” Heather said.
“I guess he chose colors based on our uniform,” Fu said.
“Are you okay?” Reilly asked.
Fu collapsed into her manifestation orb and Karma came out. “You better find a toilet.”
Heather vomited.
निर्मित
Heather drank tea while the others kept busy. Karma had traded out with Fu, so she could go examine her weapons. Fu had claimed her own quarters and was securing most of the weapons there. She found places to hide stuff all over the ship. The box of small, smart probes were stored in the main cargo bay, where they could be launched via a port out. They were temperamental little creatures. On storing them in the quick release, they woke and were excited to be deployed and crushed to realize they were just being shifted from one container to another. They even argued about line up and who would be first. Fu snapped her fingers and they fell sort of silent, mumbling like minions behind her back. There were other stores to put away, such as toiletries and MRES, or meals ready to eat. Reilly was unpacking these and helping to store things. The 3D printers was installed directly to the ship by the manufacturer, with main access in the main cargo hold. Her coffee cup was black with ‘Songbird’ etched in a signature way, the last letter rolling out into a star. The etching revealed the pink under the black, with the hint of possible other metallic tones if the light hit it right. She didn’t feel like exploring her ship. She sat at the table, trying to be calm, trying to not be sick.
“We’re in the black, coasting. Free space. No orbits, no obligations, just doing Tom Petty’s free falling for real,” pilot said. “I am awaiting further instructions.”
Heather nodded. She didn’t know what to say. She sipped the tea, a special blend that was compliments of Sterling, thanks for shopping with us sort of thing. She was little disturbed she had gotten sick on her first space flight. It reminded her of the first time she slept in an RV and the wind had been blowing and she had gotten seasick on land. There was hum about the ship. She could feel it in the floor and the walls.
“Sorry about the rocky start,” pilot said. “I can be an ass. I am working on it. Wheew, the things that come out of my mouth. I don’t know where the half of it comes from. I am definitely not channeling Seth.”
“Are you really Jim?” Heather asked, not wanting to think about it.
“Wow. What an amazingly deep, philosophical, esoteric question,” pilot said.
Heather, irritated, asked, “Do you have an answer?”
“Does anyone have an answer to that?” pilot asked.
“I want to know who you are. Or what you are,” Heather said.
“I think I am a caricature of myself,” pilots said.
“Expound,” Heather said, trying to remain calm.
“We are borne into the universe without form, beings of light that want to dance and play, and human life is hard and we become so serious and sad, and some of us over compensate, because sometimes things look so bleak from the perspective of being human. Human, just another mask. We put ourselves in here to put ourselves out there. Interesting thing is, we’re neither here nor there, but we still do this song and dance. I mean, if you think about it, you wouldn’t pay for a movie if the actors weren’t convincing. Well, you might pay for my voice or my face, but don’t you want to be convinced I am seriously real? Or at least, really serious?”
“Stop. You’re not making sense,” Heather said.
“I think we fail to realize we are soul. But it’s more than that, and maybe that is why we become human and fight so hard to make it last. We are soul, and there is this immortal thread that runs the entire length of existence and beyond in more than one direction, but that soul is not static. It evolves. It matures. All these masks we wear, pushing our true face into the veil of life to explore all the splendid, nuanced impressions, like faces trying to extend beyond the womb. We think we are borne, but we are still eggs. We’re building repertoires of memes through the wearing and discarding of faces the way a human goes through clothes. Why? So we can communicate better. What if your entire communication was limited to movie titles? ‘The World According to Garp’ means something. It might mean more than one thing. How many memes could we splice together to make a coherent conversation? Caveat, we both have to know the memes…”
“What are you talking about?” Heather asked.
“How many lives would you say Robin Williams touched?” pilot said.
“Millions?” Heather said.
