Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: Andromeda is the property of Tribune. The author has only
borrowed them.
Author's note: Thank you kindly to my beta readers: Kathy-for your honest
and deep critique, David, Techfreak Ziana, Owl and Dee Dee. Great job all
of you!
Season One, between Harper 2.0 and Star Crossed.
This story originally appeared in the print fanzine: Tales From the Slipstream by Chaos Unlimited. It is still available from them. I'd list the website address, but can't get it to load to ff.net correctly.
**This version has been slightly modified from the printed form.**
Avatar
By Anna McLain
Chapter One
"Desire is a double-edged sword."
--Unknown
He gritted his teeth and tried not to leap across the table and throttle her.
"You know, Trance," he snipped, "it just isn't worth it anymore and I got work to do, as usual. Oh, look! Harper the invaluable genius engineer and weak systemed human has more work than anyone else on this boat including all robots and aliens." He turned his back on her, hunching over his work table. The air filled with the high-pitched buzz of an electronic screwdriver. The sound echoed and reverberated in the cavernous machine shop.
Indignant that he'd turn away from her in a huff, she stared at the worn back of his baggy pale blue shirt--the one she liked so much because it made his blue eyes seem iridescent. Hands on hips, she snapped, "Seamus Harper, don't you take that tone with me. I'm your friend, your best friend and I want to know what's wrong! You've been locked in here for twenty-four hours muttering to yourself and playing with your whatsits." A dark violet flush crept over her plum features. Her nostrils flared and her mauve painted lips thinned in anger. She waved a delicate, dismissive hand at the pile of wires, metal parts and tools, glaring at the young man with wide, dark eyes. She grabbed up something shiny from the tabletop, her expression softening into sadness. "You even broke your medallion." She held up the small gold St. Christopher's medallion that he sometimes wore, allowing it to twist on its delicate chain. A chip and scratch on the surface twinkled as they caught the light. "You said your mother gave it to you."
He snatched it away without looking at her face, fastening it around his neck with fingers that trembled in annoyance. He wanted to be alone to finish his work. He wasn't in the mood for chitchat. She was supposed to be so damned perceptive, yet she so was clueless. "It isn't broken. I just took it off so it wouldn't get messy."
"It wouldn't get messy if you'd get some sleep like you're supposed to. And Rommie told me you have a whole list of repairs to make to the ship and yet here you are playing around." She gave him a gentle shove with her tail, half-playful, half-serious, obviously trying to get him to lighten up.
He tossed down his screwdriver in frustration, shoving aside the circuitry he was working on. Anger flashed wickedly in his blue eyes as he whirled on her, struggling to rein in his temper. "Trance, look, babe, it's none of your--"
"None of my business?" she snapped, tossing him a withering look, her deep patience shattered.
He flinched. She seemed really pissed. She might even slap him with her tail. He didn't want that. It hurt. It also hurt that she was mad at him. She was his best friend. The only one onboard he trusted implicitly. Why couldn't she just let him work in peace? With a sigh, he gave her his most apologetic puppy dog look.
"Hey, come-on, you know me. I get a one-track mind when I fix things. I'm just..." his words faltered. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He just knew he wanted to be alone to do it. He didn't want to piss off his best friend in the tri-galaxies.
With one eyebrow raised regally, she fixed him with an unflinching stare. "Just trying to make yourself sick again? Trying to compensate for being lonely? Trying to get over Beka calling you a goofy-looking kid who couldn't get a date if he ran around naked? Trying to get over Tyr laughing about it? Did he insult your...what is it? Manhood?"
He winced and looked away, studying the contents of the room. Anything was better than her wrath, particularly, since her words were true. He hated that. Somehow, Trance was always right when it came to him. She told him it was luck. He didn't believe her. Luck never followed him around. People made their own luck, and she was very good at it.
Finally, he met her gaze with flashing blue eyes. A storm of anger battered him. He gritted his teeth and growled, "And there's something wrong with that?"
"Nope." She smiled, lopsidedly. Her large dark eyes twinkled with humor as she realized she'd finally gotten to him. "You're just being human. And you don't have to be an Uber to be a man." She gave him that look that said he was cute when he was angry, but she would tire of it quickly. A guy's looks could only get him so far.
