Chapter Text
Despite my resolve to type a message to Valia, once again I draw a blank. I look back out the glass to the twin stars of Caledonia, slowly moving away, and finally find the words.
“Looks like the Garden is departing.” It’s simple, sure, and probably a dumb thing to start a conversation with, but before I have time to think about how dumb it is, she’s replied.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it? Feeling the journey truly begin?”
I can still hear her voice clearly.
“It kind of is. I’m very nervous, I’ve never left Eternia before. Space flight is all very new to me. But the ship is very nice, and there seems like a lot to do, so I’m sure I can keep my mind off the sheer scale of everything.” I reply.
“I’ve heard the Garden is a lovely ship. It’s got the most onboard green space of any Starliner in the Imperial fleet, and the most dining options on any Starliner.”
“Do you know if there’s birds onboard? I think I heard some when I was in the Plaza earlier, eating lunch.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were. I’m not sure if there’s supposed to be, however.”
“I think it would be nice for them to have some wildlife onboard. It would help liven it up.”
“I agree! Although, it would probably be a mess as well,” I start a reply, but another message from Valia interrupts me. “Ah, I’m sorry Ciel, something just came up that needs my attention. Talk to you later tonight?”
“Oh, sure thing! Talk to you then.” After I send the message, I close my PAD and stow it away. I take one last look at the image of Earth, and wave my hand to dispel it. I’ll get to see the real thing soon.
-)(-
I take a look at the map of the Garden once more on the elevator ride down to the Plaza. Onboard, there’s holo-theatres, live theatres, bowling alleys, clubs, a mini-golf course, all kinds of dining and drinking options, virtual reality arcades, even something marketed as “classic karaoke.” There’s also shopping for a good deal of things, from food and produce to souvenirs and clothes. My mother made sure to give me a healthy budget for “little things here and there, on top of meals,” not realising that the school has covered my meals for the trip, meaning I could in theory use any of it for personal purchases. I should probably clear that with mom, though. The elevator opens back up to the plaza, now with crew bustling about setting up decorations and stands for the cast-off party. As I start to walk back to my stateroom, I open my PAD up again and send my mom a message.
“Hey Mom, so, it turns out the University gave me a generous meal plan. What should I with all the money you gave me for food?” Surprisingly, her response doesn’t take long.
“Well, if the school is taking care of meals, all that money can go towards little things, can’t it? I looked up the ship you’re on, there’s lots to do! If you need some more, let me know, ok? How’s everything been so far?”
“Everything has been really good. I met a miner on my shuttle flight over, I think you’d like him, and there was this girl on the station who I talked with for a few hours about all the places she’d been.” As soon as I send that, I realise my mother will tease me to no end about it, and I cringe in regret.
“Ooooh, a girl, eh?”
“Mom”
“Was she pretty?”
“Mom, please”
“Where’s she been? What’s her name?? Are you going to see her again?” My mother’s last message sends a painful twang through my heart, and I race to reply before she can make things worse.
“She stayed on the Starbase.” Says my first message. “I have her contact ID but I don’t know if I’ll see her again.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to see her again, CeCe, don’t worry. Ah, break time’s almost up. We should have the Quantum Satellite within range tomorrow night, so please call and let me see you!”
“I will, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too!”
I sigh as she again ends her message with a kiss-face emoji. There’s still about three hours to go until the cast-off party, so I decide to go get properly settled into my stateroom before then.
On the way, I see a peculiar store and decide to step inside. A bell attached to the doorframe dings as I enter. An old man is behind an elegant wooden counter, and smiles as I enter.
“Well, hello there!” He sounds very similar to a grandpa in a TV show or a movie, a gentle Imperial accent flavouring his soft voice. “Feel free to take a look around. I sell mostly antique-style notebooks and journals, but I have a few calendars in stock since we’ll be arriving after the new year. Oh, and I sell pens, of course.”