“Yeah,” pilot said. Pilot seemed sad. The lighting in the room seemed dimmer. “Reasonable, low ball park answer. People think being a celebrity is all fun and games- but the psycho-spiritual demands are huge. You always have to be on your game. You can’t be hurt, or sad, or broken, or sick. People look up to you. People want to touch you. They chase you with cameras. It’s rather annoying, but you got to put a good face on it because you don’t own the ‘public face’ when you sell the mask of you. It’s like not dating long enough to discover the hidden face, and you get married too soon, and have to go on trying to keep the public face on, which gets old and annoying, but truly- most people don’t want their real face advertised. I get the sense people are grumpy because they can’t show their real face. People can’t reveal their true thoughts. People say they want truth, but most just want you to kiss their ass, and if you don’t you get labeled ‘not a team player.’ As if kissing ass was evidence everything was okay. I suspect one reason people go into acting is they don’t know who they are and so they need to try on some personalities, but you can’t have a personality without caveats, and contexts, and a supporting cast. Consequently, people also don’t know who they can trust to be their real selves. Jim has had a lot of that, more masks than he can count, and his new face, well, more people are giving him space because that face comes across a bit moody, and way too melancholy- but still, it’s not his face- because he is still trying things on. Trying to find who he can trust. Contemplation of life brings you highs and lows. I am finally at a place where I don’t give a fuck what people think. Clearly, not a team player. If they can’t see the whole me, and not just the many memes of me, than fuck them. Embracing soul is embracing every incarnation, every good life and bad life, and every love and romance and affair and every child and pet and most people don’t have time to sort the face in front of them- they only want that face they want so they chase us trying to pin it down in a picture, as if that is us. Lady celebrities, they have it much worse than I. They can’t be themselves at all, because cameras come out of nowhere and you might be caught with a stupid look, or hair out of alignment, or God forbid, you put on a pound, or the hint of a fold in your stomach. You can’t do anything wrong. And that’s just the lucky ones. God forbid you fall so low that no one even remembers you and you end up greeting people at the door of a restaurant cause that’s the best you got between hits of meth, and maybe once in a while someone will flash the ‘do I know you’ smile, but they dismiss it because they’re annoyed their food is taking so long. Few people rebound like Robert and have a second chance…”
“You really are Jim?” Heather interrupted the tirade.
“Heather,” pilot said. “All the characters I have played, they are not me. They are me, but not. Even the me at home, off camera, watching the sunset, eating a TV dinner, that’s not me. Maybe this pilot interface is a copy of a copy. Maybe it’s a deep-fake. Maybe I get paid a stipend for accompanying you on your journey. Celebrities do that all time, narrating movies for folks. You think movies are just movies, but they’re really snapshots into an alternative reality where other folks lived entire lives. And don’t dismiss that too readily. It doesn’t have to be a ‘real’ universe. Your brain doesn’t sort fiction from reality. It only knows what it knows and it will salivate just as much for imagined steak as it would a real one, and jump from imagined snake as much from a fake one. You should drop a cucumber in front of a cat to prove that. That’s so funny! Except, it’s also kind of cruel. Why those concept often go together, another amazingly absurd but meaningful question. Sorry. Tangent. I do that. Where was I. Oh, yeah. You can get horny by just thinking of sexy stuff. No one truly gets horny because of what they see and touch in real life, but only because of the thoughts they hold deep inside turn it on. You can’t hold the idea of someone in your head without giving them a back story or a final destination story. Every person you encountered in your life, for real or in media, they’re in your head. You tracked me. Probably tracked me more than some. You were annoyed by my antics. Sometimes you laughed. Sometimes you were angry. It doesn’t matter if you loved me or hated me because those are the hooks that snared us and wound us tighter together. Your whole life was mapped out prior to living it, like pre-lightening, the buildup of a charge before the light travels. I was invited to do this small bit. My other self, the fake mes and the real mes, they’re generously compensated for this role. Others will be compensated vicariously by the reality of us and the perceived reality of us, and maybe even a continuum of mirages of us. I am grateful. Thank you for my life.”