He gaped at her. After a long moment, he visibly relaxed and his shoulders slumped. "It's just that...sheesh, it's been so long, Trance, since a woman has wanted to be with me. To talk seriously to me. To...to treat me like a man. Y'know what I mean? Geez, I can't even say it!" He took a deep, wavering breath. "I can't even remember the last woman's face...my last lover's face. It's been so long, Trance," his voice broke on the last sentence, his face anguished. "I hate that! I hate not being able to remember. It's so...mean, so humiliating. And there's the rest, I mean, we go to a new crummy backwater drift every couple of months that's just teeming with people and I still can't get a date. I'm just...so lonely. It really bites! All I have is my work."
"That's not all," she whispered too softly for him to hear.
"Well, it ain't me! I'm not doing anything wrong. I just ain't good at that emotional, sippy-sappy soft guy crap." Snatching up his screwdriver, he continued to work. Work was one thing he loved. This project would at least alleviate some of the apathy he'd been feeling of late. After a moment, he let his hand rest on the counter and stared off into space. "You don't think I'm goofy-looking, do you, Trance?" he said softly.
With a gentle smile she reached out and slipped an arm around his shoulders, resting her chin on his shoulder. She sighed deeply. He smelled of sweat and smoke and metallic things. Her insides quivered. "I think you have beautiful blue eyes and wild dirty blonde hair and you're adorably cute."
"Cute. Terrific. Puppies are cute. Teddy Bears are cute. Cute is the kiss of death." He shrugged off her touch. "I've been cute to too many people. I want someone to think I'm gorgeous, to appreciate my expertise. I got work to do. Bye, Trance."
Stung, she backed away, watching him work. He could change so quickly, his inner demon snapping out to claw anyone who truly came near him. At the door, she turned back for one last look at him feverishly connecting wires to a small computer board. "You're just asking the wrong people," she murmured.
He worked until he lost track of time, until his anger faded. So, she thought he was 'cute?' Cute was for babies and puppies, not men. With a loud sigh, he tweaked the last wire on his creation and flipped the switch. The still air before him sparkled as a hidden projector scrambled protons, rearranged them and formed an image. A group of four men in bright colored costumes materialized. The air immediately shook with the slicing high- pitched cord from an electric guitar. Glass and metal on the table danced. The metallic ceiling buzzed.
A wide smile split the talented engineer's young face. He instantly forgot his fight with Trance. "Too cool!" he said, his words devoured by the din.
***
He was at it again and it drove Beka Valentine crazy. The walls trembled and pictures rattled in time to the racket he called music, making it impossible for her to delve between the lines of her new flexi-novel, the one she desperately wanted to lose herself in. Even her job as First Officer of the Andromeda Ascendant didn't guarantee her privacy. She didn't have many luxuries. She'd gone through Hell to procure and hide this novel. That treacherous Perseid pirate had demanded double price to keep his mouth shut about selling it to her or else he'd blab to her crew and embarrass her. She even had to keep it carefully stowed inside her pants lest Dylan's roving eyes spot it as she smuggled it aboard. He said he didn't watch his new crewmembers, but as a Captain herself, she was certain he did. She would. Ordering Andromeda to give her Full Privacy Mode and locking the door was cause enough for suspicion from her crewmates if they found out.
Harper was not going to rob her of the moment with a migraine. Briefly, she asked herself if it was worth all the trouble over a flexi-novel. Yes, it was, she decided. She had a reputation to maintain. She was tough, crafty, capable--not a girly-girl who read romance stories. She just wasn't the lace and roses type. Still, she wanted to read this book. She needed to read this book. She'd already become addicted to the first chapter of "The Sword of Desire" and felt compelled to read the rest. This novel had to compensate for her non-existent love life. Frell, it was compensating for her non-existent love life. A girl could only live with her own memories for so long.
