Chapter Five
Talmed and Tumult
Alara Kitan steps into her quarters, not a long journey as it's immediately behind the bridge port side on the theory that the bridge is always manned, but there are times when the Security Chief must go from off-duty to at her station in newly record-breaking time. She's never timed herself, that's too much a human thing to do, but she's normally satisfied with her response time, especially since a modification had been made to her quarters and office.
Three months ago, in fact coinciding with the Orville's single trip to Xelaya (she'd fantasized a Shore Leave when it finally came, perhaps with friends who could be shown her world, though they'd need gravity suits) she'd had changes made to the gravity plating. On command, the plating in these rooms and her office can be adjusted to draw matter at a rate 500% that of the rest of the ship, changing her from a toddler's 118 to a Xelayan anorexic tipping the scale at 529 pounds, half of her proper 1,058 by the scale which the Planetary Union measures all things, aka Earth Standard.
She unzips and strips off her red and black jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. "Computer, set gravity plating to 500%. Engage safety lock."
**Confirmed,** the simulated feminine voice responds.
x
Steadily, inexorably over the course of fifteen seconds, the floor pulls at her with increasing force, the pressure on her feet grows as every part of her body adjusts to the increase. She can feel her organs and all else settle as her body grows steadily heavier until she must expend a tiny bit of effort to stand upright. It's like stepping out of the buoyancy of a pool onto the deck; every muscle, organ, every part of her pulled down harder and harder until
**Gravity set to 500% Earth normal. Safety locks engaged.**
The safety locks she'd installed as a computer subroutine to prevent injury to her crew-mates. Within minutes of the initial changes Gordon Malloy had stepped in at her thoughtless invitation and, as he crossed from the corridor into the room, he was slammed onto the deck at a weight of over 850 pounds.
If not for the grace of Xinxis he could have been killed rather than having started a totally unexpected - for either of them - love affair.
x
And though it's granted that the Chief of Security must be ready to move at a moment's notice, the Gravity program, tied to the Alert systems, takes fifteen seconds to increase or decrease attraction between 5 and 1. It's presumably the same amount of time needed to go from sleep to wakefulness and to be in clothes.
Now that things are at least half of what they should be, she kneels down to begin the first stage of her workout, comes forward and catches herself on her hands, straightens her body to ramrod stiffness and gives herself a fast thirty count set of push-ups.
At least that was the intent but at twenty-four the door signal interrupts. A third of the way up, she looks toward the offending portal.
'Had to be,' she keeps to herself. "Who's there?" carries more emotional content.
"It's Gordon," his familiar voice announces.
"Wait a second," she directs, stepping upright.
"Don't worry, I've fallen for you once already."
She's thus assured that the corridor is clear, for if not... "Computer, restore plates to Earth normal. Cancel Safety Lock."
**Confirmed**
'So much for a workout; though maybe for his 'substitute workout'...'
x
If the increase of gravity is like coming out of the buoyancy of a pool then this is like stepping back in, but she's grown used to this state. The first time she'd tried to walk in Earth 'normal' gravity, however, had not been as pleasant as it is today. Every time she'd recalled it her head had ached in sympathetic response to the recollection of having jumped and instead of a normal Xelayan jump of a few feet she'd collided with the overhead, which led to a very inelegant landing – she'd gone splat upon the deck.
These days, she's far more careful.
"Come in."
x
The door slides open, he's standing framed within the portal for a brief moment before he steps in, the door closes and she remembers why she loves him. Not that she needs any reminder, as the past twelve weeks have supplied her with numerous reasons for their shared feeling.
He steps closer, she's never met him at the door for fear some crew member would be on his or her way to or from the bridge, but when their arms encircle one another their kiss is warm and she feels something hard.
Now not only would he not be so crass as to greet her in the first seconds with that aspect of male physicality but it's too high between their chests. That which presses her breasts flat is flat, not such curves and so forth as she's come to expect. She touches the object hidden below his jacket; the surface is not very thick but is some ten inches square.
"What is this?"
"I made you up a little present," he says, unzips his jacket, draws out the box and hands it to her. It's not heavy, less than a quarter kilo and wrapped in white paper. "I was looking for the right moment to give it to you and thought this Reception would be a good time."
x
She's not sure what to say. The giving and receiving of gifts are not a Xelayan custom but she does remember that it's a traditional aspect of the festival he and many of her human ship-mates will celebrate some three days hence. "Should I open it now?"