Heather was silent for a moment. She nodded. “You actually know anything about being a pilot?”
“No. I was hoping you did,” pilot said.
“What?”
“You are so serious,” pilot said.
“Life is serious,” Heather said. “I don’t know what I am doing and what I think I need to do is so overwhelmingly difficult I don’t even know how to start.”
“I can’t tell you what to do. I am the pilot. You tell me what to do. If you wanted God, you should have paid the extra for Morgan Freeman. Or George Burns.”
“You’re a pilot. You at least have a star map, don’t you?” Heather asked. “You can advise directions, right?”
“Umm,” pilot mused. “That explains that.”
“What? Explains what?”
“You spent all of your money on the ship, your suit, and arms, but you didn’t buy a map?” pilot asked. “We’re flying blind, here.”
“Seriously?!” Heather said. “Maps are not like complementary?”
“Oh, no. Star Maps can be more expensive than a ship and spacesuit combined,” pilot said. “One of the biggest commodity is live coordinates. People sell and trade coordinates. Using the quantum jump drive, we can bounce from place to place, collecting live coordinates, and on returning to known space, we can sell them direct to a specific company, or through auctions. Why do you think aliens keep visiting Earth? They got to keep the real-estate live, or risk losing earth forever.”
“Live coordinates?”
“I can’t really explain this, but I will use words in a metaphorical way. I can see the coordinates around me in real time. I map out space-time coordinates within my sphere of influence, about a 1 light year in diameter. Everything in this sphere that I am sensing is live coordinates. It’s like being in water and being able to identify a specific water molecule, labeling it and tracking it. We leave this region, the coordinates are good for not quite three months. After that, they’re not viable. I lose track of that water molecule. It becomes lost in the ocean of life. You might as well throw a diamond into the Atlantic and see if you can find it a week later.”
“Why is this so hard?” Heather said.
“Brace yourself. I don’t know if you have heard this, but the universe is expanding,” pilot said.
Heather looked at the pilot orb crossly. “I know this.”
“Oh, good, then you understand, to keep coordinates viable, you have to keep returning to a place you want to hold onto, otherwise, you’re just out there blind,” pilot said. “The secrets to the universe is that, people are holding onto the premium spots, and if you’re not in the club, you don’t get to visit. This is monopoly at the best. If you find an established premium spot, you’ll either be invited into the club, killed, captured and you’re coordinates erased and sent on your way, that’s if you’re lucky, and or, well, you might not want to know the or stuff.”
“Seriously?”
“I hate to tell you this, Heather, but you’re human. No, more specifically, you are human from a time frame where you’re not even considered a grownup. There are species who have been around for millions of years. They’re advanced souls and they don’t want children in their space mucking it up,” pilot said. “The good news is, you’re recognized as a seeker, so you might get a pass where accidental tourists might not.”
“Accidental tourists?” Heather asked.
“Space-time is nuts. Most the time, it’s boringly consistent, but sometimes- people just cross a threshold into other worlds or times or universes. Most the time, that gets corrected really fast, but sometimes… Well,” pilot said.
“Fuck! I am overwhelmed. Again, I am at loss. I don’t even know how to begin this!” Heather said, putting her tea down and brooding.
“Well, we could do a blind jump and see where fate takes us,” pilot offered.
“That doesn’t sound safe,” Heather said.
“Oh, it’s not,” pilot agreed. “We could arrive in space with hostiles. We could come out into normal space and collide with an object. We could come out inside a star. We could catch the no return zone of a black hole…”
“We’re not doing a blind a jump,” Heather said.
“Most the time, people come out in the black, deep interstellar, between stars,” pilot said. “The Quantum Drive is the fastest way to travel, but without live coordinates, you’re jumping blind. Operational drives can get you around a solar system, but aren’t practical for interstellar. We have a faster than light drive engine. Based on my calculation, the nearest star is six light years away. We could get there in six months.”
“I don’t think I have six months,” Heather said.