Struggling to ignore the screeching electric guitars, she began to read:
* "Perdue cleaned the twinkling turquoise pool, slipping the metal scrubbing rod along the bottom with practiced ease and slow, strong, sensuous, strokes. Amelia licked lips suddenly dry, gaze locked on the seat of his jeans, pulled taut by well-defined muscles that tightened and flexed with each fluid movement, with the sinewy strength of a wild animal in full flight. A rush of heat rushed south and she shifted in her chair to ease the suddenly itch. The sun glinted from his bare chiseled chest, dotted with glistening drops of fresh sweat. A trickle of hot sweat ran between her heaving-"*
Harper's screaming cacophony sliced into Beka's temples. Wincing and gritting her teeth, she slapped the flexi-novel down on her rumpled purple polka dot bedclothes, stomped out of her quarters and down the hall. The passageway reverberated with sharp electric notes. Instantly, her head began to throb.
She stomped to the loudest point: Engineer Seamus Harper's door. She pounded. There was no answer. The music was too loud. She cursed in Vedran and Than and beat the door in time with the hoofbeats of pain in her head.
Just as her fist began to ache, sending sharp stabs of pain up to her elbow, the ship's avatar strolled up casually. Rommie stopped and cocked her head, puppy-style, at the First Officer.
"I've been informed there's a sound problem," Rommie shouted over the din, showing no sign that the music actually bothered her. Her expression was simply curious. She was still new to her avatar form and unaccustomed to the comforts and discomforts human emotions or the ability to feel arrant breezes brought with it.
"Huh?" Beka shouted, unable to hear the avatar. "It's noise pollution!"
Rommie frowned, pointing to her ear. The First Officer's voice was devoured by the cacophony.
With an angry scowl, Beka covered her ears and motioned toward the door. The avatar looked at it and it promptly opened.
Harper whirled around with a start. His eyes widened guiltily. Quickly, he masked the expression with his trademark cocky lopsided grin, hoping to charm them. When he saw the two women glaring at him, he adjusted a knob on one of the small machines and the volume of the music dropped to near zero.
"Hey! Come to see my quarters, Rom-doll?" he quipped.
"I know what every inch of the ship looks like, why would I-"
Beka cut her off with a raised hand, rolling her eyes at the familiar exchange. "What is that racket, Harper and why are you trying to break all of our eardrums?"
"It's...ah...something new," he said with a shrug, smiling innocently.
She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Don't bother adjusting your halo, Harper."
His face fell. Disappointment at her latest rebuff deadened his eyes. Then a spark of defiance flared in them. "Okay, Boss, look, I was bored. Bored, bored, bored!" He circled the table and waved his hands maniacally at the bits and pieces of circuitry piled there. "Remember when I was possessed by the knowledge from that weird Perseid's brain? Well, I didn't just toss all two zillion projects I started into the garbage like Dylan said to. I kept a few and now I'm trying to finish them up! Not an easy task either, mind you, 'cause I don't even remember what most of this stuff does or is supposed to do." He took a deep breath, noticing a dark look of impatience infuse Beka's face. He hurried on, "So, I created a random holographic Extrapolator. It takes history files from Rommie's database and creates a holo-image. Viola! Instant rock concert."
The tall blonde's gaze followed his pointing finger, a scowl marring her pretty features. In the corner of his room, a life-sized group of men with long stringy hair and garishly made-up faces pounded on ancient electric guitars. They danced and jumped about in front of a non-existent audience. Her mouth dropped open. She blinked rapidly. She could almost smell the sweat that dribbled down their necks, almost hear her ears ringing and the chanting crowd of the concert hall. Other than an occasional flicker, the hologram was incredibly lifelike. Finally, something interesting, Beka thought.
Rommie frowned, furrowing her brow in confusion. She saw no real advantage to having a live rock concert in one's quarters. "Harper, I don't remember giving you permission to mess around with my history files. My operating files and to repair systems after notifying me, but not my history files, my memories. What if you erase something?"
"Not gonna happen. The Harper is great! Y'see, I've limited the search parameters to the musical files for now. And it only reads your data then extrapolates the hologram based on compiled files of the subject. It doesn't do anything to your originals except read them. So, don't worry, Rom-doll, I won't hurt ya."
She shot him a skeptical look then turned to watch Beka approach the musicians. The taller woman examined the players closely, nearly dipping her face into the holographic matrix to study the details. Rommie cocked her head in curiosity. Humans were an endless study.
