Indigo
I stare at the night sky, white stars suspended against an indigo background. Geordi has just informed me that people who've never been on starship bridges - like me - think this is what they see on the main view screen, as if they're all looking out a giant window.
"It's not?" I ask.
"No. It's all reversed. Space is white and planets and stars are dark masses. Like a map on paper."
"Can you change the view - see what is really there?" The idea of a map intrigues me a little, but seems cold and sterile, too. Space travel has become so commonplace. We take off for Centauri or Vulcan and treat it as if we're walking down to the corner store for milk. As a reporter, I've done my share of travel, as a writer, I've always fought against the blasé tone we all take. I shake my head, clearing those thoughts. I'm not a reporter any more, at least for now. I turn my attention back to my…friend. Lover. Geordi. I watch the lights glint on the metal of his visor, listen to the warmth of his voice…
"Oh, we do, if we're in orbit around a planet, especially if it's a familiar place, or home for any of the crew. Right now, for example, there's no question that the view-screen on the bridge is showing a real-time view of Earth."
I'm leaning on the cold metal rail of the balcony, and he is behind me, his arms reaching around to brace there, too. I feel the heat of his body, look down at his hands - I love his hands - and notice that he's back in uniform. "The Earth from space has been a compelling image since the late twentieth century," I note. "Art, science and wonder, all tied up in a neat package." I hesitate then add, "Your leave is over." It's not a question.
"Yeah," he says, and the word is like a sigh, but rougher. "Kat…"
I hear in his voice all the things he doesn't have words for yet. I want to turn around, but I don't. Instead, I move my hand to cover his on the railing. "You know, I've done my share of leaving, after an assignment. It's kind of new being the one left."
"I'm not leaving you. Not that way…"
"I know," I say. "You're not. And yet you are." We've been friends forever, so we don't have the luxury of the polite lie to cushion such things. No breezy goodbyes followed by instant forgetfulness. "Call me, when you can."
"You know I will." He pauses, and I hear him swallow hard. "You could visit the ship, you know. Next time we're at a starbase."
I open my mouth to protest, and then realize that since I'm 'suspended indefinitely' from work, I actually can take time for such a trip. My lips curl into a smile he can't see, "I'd like that," I say. What I really mean is I love you, but I don't have the words yet, either.