"Please."
She tears the white paper, opens the lid and halts. Freezes. "It's from Xelaya," he says quite unnecessarily.
They, the entire crew, had spent several days in the devastated region of Malmoria, the humans and other species bolstered by anti-grav suits, which cut 90% of their weights, while she and the members of other high gravity races moved in perfect ease, or as much ease as one may have while sifting through the rubble of collapsed buildings in search of one crushed body after another. Most of the crew, being limited by the number of available gravity suits, had remained in shielded shuttles receiving the injured for transport back to Orville.
The country was leveled, virtually nothing was left standing, so she can't imagine how he could lay hands upon a Talmed.
x
It's an inch wide silver, near circular band on which two rounded ends come close to touching in front. It hinges open in the middle and is intended to go behind her neck to drape flat at her throat, and up from where the two curved ends almost meet are set three circular light emitters on each side, each a half centimeter apart and a quarter centimeter in diameter, dark at the moment.
"It's very –" catches in her throat. "Thank you. How did you get it?"
"Well, I admit I synthesized it. I saw one of the Relief workers wearing one and thought of how nice you would look in it."
"Than... I..."
"Put it on."
x
She tries to hide her reluctance through smooth motion but she can't tear from her mind the device's colors; even unlit she can tell what the colors would be. In her black shirt her collar is low enough so when she makes herself take the metal band from the box, open it wide by the hinge at the middle, hold her hair out of the way, put it around her neck from the back and close the band so the metal rests on her skin above the shirt's collar. Though she can't see it directly, when she puts her hand before it, she can see upon her palm the lights from the blinking emitters.
She turns to her dressing mirror mounted beside the door, which she habitually uses for a final uniform check before leaving these quarters each morning, and she hadn't been mistaken about the colors.
When the silver had touched her skin, the three small disks on each side had begun to blink in an irregular pattern but with the same set of colors on either side. The six lights blinking in the mirror operate randomly, but the colors are quite vivid and she can't lie to herself.
x
The lowest lights on each side independently blink red, the ones a half centimeter higher blink green without sequence and the uppermost set blink an irregular pattern of blue. "It's lov – lovely. Did the woman you saw have these colors?"
"No, hers were different, but when I synthesized them, I thought of other colors that were better."
'Better?' "So, you chose... these," she manages to finish with nothing that she feels coloring her tones.
"Well, blue is your favorite color, green your second favorite and the red goes with your uniform. I thought you'd look lovely at the Reception. Not that you don't look gorgeous all the time, it's just–"
"Thank you," she whispers, unable to force any volume. "It's – a nice gift. Thank you."
"A little touch of home."
"Yes." She fights to keep thoughts and feeling from her expression. "A little touch."
She turns and hugs him, the embrace presses the metal to her throat and she's relieved that he can't see her face, for she might not be able to hold the mask.
'Xinxis, please don't let anyone recognize this.' She closes her eyes from that horrible image and tries to bury her shame.
'And please never let him find out what he's done.'
xxx
Crystal McGee steps into her quarters, unable yet to think of them as hers. She'd been to her office down the corridor; had stood in it, had Blessed it to be a Sacred space dedicated to the purpose it would serve, and yet it didn't yet feel like hers. The walls were of that same faux wood and while it was basically an abbreviation of her quarters, the room gave the impression of something to be fine tuned beyond merely a dedication.
The potted plants in three corners, the soft light illuminating the wood paneling, the huge - really huge - window that displayed the doppler effects of star stuff rushing from right to left, the serving table before the synthesizer, all together had been more than she had pictured living in when she finally reached space. This and her quarters were almost too much.
She knows she can decorate it to her taste, if only she could figure out what that might be. What kind of decorations are suitable for helping, for counseling, humans and aliens?
No, as a shepherd they're her flock! But what to do? She knows what she likes, but what impression does she want to give? She'd brought only one thing with her that'll go on the left wall where in her quarters the view screen is, but other than that she'd traveled light.
She doesn't want to crowd the room with nick-knacks of a dozen different Faiths, no matter how significant they might be to those she would try to help and counsel, but what should she do, presuming that she's not put off the ship as soon as it meets another?
Should she go minimal, restrict herself to the most basic, non-denominational things? She'll have a Cross, no change there - that's a no-brainer - but right now she feels that everything about her is a no-brainer.