"So," Beka wondered aloud, "you could transfer this to the mess hall tonight and give us all a concert while we eat dinner?" Her gaze was riveted to the singers, pounding and smashing their holographic guitars almost soundlessly. She circled them slowly. A mischievous twinkle lit her blue eyes and a grin turned up the corners of her generous mouth.
"You bet."
"And we could pick any musician we want?" She gave him a sidelong stare, her blue eyes narrowed.
"Well, theoretically. Y'see there are still some bugs that I'm working on. Right now, it's a randomly generated holo. The computer in the extrapolator picks. But, don't worry your pretty goldilocks. The Harper is working on the problem. And, the Harper is supreme!" He smiled broadly, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in the pockets of his worn baggy trousers.
"We'll just have to leave you to it, then." She grabbed Rommie by the golden vest she wore and dragged her from the room. Sticking her head back in the door, blond hair swinging, Beka told him, "Remember, Harper, chow's in two hours. I can't wait!"
"Terrific." He sighed heavily. He'd already been struggling with this project for two days and was growing tired of it. It wasn't fun if it didn't work out quickly. Now, if he didn't fix it in two hours, he'd probably have to endure Beka's insistent ranting. He perched on the edge of his table and sifted through his scribbled notes. He usually did his tinkering in his workshop not his living quarters so things were crammed and stacked in disarray. "Great going, Seamus. DON'T write down the little details," he chided himself, "Sheesh, this all seemed as easy as kids blocks before."
From the notes he'd scribbled during the madness brought on when the Perseid stuffed his brain with all of the knowledge of written history, he'd been able to build the machine. Talented engineer that he was, he figured out the missing data as he went. However, many small details still escaped him, now that the Perseid's knowledge had all been transferred to a safe storage place that only he and one sparkly purple compatriot knew of. He could generate images, but he couldn't choose them...yet. Absently, he raised the volume on the device to a level acceptable to the females of the crew. He studied his notes, nose nearly pressed against the crumpled paper pages. Soft piano music filled the air, slowly gaining in tempo and volume. He reached out to push the button that would switch the band to a new, faster, one.
A woman's soft soprano voice began to sing. Strong with a slight raspy edge, the voice held an undercurrent of quiet desperation. His hand froze above the changing button. He glanced up. She was approximately his age, twenty-something. Her dark hair escaped from under a thick black winter cap in curling wisps that glittered faintly crimson. She wasn't beautiful, but her clear green eyes transfixed him. They were huge, intelligent and sorrowful.
Instantly, he was enthralled. Deep inside him, he knew that she shared his painful loneliness. Her gaze was a bottomless pit of solitude. His stomach clenched with the familiarity of the pain staring out at him. Her eyes, her voice, her body language all dripped with the sadness, pain and loss of the music. He was too distracted to listen to the words of the song and didn't stop to think that the music fueled her emotions. It didn't matter. She mattered. She was the answer he was searching for, the water to fill his desert.
The paper notes he held dropped from limp fingers to settle onto the floor with a rustle, unnoticed.
The song reached its crescendo, her strong voice echoing in the small room. He felt his ribs vibrate with its power. Tears gleamed in her large eyes. The music slowed.
Suddenly, he shook himself. He sprang from the table's edge, leapt over to the Extrapolator and snatched up the remote control whose display held the singer's name and the song title.
"Oh, crap!" he exclaimed. Her name faded quickly as he looked at it and was gone. "Sophie, Sophie what?" He screamed once in frustration and shook the remote. When he looked back to the makeshift stage, a young man with thick black glasses, a big nose and bad hair had replaced Sophie.
"No! Crap! Crap!" he shouted at the new hologram, shaking a fist at it.
Furiously, he punched codes into the Extrapolator, knowing full well that he hadn't yet solved that particular puzzle. He was reasonably certain the Extrapolator stored a record of previous musical choices, so they could be easily retrieved. It was the retrieval method and codes he lacked. Finally, he tossed the Extrapolator's keyboard aside with a soft snarl. He raked dirty fingers through his dishwater blond hair, disheveling it. "At least you're recording the data," he snapped. "I hope."