I take a look around the many shelves lined with leather-bound journals with actual paper, something of a rare sight outside of the Inner Colonies and Core Worlds. I gingerly remove one of the journals from the shelf. It’s got a leather cord wrapped around it keeping it closed, so I unwrap that and open it, running my fingers across the blank pages. Growing up in a relatively new colony, paper simply wasn’t a part of my childhood. It was a matter of space, as one box of PADs could hold as much information as 1,000 boxes of 100,000 sheets of paper. That meant more space on the ship for food and other supplies that would prove more useful than paper. It’s strange, feeling the texture of it compared to the smooth screens of the PAD’s I’ve used. I hear the old shopkeeper walk to me. I turn to face him, and he smiles.
“All these journals are hand-made. 100% real Reach-wood paper, bound in ethically sourced leather. What brings you to Earth, perhaps I can find a journal to help you suit your needs best?”
“I’m going to attend the Imperial University at London,” I answer. “Film degree.” The old man’s eyes widen with curiosity.
“Ooh, a film degree? Well, I’m afraid I don’t have any journals or notebooks specialising in scripts, but you might like a small pocket one to keep on you in case inspiration strikes,” He looks around briefly before walking over to another shelf and taking a journal off it. When he hands it to me, it’s not much bigger than my PAD. “And you’ll probably want something lined for school. Just a moment,” He again walks off and brings me another one. It’s a little larger than the one I had picked up, and has a small clasp on it. He gingerly folds the corner down and shows me the pages within, each full of lines to help organise the contents within. “This would be more suited for taking notes in a lecture.” I nod, and gently take the notebook from him.
“I’ll take all three of these,” I say. He gestures to the counter, and lets me pass as we return. He enters the purchase into his register, and as I feel the pages again I think of a question. “Oh, earlier you mentioned ‘Reach-wood.’ What does that mean?”
“Ah, almost all paper nowadays is made either from trees originating on Reach, or trees that originated on Earth. Hence ‘Reach-wood’ and ‘Earth-wood.’ Reach-wood paper is usually cheaper, but heavier and rougher to the touch. It also has a tendency to discolour more slowly. Earth-wood paper is the opposite, being very smooth and light, but more expensive and if stored improperly, can start to discolour towards a yellow hue,” I nod my head in understanding. The register dings and a PAD scanner lights up. “Total comes to £80,” I place my PAD on the scanner and it lights up green. A chime from the register signals a successful transaction. The old man fetches a bag from under the counter, and loads my purchase into it. He adds a small box on top, then hands the bag to me. “As a little extra, a pen for you. Enjoy!” I take the bag, and thank the old man as I leave the store and return to my stateroom.
-)(-
After a half-hour spent getting properly settled into my stateroom, I take out the mid-sized journal I bought and the box with the pen from the bag, taking a seat at the dining room table. I open the journal to the first page and think about what I want this book to be. A list of film ideas? Dialogue practice? I’m not great at it, but perhaps a sketchbook? I take the admittedly very nice-looking pen out of it’s box, and touch it to the paper. I take a deep breath, and begin to write about my trip so far.
I’ve filled three pages when I catch up to the present. I detailed my feelings as I left home, the excitement of being on the shuttle as it took off, Rick’s so-called “Southern Hospitality,” the cramped lodgings at the Starbase, and of course, every moment I had with Valia. I look at the time, just past 14:00 IST. I look across the entryway to the kitchen, and resolve that I should probably go use some of that generous grocery budget the school paid for. My PAD chimes, and I’m delighted to see it’s from Valia.
“Finally got a moment to myself. What are you up to?”
“I was about to go get some groceries.”
“Well that doesn’t sound very exciting.”
“It probably won’t be, but it needs to be done. The most exciting thing I’ve done today is probably what I just got done doing.”
“And what would that have been?”
“I bought a couple journals from a shop near the Plaza. Started filling one of them out with my journey so far. I’ve never had a paper journal before, so it was a new experience for sure! Having the feedback of the pen on the paper was very…cathartic?”
“It is, isn’t it? To think, that was the only way to communicate for hundreds of years.”
“Really puts things in perspective, huh?”
“You’ll find a lot of things do. Ah, I’ve got to go again. Talk to you later?”
“Talk to you later.”
“Looking forward to it.”
That last message makes my heart skip a beat, and I find myself full of warmth as I begin towards the grocer.
