Origin Expedition by Charles F Millhouse

Author:Charles F Millhouse [Millhouse, Charles F]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormgate Press
Published: 2018-10-01T22:00:00+00:00

The Exploration Ship Requiem – Travelling in Wormhole Space

One jump away from Kepler 369

April 20, 2442

Charles Long sat at a stretched dinner table on the main deck of Requiem with twenty other people that included flight officers and members of the Tannador family who traveled onboard ship. Charles held in a gut wrenched laugh while he listened to the conversation around the table. It didn’t take him long to figure out that most of the passengers didn’t take the journey because exploration excited them, but because traveling in space was the fashionable thing to do.

“Showers once every other day… once, it’s appalling,” a pale-skinned man said with distain in his throat. “My skin becomes so dry if I can’t wash more than twice a day.”

“I never imagined the tennis courts would be on the level above the slave quarters. It’s bad enough I have to pass them in the elevators, but to see them so often,” an athletic woman with silver hair said.

A ridged man with hawk-like features leaned away from Charles, but said in a loud whisper, “Yes it’s bad enough we have to sit at the same dinner table of a low-born. If I knew it would be so unaccommodating I would have told Uncle Hek’Dara I’d stay on Earth.”

Charles straightened himself in his chair and arranged his dinner jacket. He realized how out of place he looked, stuffed like a turkey inside his old dress clothes outdated by a hundred years. He took a whiff of his jacket sleeve. His clothes carried the same musty odor as the bottom of his dresser cabinet.

Da’Mira reached over and touched him by his wrist and smiled.

He returned her gaze. Had he misjudged her?

Relaxed he sat back letting his shoulders slump. He surveyed the dining area. On the raised platform, near the dinner table, Charles saw the flight crew of the Requiem at their controls. He heard commands given, orders confirmed and every once in a while, he saw a crewman glance in his direction. Their looks made him uneasy. Charles looked away ashamed. He waited to be served while they toiled away at their stations and he sat with people he’d never have associated with under normal circumstances.

He glanced up, his attention drawn to the transparent dome above him and the wonders outside the ship. He felt inconsequential next to the endless swirls of colors and blazing light from the wormhole. They frightened and humbled him, and reminded him of a late twenty-second century poet, Jason Radik, that best described what he saw.

How fragile is man, no suffering, no pain, no endless night can compare to the cascade of light and eternity. Words written for the pilots of the first wormhole test ships lost in their attempt to travel into manmade wormholes.

How simple we are, Charles thought, and he drew his attention to the meal placed before him. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate real food. His pallet had become bland, a product from the tasteless food disks.

Lamb was served with a lemon caper sauce.

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