TBC in part 2. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you kindly for your time.
Season One, between Harper 2.0 and Star Crossed.
This story originally appeared in the print fanzine: Tales From the Slipstream by Chaos Unlimited. It is still available from them. I'd list the website address, but can't get it to load to ff.net correctly.
**This version has been slightly modified from the printed form.**
Avatar
By Anna McLain
Chapter One
"Desire is a double-edged sword."
--Unknown
He gritted his teeth and tried not to leap across the table and throttle her.
"You know, Trance," he snipped, "it just isn't worth it anymore and I got work to do, as usual. Oh, look! Harper the invaluable genius engineer and weak systemed human has more work than anyone else on this boat including all robots and aliens." He turned his back on her, hunching over his work table. The air filled with the high-pitched buzz of an electronic screwdriver. The sound echoed and reverberated in the cavernous machine shop.
Indignant that he'd turn away from her in a huff, she stared at the worn back of his baggy pale blue shirt--the one she liked so much because it made his blue eyes seem iridescent. Hands on hips, she snapped, "Seamus Harper, don't you take that tone with me. I'm your friend, your best friend and I want to know what's wrong! You've been locked in here for twenty-four hours muttering to yourself and playing with your whatsits." A dark violet flush crept over her plum features. Her nostrils flared and her mauve painted lips thinned in anger. She waved a delicate, dismissive hand at the pile of wires, metal parts and tools, glaring at the young man with wide, dark eyes. She grabbed up something shiny from the tabletop, her expression softening into sadness. "You even broke your medallion." She held up the small gold St. Christopher's medallion that he sometimes wore, allowing it to twist on its delicate chain. A chip and scratch on the surface twinkled as they caught the light. "You said your mother gave it to you."
He snatched it away without looking at her face, fastening it around his neck with fingers that trembled in annoyance. He wanted to be alone to finish his work. He wasn't in the mood for chitchat. She was supposed to be so damned perceptive, yet she so was clueless. "It isn't broken. I just took it off so it wouldn't get messy."
"It wouldn't get messy if you'd get some sleep like you're supposed to. And Rommie told me you have a whole list of repairs to make to the ship and yet here you are playing around." She gave him a gentle shove with her tail, half-playful, half-serious, obviously trying to get him to lighten up.
He tossed down his screwdriver in frustration, shoving aside the circuitry he was working on. Anger flashed wickedly in his blue eyes as he whirled on her, struggling to rein in his temper. "Trance, look, babe, it's none of your--"
"None of my business?" she snapped, tossing him a withering look, her deep patience shattered.
He flinched. She seemed really pissed. She might even slap him with her tail. He didn't want that. It hurt. It also hurt that she was mad at him. She was his best friend. The only one onboard he trusted implicitly. Why couldn't she just let him work in peace? With a sigh, he gave her his most apologetic puppy dog look.
"Hey, come-on, you know me. I get a one-track mind when I fix things. I'm just..." his words faltered. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He just knew he wanted to be alone to do it. He didn't want to piss off his best friend in the tri-galaxies.
With one eyebrow raised regally, she fixed him with an unflinching stare. "Just trying to make yourself sick again? Trying to compensate for being lonely? Trying to get over Beka calling you a goofy-looking kid who couldn't get a date if he ran around naked? Trying to get over Tyr laughing about it? Did he insult your...what is it? Manhood?"
He winced and looked away, studying the contents of the room. Anything was better than her wrath, particularly, since her words were true. He hated that. Somehow, Trance was always right when it came to him. She told him it was luck. He didn't believe her. Luck never followed him around. People made their own luck, and she was very good at it.
Finally, he met her gaze with flashing blue eyes. A storm of anger battered him. He gritted his teeth and growled, "And there's something wrong with that?"
"Nope." She smiled, lopsidedly. Her large dark eyes twinkled with humor as she realized she'd finally gotten to him. "You're just being human. And you don't have to be an Uber to be a man." She gave him that look that said he was cute when he was angry, but she would tire of it quickly. A guy's looks could only get him so far.