-)(-
An hour and a half later, I return, with enough ingredients to prepare a number of dishes for about two weeks. As I stock the fridge and freezer with my haul, I take note of the appliances the kitchen has to offer. It is, simply put, a very nice kitchen. Smaller than the one I grew up with, but there’s still enough room to make some complex meals. The cabinets are full of dishes, pots, pans, a pressure cooker and a mixer. The drawers hold the silverware and smaller cooking tools. The upper cabinets have cups for all manner of drinks. Wine, water, whisky, and of course, tea. I also spot an electric kettle and a selection of teabags, ready for use. I realise now that I’ve never had homemade tea.
“Well, no better time to start than the present.” I say to myself, grabbing the kettle, a teabag, and a teacup. Thankfully, there’s an instruction card with the kettle.
“1) Fill the kettle to line. 2) Place on heater and plug in, switch on and wait for whistling. 3) Pour boiling water into the teacup, and let the tea bag steep for a few minutes. Three to four is a good catch-all. 4) Mix in sugar or honey to taste.”
The instructions are written in several other languages across the front and back, but I’ve gleaned what I need to know. I follow the instructions, and wait for the pot to begin whistling. After two minutes pass, I realise this may take awhile, and take out my PAD and open up the Encyclopedia Britannia. I hit the “random article” button and decide to let fate decide what I get to learn about today.
“INV Calliope(1937)
Not to be confused with the ISNV Calliope
INV Calliope was an Imperial Navy Battleship and lead ship of her class of ‘super-heavy battleships’ constructed during The Second Great War. She remains the largest and heaviest battleship ever constructed, displacing 82,000 long tonnes at full load and armed with 12 48cm ‘Reaper’ cannons, the largest guns ever mounted on a sea-faring warship.
She was designed in 1935 for several reasons. The Imperial Navy until this point was uncontested in the number of capital ships it possessed. But the other Great Powers began to utilise the dockyards of smaller nations to bolster their numbers, and British naval dominance was no longer unquestioned. The Imperial Navy began accepting designs for a ‘ship designed to counter a numerically superior enemy and instil a sense of national pride.’ Of two dozen applicants, three finalists were selected. Imperial, Calliope, and Trident. During the presentation, the designer for the Calliope was asked why he named his design after a Greek Muse, to which he allegedly responded, ‘Oh, no, I named it after a manifestation of beauty in death. But sure, we can go with the Greek Muse thing.’”
A whistling sound brings me out of the article, and I rush to prepare my tea. Once the tea bag is set, I set a timer and return to the article, feeling a little confused about that “manifestation of beauty in death” bit.
“While the Imperial-class design won the first contracts, the Calliope-class was kept available in the event of improvements in engine technology, as current engines couldn’t produce the speed needed for a warship of her size at the time. The requisite advancements would arrive in 1944 as the war progressed, and she was finally laid down on April 4th, 1945 at the Scottish Royal Shipyards in Edinburgh, in a dockyard built for the earlier Imperial-class vessels. Extreme secrecy was maintained throughout her construction, with a canopy being erected over part of the drydock to hide her from view. Spies from all of the constituent nations of the Pact of Iron were caught attempting to steal photographs of the vessel’s construction and blueprints from the Shipyards, leading many historians to believe they were attempting to reverse-engineer her design, but there was no concentrated effort to do so.”
I squint. The Pact of Iron? I don’t think I’ve heard about this. I tap on the link and the page springs up.
“Pact of Iron
The Pact of Iron(French: Pacte de fer, German: Eisenpakt, Greek: Σιδηρούν Σύμφωνο, translit. Sidiroún Sýmfono, Chinese: 铁的契约, translit. Tiě de qìyuē, lit. “Iron Contract”), known formally as the Iron Trade and Alliance Pact, later the Pact for the Reclamation of Conquered Territories, was a military and political alliance between the French Republic, the Second Teutonic State, the People’s Republic of China, and the Second Byzantine Empire.
The pact was initially drafted as a tripartite pact between the French, Teutonics, and Byzantines over plans to regain territories lost to the British in the Treaty of Paris. Signed January 12th, 1936 under the public guise of a simple trade agreement of iron and other resources, and a secret second set of protocols concerning a military alliance aimed at countering Britannia. China joined the pact on December 17th, 1936, through their close ties with the Teutonics. In 1937, the pact revealed the secret second protocols and formalised the military alliance.”
