Stella, My Star

25

It is inevitable that the rebel cause will continue to bubble and ooze like the mud pools on the outer reaches of Blood Diamond. We will always be fighting a faction of disenchanted, brainwashed thugs trying to form alliances with the other three intelligent species we have found since the start of space exploration. But we have the upperhand over the human rebels; money, numbers, knowledge, influence. The Artiqewans have well and truly retreated back to their own corner of the universe, realising it is safer to not trust these human divisions.

The Destructor and the Berserker will return to full function and crew again after three weeks of mechanical and technical overhaul. We are questioned, briefly, about the final moments on the Destructor when Schilling, Black and their two henchman wound up dead, but the four of us devise a team survival strategy and collaborate on a story of pure defence. We then take leave and, firstly, pay tribute, to a lost friend and colleague.

Rex Brock's funeral makes us realise the fragility of life that we all too often forget when we usually crew an I.S.F. ship. As we comfort his wife, Amanda, that day, we are grateful for each other, truly grateful that fate has brought us together again. Two people who have found each other, despite the size of the universe. We stand there, squeezing each others' hands as acknowledgement that we are alive and well.

We spend the rest of those three weeks together, you and I, ignoring our usual roles and living it up luxuriously in a unit on Concordia as "average" civilians. We rarely walk out the door for all the conversation and catching up on our lives apart. Of course, the deep and meaningful conversations are generously interspersed with the passionate moments where we find ourselves intimately enjoying each other in every room, and joking about the lack of clothes washing that needs to be done. 

We hold hands some more, touch often, laugh at newly shared memories of our pasts, and bask in each other's familiar company.

There is a realisation that command may split us because of our obvious relationship, and permanently transfer me to another spaceship to avoid distractions and perceived bias working alongside each other. But we agree to cross that bridge if and when we come to it. A little whispering in Lynch's ear may suffice.

As I finish my sandwich, lying in bed next to you and watching you on your commscreen, you kiss me between the eyes. I look at that soft, kind face, trying to take it in as a permanent fixed memory in my brain. I roll slightly and look out the window to the tail end of a passing shuttle, floating silently by.

How did I get so lucky?  How could I be in this position, so at peace now with my past and so hopeful for my future?

My eyelids get heavy, and I close them to the sound of a melodious tune strangely drifting in from the distance.

I dream one last time of the wheatfield on Earth; peaceful, with the warm sun on my back. I am standing, as I have always been, in the middle of the crop. The sky is more brilliant, a more perfect azure than any past Earth memories I have had. My sweet smelling blonde hair flows around my shoulders down to my waist, and my virgin white dress blows gently in the breeze. This time with hands reaching up, I effortlessly spin, feeling a joyous mix of heady emotion. Then strong hands playfully clench my waist.  I giggle and get taken into loving arms that embrace me fully.

"There you are, Stella, my star." You kiss my neck. "I have you now."

My smile can be no wider than it is. I open my eyes in the dream, and there is that face I cannot, will never, forget.

"I love you, Sam,"  I confess, without hesitation. "Don't ever let me go."

Staring back at me in the reflection of your grey eyes, beside that cloudless blue that suddenly fades to a starry scape of northern lights, is a face I barely recognise. It is me; calm and satisfied, as serene as the setting. I kiss your lips. Then I feel the sensation of floating upwards to meet the ethereal glow in the sky.