He gaped at her. After a long moment, he visibly relaxed and his shoulders slumped. "It's just that...sheesh, it's been so long, Trance, since a woman has wanted to be with me. To talk seriously to me. To...to treat me like a man. Y'know what I mean? Geez, I can't even say it!" He took a deep, wavering breath. "I can't even remember the last woman's face...my last lover's face. It's been so long, Trance," his voice broke on the last sentence, his face anguished. "I hate that! I hate not being able to remember. It's so...mean, so humiliating. And there's the rest, I mean, we go to a new crummy backwater drift every couple of months that's just teeming with people and I still can't get a date. I'm just...so lonely. It really bites! All I have is my work."
"That's not all," she whispered too softly for him to hear.
"Well, it ain't me! I'm not doing anything wrong. I just ain't good at that emotional, sippy-sappy soft guy crap." Snatching up his screwdriver, he continued to work. Work was one thing he loved. This project would at least alleviate some of the apathy he'd been feeling of late. After a moment, he let his hand rest on the counter and stared off into space. "You don't think I'm goofy-looking, do you, Trance?" he said softly.
With a gentle smile she reached out and slipped an arm around his shoulders, resting her chin on his shoulder. She sighed deeply. He smelled of sweat and smoke and metallic things. Her insides quivered. "I think you have beautiful blue eyes and wild dirty blonde hair and you're adorably cute."
"Cute. Terrific. Puppies are cute. Teddy Bears are cute. Cute is the kiss of death." He shrugged off her touch. "I've been cute to too many people. I want someone to think I'm gorgeous, to appreciate my expertise. I got work to do. Bye, Trance."
Stung, she backed away, watching him work. He could change so quickly, his inner demon snapping out to claw anyone who truly came near him. At the door, she turned back for one last look at him feverishly connecting wires to a small computer board. "You're just asking the wrong people," she murmured.
He worked until he lost track of time, until his anger faded. So, she thought he was 'cute?' Cute was for babies and puppies, not men. With a loud sigh, he tweaked the last wire on his creation and flipped the switch. The still air before him sparkled as a hidden projector scrambled protons, rearranged them and formed an image. A group of four men in bright colored costumes materialized. The air immediately shook with the slicing high- pitched cord from an electric guitar. Glass and metal on the table danced. The metallic ceiling buzzed.
A wide smile split the talented engineer's young face. He instantly forgot his fight with Trance. "Too cool!" he said, his words devoured by the din.
***
He was at it again and it drove Beka Valentine crazy. The walls trembled and pictures rattled in time to the racket he called music, making it impossible for her to delve between the lines of her new flexi-novel, the one she desperately wanted to lose herself in. Even her job as First Officer of the Andromeda Ascendant didn't guarantee her privacy. She didn't have many luxuries. She'd gone through Hell to procure and hide this novel. That treacherous Perseid pirate had demanded double price to keep his mouth shut about selling it to her or else he'd blab to her crew and embarrass her. She even had to keep it carefully stowed inside her pants lest Dylan's roving eyes spot it as she smuggled it aboard. He said he didn't watch his new crewmembers, but as a Captain herself, she was certain he did. She would. Ordering Andromeda to give her Full Privacy Mode and locking the door was cause enough for suspicion from her crewmates if they found out.
Harper was not going to rob her of the moment with a migraine. Briefly, she asked herself if it was worth all the trouble over a flexi-novel. Yes, it was, she decided. She had a reputation to maintain. She was tough, crafty, capable--not a girly-girl who read romance stories. She just wasn't the lace and roses type. Still, she wanted to read this book. She needed to read this book. She'd already become addicted to the first chapter of "The Sword of Desire" and felt compelled to read the rest. This novel had to compensate for her non-existent love life. Frell, it was compensating for her non-existent love life. A girl could only live with her own memories for so long.