Another timer dings, and reality rushes back to me. I take a sip of the tea I made and immediately understand why the instructions recommended sugar. It’s extremely bitter. Thankfully, pre-measured sugar packets line the box with the teabags. I mix in two and take another sip, and the bitterness has been replaced with a pleasant sweetness that has just the right amount of bitter underneath.
“I could get used to this.” I say out loud, before looking back to the article. The “Second Teutonic State” link intrigues me, so I tap the link and descend further into my new research.
-)(-
I’m who-knows how many pages deep in the Encyclopedia Britannia when a message comes through, a reminder from the crew. It’s announcing that the Cast-Off Party’s food and drink service has begun. Looking at the time, the Cast-Off Party started a few hours ago. I debate exactly how bad I want to go, and after a few minutes of deliberation, land on the decision that going can’t hurt. Besides, I might meet someone fun, and it’s not like I have to stay all night. I rinse my teacup and double-check I’ve got all my things before I venture back out towards the plaza.
I can already hear the beats of music in the elevator, and by the time I’ve gotten back up to Deck 22, I can feel it in my chest. When I pass back into the Plaza, I can feel it everywhere. The lights have been turned a little bit lower, and strobes and colourful beams flash and swing around. The area around the tree has become a dance floor, filled with people wearing neon-glowing bands and necklaces. Any shop that doesn’t serve food or drink has closed early, but the ones that do are packed full as people go to redeem the complimentary dining offered. I suddenly feel quite overwhelmed, and wonder how exactly I managed to land on the “it can’t hurt to go” conclusion. I scan around to see if there’s anyone I could possibly start a conversation with, and find no-one. I feel awkward standing by the doorway so I start to walk away, and come to a new conclusion.
I’ve got no idea what to do. I’ve never been a party-goer and I only recently became of age to drink, so I’ve not had much experience at bars or anything, and Pag-Asa was a small colony on a small world. I’ve never been around crowds like this. Thankfully, nobody seems to have noticed if I look as uncomfortable as I feel. I glance wildly around and find a bar that doesn’t look too full and beeline in. I take a seat at the end and wave at the bartender, who gives me a nod as he serves another customer. He makes his way to my end and shouts over the music.
“What can I get ya!?” His accent is distinctly Scottish, pronounced with the volume he has to speak at to be heard. For a moment, I panic, before blurting out,
“I’m new to this!” The bartender cocks his head to the side and gestures broadly.
“To bars or the whole partyin’ scene?!”
“Yes!” I respond. The bartender nods and starts making me a drink. It’s some kind of cocktail, a bright blue that almost seems to glow out of the plastic cup it’s in. He throws in a straw and hands it to me.
“That’s a Winter Bolt! Tastes fine and won’t smash ya too early! Great starter drink!” He explains. I take a sip and a tingly, almost bubbly sweetness dances across my tongue, followed by the signature burn of alcohol, though it’s barely noticeable. “Ya like it?!” The bartender asks. I nod enthusiastically. He winks and moves down to tend to another customer. I pull out my PAD and tap it to the bar, bringing up a “tip” screen. I leave him a few pounds and go back into the party, feeling a little less out-of-place now that I’ve got a drink.
-)(-
And two Winter Bolts later, I’m feeling right in place. By no means am I throwing my weight around on the dance floor, but I’m not stuck statue-like on the fringes of the party. I’ve managed to secure myself some glow-bands, and I’m greeting people as I walk around, slowly but surely getting into the beat. As I finish my third drink and throw away the cup, I notice how much…wider apart everything feels. How much lighter I feel. I think I’m getting a little buzzed. I make my way up to the second floor to distance myself from the multitude of drinks being offered. I find a bench in a quieter spot and take a seat, feeling immediately better.
“Whoo boy,” I say out loud. “I think I went a little fast there.” I jump out of the bench when a voice next to me says,
“Feelin’ the buzz a little sooner than ye thought, eh?” It’s a man’s voice, with a thick Irish accent. He laughs as I notice him for the first time, having apparently missed the fact I sat right next to him. “Well, that settles it. Ye hardly noticed ye parked yer duff right next to me!” As he laughs again, I find myself starting to laugh too. He extends his hand, and introduces himself as I shake it. “Sean MacDonough.”
