Star Diamond

Star Diamond

By Weston Hughes

Owned and Copyrighted © 2018 to 2023

1

Just breathe. You've been studying and now you're competent. You put together a resume like you're supposed to do. You're going to make that leap, back into space, on your own this time.

Nothing. Bad. Is going. To happen.

You don't need to hold someone else's hand. You can take care of yourself. You're not stupid. You can make smart decisions. Don't feel bad for dad, and for sis: they'll be fine. We split and follow our own destinies, like the ancients say we have to, anyway. You're tired of not doing it. You're tired of being afraid. You can communicate with people throughout the Cronoptikos binary star system and that's a valuable asset. HL gave you work papers. You have good things going for you. And you found a ship that needs your services...

These were my thoughts as I walked down the street to the Targo ports while the green and red suns danced on opposite sides of the sky. Masses of people, mostly giant anthropoid avians native to this planet, Iuko, trotted around the starports on business and pleasure, eyeing my smaller human self in passing. The galaxy was far more connected than ever before, each day bringing another star into the fold of cosmopolitan space, thus the natives ignored my alien presence.

I packed my bag with everything needed to survive, even if the specific ship I contacted chose not to take my services. Whatever... I'm bound to get the attention of someone in the vicinity. No matter what: this is it! I'm out. Gone. Going somewhere to do something for myself without my family attached-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

I knew this number would pop up. Looking down at my wrist-comm: DAD. I slowed down and brought the visor to my face, clicking the button for connectivity. My father's bearded face weary and blank.

"...You're leaving, aren't you?" he sighed.

I wanted to stop, yet pushed forward, feeling courageous for the first time in a long time. I picked my words carefully. "Sorry dad, but please don't try to stop me. I've made up my mind. I know languages, I know culture, I'm ready to work, and I'm tired being at home... Please don't worry about me: I know what I'm doing. And before you say it: I know you think I think I know what I'm doing, and I still have to try. Besides, you've got Viola at the house... Nothing's going to happen."

My father stared, wanting to wipe his face, wanting to yell at me, wanting to cry, wanting to cling to his family. Blinking a few times, "Daughter, you should wait. You're still-"

"-Too young?" I finished for him. Summoning a strong voice to soothe him, "Maybe, but I won't feel good about myself unless I move out." Harsher words wanted to pour out, keeping myself respectfully grounded. "I gotta' go. I'll be fine! And I promise I'll check in with you and Vi."

My thoughtful dad labored to say the right thing, still fastened to the lasting dream of our family when his kids were still teeny. "Don't put yourself in a position to be taken advantage of. There's terrible people out there, and they won't think twice about using you." Heavy duty reality: what fathers do best.

Alright conscience, you win. Looking ahead, seeing distant starships flying, the sound of engines and combustion hitting my ears, and the voices of alien peoples with unique experiences all around, I signed off, "Thanks. You're not wrong, dad. You'll see me again. Just take care of yourself."

He realized he would lose this war, and chose the difficult high ground. "You're still my little girl, Port." Purposeful, and gushy.

"Right. I love you." Clicking off, his face ended on neither a grin nor a scowl, just a neutral acceptance. The tragedy of losing my mother and younger brother on the ship ten years ago weighed on us all, and he had to feel terrified he was going to lose me. I was also a woman, so who knows what depravity people might pursue. While I didn't want to think about how cruel the universe could be to its own children, I couldn't let that dependency make me miserable any longer. The great Jacobus Othello Bardolph knew, deep down, his daughter would fly from the nest at some point.