Struggling to ignore the screeching electric guitars, she began to read:
* "Perdue cleaned the twinkling turquoise pool, slipping the metal scrubbing rod along the bottom with practiced ease and slow, strong, sensuous, strokes. Amelia licked lips suddenly dry, gaze locked on the seat of his jeans, pulled taut by well-defined muscles that tightened and flexed with each fluid movement, with the sinewy strength of a wild animal in full flight. A rush of heat rushed south and she shifted in her chair to ease the suddenly itch. The sun glinted from his bare chiseled chest, dotted with glistening drops of fresh sweat. A trickle of hot sweat ran between her heaving-"*
Harper's screaming cacophony sliced into Beka's temples. Wincing and gritting her teeth, she slapped the flexi-novel down on her rumpled purple polka dot bedclothes, stomped out of her quarters and down the hall. The passageway reverberated with sharp electric notes. Instantly, her head began to throb.
She stomped to the loudest point: Engineer Seamus Harper's door. She pounded. There was no answer. The music was too loud. She cursed in Vedran and Than and beat the door in time with the hoofbeats of pain in her head.
Just as her fist began to ache, sending sharp stabs of pain up to her elbow, the ship's avatar strolled up casually. Rommie stopped and cocked her head, puppy-style, at the First Officer.
"I've been informed there's a sound problem," Rommie shouted over the din, showing no sign that the music actually bothered her. Her expression was simply curious. She was still new to her avatar form and unaccustomed to the comforts and discomforts human emotions or the ability to feel arrant breezes brought with it.
"Huh?" Beka shouted, unable to hear the avatar. "It's noise pollution!"
Rommie frowned, pointing to her ear. The First Officer's voice was devoured by the cacophony.
With an angry scowl, Beka covered her ears and motioned toward the door. The avatar looked at it and it promptly opened.
Harper whirled around with a start. His eyes widened guiltily. Quickly, he masked the expression with his trademark cocky lopsided grin, hoping to charm them. When he saw the two women glaring at him, he adjusted a knob on one of the small machines and the volume of the music dropped to near zero.
"Hey! Come to see my quarters, Rom-doll?" he quipped.
"I know what every inch of the ship looks like, why would I-"
Beka cut her off with a raised hand, rolling her eyes at the familiar exchange. "What is that racket, Harper and why are you trying to break all of our eardrums?"
"It's...ah...something new," he said with a shrug, smiling innocently.
She raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Don't bother adjusting your halo, Harper."
His face fell. Disappointment at her latest rebuff deadened his eyes. Then a spark of defiance flared in them. "Okay, Boss, look, I was bored. Bored, bored, bored!" He circled the table and waved his hands maniacally at the bits and pieces of circuitry piled there. "Remember when I was possessed by the knowledge from that weird Perseid's brain? Well, I didn't just toss all two zillion projects I started into the garbage like Dylan said to. I kept a few and now I'm trying to finish them up! Not an easy task either, mind you, 'cause I don't even remember what most of this stuff does or is supposed to do." He took a deep breath, noticing a dark look of impatience infuse Beka's face. He hurried on, "So, I created a random holographic Extrapolator. It takes history files from Rommie's database and creates a holo-image. Viola! Instant rock concert."
The tall blonde's gaze followed his pointing finger, a scowl marring her pretty features. In the corner of his room, a life-sized group of men with long stringy hair and garishly made-up faces pounded on ancient electric guitars. They danced and jumped about in front of a non-existent audience. Her mouth dropped open. She blinked rapidly. She could almost smell the sweat that dribbled down their necks, almost hear her ears ringing and the chanting crowd of the concert hall. Other than an occasional flicker, the hologram was incredibly lifelike. Finally, something interesting, Beka thought.
Rommie frowned, furrowing her brow in confusion. She saw no real advantage to having a live rock concert in one's quarters. "Harper, I don't remember giving you permission to mess around with my history files. My operating files and to repair systems after notifying me, but not my history files, my memories. What if you erase something?"
"Not gonna happen. The Harper is great! Y'see, I've limited the search parameters to the musical files for now. And it only reads your data then extrapolates the hologram based on compiled files of the subject. It doesn't do anything to your originals except read them. So, don't worry, Rom-doll, I won't hurt ya."
She shot him a skeptical look then turned to watch Beka approach the musicians. The taller woman examined the players closely, nearly dipping her face into the holographic matrix to study the details. Rommie cocked her head in curiosity. Humans were an endless study.