“Ciel.” I reply, sitting back down. I notice that he’s got an easel, and is sketching the scene below.
“So Ciel,” He asks, returning to work on his sketch. “What’s got ye on a trip ta Earth?”
“I’m going to the Imperial University in London. Film degree.” I answer.
“Film degree? In London? I heard Copenhagen’s the place ta go fer t’at.”
“I heard that too, after getting accepted in London. But, I also managed to get into the Imperial History course there, and as someone growing up in a Free Colony, I thought it might be interesting.”
“Oh ya, th’ Imperial History course is top o’th’ line fer sure. I heard it’s taught by an American, though. Seems a bit strange, if ye ask me.”
“I suppose it might be, yeah, but I talked to him earlier and he seems pretty passionate. Might be how he got in?”
“Might be. Passion’ll take ye a lotta places if ye let it. Me, fer example. Passionate about me art, and it’s taken me from Béal Feirste Nua ta New Omaha ta Memorial ta right here, on a Starliner ta Earth. Finally decidin’ ta visit Éire herself.”
“Éire?” I ask, having never heard that word before.
“Irish for Ireland,” Sean clarifies. “I’ve always wanted to visit the homeland. Ah, shite.” He curses, erasing a mistake he appears to have made.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Sean, how did you get started on drawing?”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all! See, me pa was real gifted with a camera. And don’t get me wrong, a good picture’ll capture th’ energy of a moment like nothin’ else. But a drawin’ or a paintin’? T’at gets the artist’s perspective of the energy of a moment. It’s got a certain touch to it that you just miss in a photo. What about you? What’s got ye interested in film makin’?”
Sean’s question catches me a little off guard. It might just be the progressing buzz, but I can’t find an answer.
“Uh…I don’t…entirely know.”
“Buzz hittin’ you a touch harder now?”
“I think so,” I say with a chuckle. “I should probably stop for the night.”
“As an Irishman,” Sean says, turning to me with a smile. “I'm exactly the wrong person to ask.” We share a laugh, and I slowly stand up. The room isn’t spinning, but I worry it might start and I’d much rather be in my stateroom when it does.
“Well Sean, it’s been nice talking but I think I’m going to go lie down.”
“Fair play, fair play,” He responds. “Pleasure talkin’ with ye! See you ‘round the ship!” A quick salute-like gesture, and he returns to his drawing. I start back towards my stateroom, confident that I am indeed buzzed.
-)(-
I flop down on my bed and sigh. I guess going to the party wasn’t a total bust. I suppose I found out that I can’t handle much alcohol. Or at the very least, I need to slow down when I drink. As I predicted, the room doesn’t feel very stable, even laying down in my bed. I pull out my PAD and open the link to the history series, and then close it. I don’t know that I would retain anything I learn. Instead I send a message to Valia.
“Are you busy?”
Drunk texting. This can only go well.
“No, actually. I’m all done with my work for the day. What about you?” Even though it’s just a message, I still hear the lovely accent of her voice ringing through the air.
“Not busy at all. I went to the cast-off party and I think I had too much to drink.”
“You’re not still drinking, are you?”
“No, I stopped a bit ago. I went to sit down to make sure I wasn’t completely drunk and accidentally sat next to an Irish guy, but he was pretty cool.”
“His name was Sean and he was drawing the party.”
“What’d you two talk about?”
“Our plans for Earth, mostly. He’s going to Ireland, he said.”
“I’ve heard it’s a lovely place. Perhaps you’ll be able to make time to visit?”
“I sure hope so. It’s a short enough trip from London.”
“I think.”
“I’ve never been drunk before is it normal to feel kinda fuzzy?”
“Yes, Ciel, it is. But you should probably think about going to bed if you feel like that.”
“And you might want to drink some water, too. It’ll help for the morning.”
“I will try. The bed is very comfy and I may be trapped.”
“Yeah, trapped by the comfy. I guess it’s bedtime.”
“Hopefully tomorrow you’ll have the strength to break free of that trap. Goodnight, Ciel.”
“Goodnight, Valia.”
I put my PAD on my nightstand and wriggle under the covers. The warmth embraces me and my eyelids become very heavy. I take a deep breath and before I know it, I’m fast asleep.