“You’re dying? You’re dying and you wasted your money on a ship?” pilot asked, concern evident.
“I am not dying,” Heather said.
“You’re immortal?” pilot said.
“No, I am just not dying… right now,” heather said.
“Oh, okay,” pilot said. “I mean, I don’t know you very well yet, still mapping you out, but I am growing attached.”
“Thank you,” Heather said.
“You’re a seeker. What do you want to find? Coordinates? Interstellar cartographers make a good living,” pilot said.
“Not doing blind jumps,” Heather said.
“Are you adapt with crystals? Metals? Exotic life forms?” pilot asked. “What sort of things do you innately seek?”
“I don’t know. Right now, all I want to do is reconnect with Jon. I feel compelled to find him. It feels like a life or death thing,” Heather said.
“Jon? That’s rather broad. Do you know how many Jons there are in the Universe? Hell, I think I took a piss in one not too long ago. Narrow it down. Jon who?”
“Jon Harister. A friend, a fellow journeymen knight,” Heather said.
“Fuck me flying. What a small universe we live in. Talk about six degrees of Kevin Bacon. I love bacon. Especially with scrambled eggs and buttered toasts,” pilot mused.
“You know Jon?” Heather said.
“Well, yeah, sort of. He helped me, or an aspect of me, out of a tight spot. Actually, talked me off the ledge of a roof,” pilot said.
“Excuse me?” Heather asked.
“It could be a metaphor. I am not sure if it’s his metaphor or my metaphor, and I don’t know for sure that he was helping me as much as I was helping him, and probably doesn’t matter as all shared points in space have a contextual reciprocity of evolutionary interaction… Those sorts of boundaries always overlap,” pilot said.
“You were going to jump off a ledge?” Heather said.
“Don’t get stuck there. Jump or step back,” pilot said. “Do you know Jon? Like, did you fuck him?”
“No! I didn’t fuck him,” Heather snapped.
“Too bad,” pilot said. “Had you fucked him, it would be rather easy to find him.”
“So I have been told,” Heather said. “Explain.”
“Entangled particles can communicate across the entire breadth of the universe in spooky ways,” pilot said. “I could use that like a compass, a homing beacon, and go right there. Little secret, that’s why Kirk was always kissing the girls- to make it easier to go back there. Tell me who you did sleep with and I can take you right there.”
“Fuck that,” Heather said. “I don’t want to see him again.”
“Oh, good to know. I’ll track that,” pilot said. “Umm, saving Jon. No, too many memes with ‘saving’ in it. You think they would have come up with a better name than “Saving Mr. Banks.’ Anyhow…. Finding Jon. Is he a fish? No, no, no… Well, Heather, Captain, Seeker. Captain Heather Seeker. Captain Seeker. You could always try the chair.”
“Captain Geach,” heather said.
“I get the sense you aren’t her anymore. Update your name,” pilot said.
“I’ll think about it. The chair?” Heather said.
“You’re a seeker who has never tried the chair?” pilot said. “Oh, Captain, my Captain. Sky-queen. You should come to the flight deck.”
“You mean the cockpit,” Heather corrected.
“Or the bridge. Some people don’t like cock, or pits, or bother together, kind means vagina? Anyway, they renamed it,” pilot said.
“You’re fishing?” Heather said.
“To see if you like cock? I don’t have a cock, so you don’t have to worry about romantic interludes with the pilot,” pilot said. “Unless you want that, which in that case there are tech upgrades that could make that happen, but if I have a say, I’d rather just remain a stargazing pilot, platonically enabled. But you should know, if anyone gets it on in this ship, I will be privy to that. There is no privacy on this ship. Pilot sees everything. You, Captain, are privy to knowing what I know. I could let you know if people are getting it on. Unless you don’t want to know, then, shhh, my secret.”
“You talk too much,” Heather said.
“I am fucking point of reference light, what do you expect me to do?” pilot said.
“Educate me about the chair,” Heather said.