TITLE: Afterburner Fire
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com
CATEGORY: Coda, Vignette
RATING: PG, just to be safe about it
SUMMARY: As Jerome launches for the skies, Lamar catches the sparks from the blast.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: An epilogue to the film, almost a conversational "what if?" (I spent some time dissecting what might have happened to Lamar, and what I might say if I met him, and the two kind of came together.)
If you didn't guess, I like Xander Berkeley. ;)
RECOMMENDED LISTENING: "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain
I'd worked at Gattaca most of my life, always in the medical section, but never expected to go anywhere. Nor did I ever expect a promotion. Then I was promoted to assistant staff medical officer one week after Jerome Morrow, Navigator First Class, launched for Titan. I remember that because it was one of the reasons I was promoted in the first place.
My head was one-part medicine, one-part analysis and strategy; I had workable expertise in both Navigation and Administration but not strong enough an aptitude to go far in one division or the other. So I spent my time working to keep the medical section in order until the acting Director reassigned me to assist Dr. Lamar.
Apparently Lamar had not been quite the same since Jerome had launched. The two had been in frequent contact and had forged a reliable relationship, and like Jerome's associate Irene Cassini, who was in a state of despondency herself, the good doctor wasn't himself. My unofficial job, I was told, was to get him back in good spirits. "What do I look like," I'd quipped, "a morale officer?"
"Miss Christiansen," the acting Director had told me, "it doesn't really matter what you look like."
True enough. Like I had a choice about it, anyway?
I walked into the lab as usual that morning, prepared to run another series of random laboratory scans. Gattaca had cracked down on borrowed ladders and In-Valids since the murder of the Mission Director even though Director Josef had confessed. Lamar was already there, and I often wondered if he ever left.
"Morning, Lamar," I said semi-cheerily as I entered. All part of the unofficial task, though I had always been a horrible actress. But they couldn't say I wasn't trying.
He didn't answer and as I crossed over to the sink beside him at the counter space to wash up, I glared at the back of his head.
"You know, a 'Good morning, Dana' might be nice," I pointed out.
"Good morning, Dana," he replied, still not looking at me, busy with preparations and supplies, needles and syringes, cups and containers. It was as if he wanted to be focused anywhere but on another human being. Specifically, anywhere but on me.
"Which battery are we doing this morning?" I said nonchalantly, once again brushing off the wave of irritation that came over me now and again.
"Navigators Second Class. Should be in and out in twenty minutes. With special attention to criminally aggressive tendencies," he added, checking the writing on the order.
"I don't see why it's so special," I said as I dried my hands, then went to work with sterilization procedures. "I hit someone in the head with a keyboard once."
Lamar looked at me with slightly widened eyes, their intense blue brighter with his having been caught off guard.
I ignored his unspoken question-statement. "Not here, and not that. It was an accident."
He seemed partially relieved, partially unamused. "Coming from you, that's almost easy to believe." He paused as he readied the syringes. "I've heard you've got quite a strategic mind, even for a Valid. And yet, you're here."
"Discipline and medicine can mix," I said matter of factly. "They wanted someone with an analytical mind as a fail-safe, so they lynched me." Then I looked at him. "I've heard you've got quite a mind of your own," I said quietly, "when it comes to genetic discrimination."
Lamar's eyes narrowed at the last two words. "What do you mean?"
I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one else was in the room, though it was really a paranoid gesture. "What you did for Jerome Morrow. I admire it, really. From what I've read – philosophers, mostly, some histories of so-called 'miracle events' - such sacrifices were more common years ago. When people had heart."
He looked away again. "They have them now, too, just perfected."
"Maybe it's our imperfections that make us beautiful." I tapped my fingers lightly on the tabletop. "I'm a Valid and yet I'm not perfect. They say my brain works at twice the normal rate, exhausts itself. Could possibly lead to nervous collapse. And you had the guts to say that imperfections like that don't matter."
"You make it sound like I lead a rights movement," he said softly after a pause.
"Small things do count," I insisted, knowing I'd bypassed his comfort zone entirely. They hadn't hired me for my sublety, let's say.
"I'm sure they do." He was walking away from me now, setting up the testing stations. I stood there and watched him, and when he came back for the second round, he stopped with his hand on the next container and looked at me for a second. "Did I ever tell you about my son?"
I smiled, leaning in closer. "No, you didn't. But I'd love to know."
The next day as I walked from the main hall to the lab, the acting Director stopped me and wanted to know how it had only taken me three days to fix Lamar's morale problem.
Catching the good doctor's eye where he stood watching the latest rocket take to the stars just like Jerome used to do, I smiled benignly at the acting Director and told him he'd never understand. Before he could ask me what I meant by that, I was halfway to joining Lamar, his eyes toward the heavens. I reached him, put a hand on his shoulder.
Around us, the world turned orange with a blaze of engine fire. Another further step toward the stars.