She'd escaped from the room as quickly as she could, had gone to Engineering in search of a familiar face and wants to forget as completely as possible the result.
x
Now, back in the privacy of her delightfully appointed quarters with its overly generous couches before the tremendous screen she could watch movies on as though in a theater, or she could host a party here, she nonetheless feels like she'd feel hopeless if she could work herself up to that height.
Trying to put the doubts, uncertainty and all the myriad bad things from her mind, she steps across the room to the desk before the rightmost of three windows, tries not to get lost in the rainbow effects of star stuff rushing from right to left, and reaches for the computer control inset in the flat surface at what would be, when sitting down, at the furthest corner. She recalls she never did remove the chip from the slot before she left so touches the interface.
"Computer, continue Log entry."
**Ready,** the feminine voice says.
"Easy for you to say," she mutters, not wanting to be heard. She sits down and tries to compose this day into a series of as few short sentences as possible.
The rushing rainbows both help and don't help, relax and make her tense. Again, caught off guard, the thought of being thrown out an airlock for – 'NO! Stop It! Just … just stop it.'
x
"Chaplain's Log Sublimin – no. Subst – no. Subli – No! Sup - le - men - tal. God, I'm going to jump out of an airlock; I just hope you'll catch me."
She forces herself to go through the breath exercises, the computer will edit them out if she tells it to. It takes a full fifteen before she feels normal - or at least not quite as horrible.
"I don't belong here. What was I thinking? I should be an Assistant at a small parish in Oshkosh, not Chaplain of a Starship.
"Proverbs 16:18 is so true, 'Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.' I never thought of myself as having a haughty spirit; I don't think I'd even know what that'd feel like but I must have it if I've brought this upon myself.
"How did I let my pride, how did I let myself push me into this? I can't go five minutes without messing up. I can't do anything right. I'm scared of messing up, I'm scared of failing when I'm most needed, I'm scared of not being able to serve this crew – I'm scared of some members of the crew!
"I almost screamed when I saw Commander Bortus, I did scream when I saw - stepped inside of - Lieutenant Yaphit but God I've never been inside someone before. I'm scared of … God, I am so Scared! Why did you direct me here? You know I'm useless."
'Moses was afraid,' she doesn't quite hear in her mind. The silent voice-thought is familiar, but 'Gideon was afraid, David was afraid, Samuel was afraid.'
"I'm not Moses or Gideon or David or Samuel or anyone else," she answers the thought that - was it her own? - it felt so familiar. "I'm Crystal McGee and I convinced myself I could do this but I was wrong. I can't do this.
"I can't."
x
She puts her head back, tries to melt into the chair; no, to fall limp in the chair like a marionette whose strings have been cut. She wants to cut them and throw them away – no matter how much nonsense that sequence makes.
"I'm not used to this 'Log' thing. I'm used to keeping a Journal - on paper - to record my thoughts on lessons, on what I've learned in classes, life lessons too but this Union thing about keeping a Log….
"There's a Reception today, pretty soon now. Great. It will give me a chance to meet the crew, those who come, and I may … I hope be able to force myself to be calm and not scream when I –.
"Okay, this is silly. I am not that much of a coward. At home I never saw an alien: in the Seminary there were many; in the Academy there were a Lot and I got used to being around them but I had time to acclimate. It wasn't like day one, hour one I meet a Moclan for the first time and step in a – what the heck is Yaphit anyway? Note to self, look it up.
"But this will be a chance to socialize, and maybe I can get comfortable enough to carry on a conversation with some of them.
"Lieutenant Kitan is my age, give or take a few months and I think I could let my hair down with her – at least a bit. Doctor Finn seems easy to talk to. I'd better be able to talk to her, I have to work with her, report to her. And Commander Grayson seems okay, I could relax a little when I talked to her even though I was acting and the Captain scares the willies out of me.
"You know, doing a Log isn't too bad, it's like a Journal, or can be, but – Wait, can anyone access a Log? If so, what am I betray –? DARN IT!" She sits forward.
"Computer, delete Supplemental."
**Supplemental deleted.**
She clutches her head, feels the ache coming but forces herself to put her hands down, to take a deep breath and to sound normal; at least to the computer. "Computer, record: Chaplain's Log, supplemental. I've met some of the crew, and there's a Reception soon for the four of us from the Tesla.
"And I have to go."