"So," Beka wondered aloud, "you could transfer this to the mess hall tonight and give us all a concert while we eat dinner?" Her gaze was riveted to the singers, pounding and smashing their holographic guitars almost soundlessly. She circled them slowly. A mischievous twinkle lit her blue eyes and a grin turned up the corners of her generous mouth.
"You bet."
"And we could pick any musician we want?" She gave him a sidelong stare, her blue eyes narrowed.
"Well, theoretically. Y'see there are still some bugs that I'm working on. Right now, it's a randomly generated holo. The computer in the extrapolator picks. But, don't worry your pretty goldilocks. The Harper is working on the problem. And, the Harper is supreme!" He smiled broadly, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in the pockets of his worn baggy trousers.
"We'll just have to leave you to it, then." She grabbed Rommie by the golden vest she wore and dragged her from the room. Sticking her head back in the door, blond hair swinging, Beka told him, "Remember, Harper, chow's in two hours. I can't wait!"
"Terrific." He sighed heavily. He'd already been struggling with this project for two days and was growing tired of it. It wasn't fun if it didn't work out quickly. Now, if he didn't fix it in two hours, he'd probably have to endure Beka's insistent ranting. He perched on the edge of his table and sifted through his scribbled notes. He usually did his tinkering in his workshop not his living quarters so things were crammed and stacked in disarray. "Great going, Seamus. DON'T write down the little details," he chided himself, "Sheesh, this all seemed as easy as kids blocks before."
From the notes he'd scribbled during the madness brought on when the Perseid stuffed his brain with all of the knowledge of written history, he'd been able to build the machine. Talented engineer that he was, he figured out the missing data as he went. However, many small details still escaped him, now that the Perseid's knowledge had all been transferred to a safe storage place that only he and one sparkly purple compatriot knew of. He could generate images, but he couldn't choose them...yet. Absently, he raised the volume on the device to a level acceptable to the females of the crew. He studied his notes, nose nearly pressed against the crumpled paper pages. Soft piano music filled the air, slowly gaining in tempo and volume. He reached out to push the button that would switch the band to a new, faster, one.
A woman's soft soprano voice began to sing. Strong with a slight raspy edge, the voice held an undercurrent of quiet desperation. His hand froze above the changing button. He glanced up. She was approximately his age, twenty-something. Her dark hair escaped from under a thick black winter cap in curling wisps that glittered faintly crimson. She wasn't beautiful, but her clear green eyes transfixed him. They were huge, intelligent and sorrowful.
Instantly, he was enthralled. Deep inside him, he knew that she shared his painful loneliness. Her gaze was a bottomless pit of solitude. His stomach clenched with the familiarity of the pain staring out at him. Her eyes, her voice, her body language all dripped with the sadness, pain and loss of the music. He was too distracted to listen to the words of the song and didn't stop to think that the music fueled her emotions. It didn't matter. She mattered. She was the answer he was searching for, the water to fill his desert.
The paper notes he held dropped from limp fingers to settle onto the floor with a rustle, unnoticed.
The song reached its crescendo, her strong voice echoing in the small room. He felt his ribs vibrate with its power. Tears gleamed in her large eyes. The music slowed.
Suddenly, he shook himself. He sprang from the table's edge, leapt over to the Extrapolator and snatched up the remote control whose display held the singer's name and the song title.
"Oh, crap!" he exclaimed. Her name faded quickly as he looked at it and was gone. "Sophie, Sophie what?" He screamed once in frustration and shook the remote. When he looked back to the makeshift stage, a young man with thick black glasses, a big nose and bad hair had replaced Sophie.
"No! Crap! Crap!" he shouted at the new hologram, shaking a fist at it.
Furiously, he punched codes into the Extrapolator, knowing full well that he hadn't yet solved that particular puzzle. He was reasonably certain the Extrapolator stored a record of previous musical choices, so they could be easily retrieved. It was the retrieval method and codes he lacked. Finally, he tossed the Extrapolator's keyboard aside with a soft snarl. He raked dirty fingers through his dishwater blond hair, disheveling it. "At least you're recording the data," he snapped. "I hope."
TBC in part 2. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you kindly for your time.