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com
CATEGORY: Coda, Vignette
RATING: PG, just to be safe about it
SUMMARY: As Jerome launches for the skies, Lamar catches the sparks from the blast.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: An epilogue to the film, almost a conversational "what if?" (I spent some time dissecting what might have happened to Lamar, and what I might say if I met him, and the two kind of came together.)
If you didn't guess, I like Xander Berkeley. ;)
RECOMMENDED LISTENING: "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain
I'd worked at Gattaca most of my life, always in the medical section, but never expected to go anywhere. Nor did I ever expect a promotion. Then I was promoted to assistant staff medical officer one week after Jerome Morrow, Navigator First Class, launched for Titan. I remember that because it was one of the reasons I was promoted in the first place.
My head was one-part medicine, one-part analysis and strategy; I had workable expertise in both Navigation and Administration but not strong enough an aptitude to go far in one division or the other. So I spent my time working to keep the medical section in order until the acting Director reassigned me to assist Dr. Lamar.
Apparently Lamar had not been quite the same since Jerome had launched. The two had been in frequent contact and had forged a reliable relationship, and like Jerome's associate Irene Cassini, who was in a state of despondency herself, the good doctor wasn't himself. My unofficial job, I was told, was to get him back in good spirits. "What do I look like," I'd quipped, "a morale officer?"
"Miss Christiansen," the acting Director had told me, "it doesn't really matter what you look like."
True enough. Like I had a choice about it, anyway?
I walked into the lab as usual that morning, prepared to run another series of random laboratory scans. Gattaca had cracked down on borrowed ladders and In-Valids since the murder of the Mission Director even though Director Josef had confessed. Lamar was already there, and I often wondered if he ever left.
"Morning, Lamar," I said semi-cheerily as I entered. All part of the unofficial task, though I had always been a horrible actress. But they couldn't say I wasn't trying.
He didn't answer and as I crossed over to the sink beside him at the counter space to wash up, I glared at the back of his head.
"You know, a 'Good morning, Dana' might be nice," I pointed out.
"Good morning, Dana," he replied, still not looking at me, busy with preparations and supplies, needles and syringes, cups and containers. It was as if he wanted to be focused anywhere but on another human being. Specifically, anywhere but on me.
"Which battery are we doing this morning?" I said nonchalantly, once again brushing off the wave of irritation that came over me now and again.
"Navigators Second Class. Should be in and out in twenty minutes. With special attention to criminally aggressive tendencies," he added, checking the writing on the order.
"I don't see why it's so special," I said as I dried my hands, then went to work with sterilization procedures. "I hit someone in the head with a keyboard once."
Lamar looked at me with slightly widened eyes, their intense blue brighter with his having been caught off guard.
I ignored his unspoken question-statement. "Not here, and not that. It was an accident."
He seemed partially relieved, partially unamused. "Coming from you, that's almost easy to believe." He paused as he readied the syringes. "I've heard you've got quite a strategic mind, even for a Valid. And yet, you're here."
"Discipline and medicine can mix," I said matter of factly. "They wanted someone with an analytical mind as a fail-safe, so they lynched me." Then I looked at him. "I've heard you've got quite a mind of your own," I said quietly, "when it comes to genetic discrimination."
Lamar's eyes narrowed at the last two words. "What do you mean?"
I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one else was in the room, though it was really a paranoid gesture. "What you did for Jerome Morrow. I admire it, really. From what I've read – philosophers, mostly, some histories of so-called 'miracle events' - such sacrifices were more common years ago. When people had heart."
He looked away again. "They have them now, too, just perfected."
"Maybe it's our imperfections that make us beautiful." I tapped my fingers lightly on the tabletop. "I'm a Valid and yet I'm not perfect. They say my brain works at twice the normal rate, exhausts itself. Could possibly lead to nervous collapse. And you had the guts to say that imperfections like that don't matter."
"You make it sound like I lead a rights movement," he said softly after a pause.
"Small things do count," I insisted, knowing I'd bypassed his comfort zone entirely. They hadn't hired me for my sublety, let's say.
"I'm sure they do." He was walking away from me now, setting up the testing stations. I stood there and watched him, and when he came back for the second round, he stopped with his hand on the next container and looked at me for a second. "Did I ever tell you about my son?"
I smiled, leaning in closer. "No, you didn't. But I'd love to know."
The next day as I walked from the main hall to the lab, the acting Director stopped me and wanted to know how it had only taken me three days to fix Lamar's morale problem.
Catching the good doctor's eye where he stood watching the latest rocket take to the stars just like Jerome used to do, I smiled benignly at the acting Director and told him he'd never understand. Before he could ask me what I meant by that, I was halfway to joining Lamar, his eyes toward the heavens. I reached him, put a hand on his shoulder.
Around us, the world turned orange with a blaze of engine fire. Another further step toward the stars.