Home Sweet Home

The inhabitants of Solutan III, the planet Trenadier Station secretly orbited, evoked a sense of fascination within Lead Scientist Zham J'Taroo. Although they boasted great potential, he realized it would take decades for the inhabitants below to achieve space-traveling skills and technologies. Zham sat back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned and looked around the Atmospheric Sciences Lab. He was alone. He had been studying the planet's ionization and degradation readouts all morning in hopes that the launch would take place as scheduled, but a completely unrelated watercraft drifted too close to the ocean-side launch facility and forced a delay.

The comm system beeped at him and he glared at it, groaning in frustration. It was the sixth time someone interrupted him that morning. Zham ignored it and focused on the monitors in front of him, noting the planet's favorable atmospheric ionization rates. He took some notes and scheduled more analysis tasks for his subordinates. The comm system beeped at him again. He sighed in surrender and tapped a button on the console in front of him.

"Yes?" he asked, unable to mask the impatience in his voice.

"About time you answer me."

Zham immediately noted the unpleasant voice belonged to Kozu Danarti, the station's communications officer and principle antagonist. When you're one of thirty or so crewman, scientists, and officers living in tight quarters on a research and monitoring space station, you don't get to indulge in pissing everyone off with without committing social suicide. Shortly after his arrival, Kozu had succeeded in alienating everyone. Thankfully, he and Zham were assigned to different research projects and they rarely needed to communicate. A planetary space launch was an exception to the rule.

"I'm busy. What do you want, Kozu?" he asked. He cringed at the annoyance in his own voice.

"We're all busy today," Kozu snapped back at him. "But just so you know, they've delayed the launch again. I thought you'd like to know."

"Thanks. Wait, by again, do you mean a second time since earlier today?"

"Correct. Kozu out." The comm system beeped and the channel closed. He sighed loudly and stretched again. The comm beeped at him again.

"Ugh," he groaned. Zham made a less-than-professional gesture at the console as he opened the channel. "Now what?" he barked.

"Well, hello to you, too, Chief Scientist Pissypants," a female voice responded.

"Oh, hi, Jaina. I'm sorry," he said.

"No worries. Listen, Zham, the transport ship Ketinya just dropped out of hyperspace. She's thirty minutes out, which means your husband is as well. You better get cleaned up!"

Zham laughed and immediately cheered up. "Yes, Ma'am. On my way." He closed the comm channel. He could tell she was being extra-nice after having confessed to impeding Bren's security clearance.

* * *

Commander Jaina Temark ruled Trenadier Station with a semi-iron fist and, at present, was Zham's commanding officer and close friend. Their friendship began eight years ago when they met at the military academy. She was there when Zham met Bren, and she was his First Lady at their wedding four months ago. As a favor, she pulled strings and landed Zham an assignment on Trenadier Station. Getting his husband's security clearance so that he could live with him on the station turned out to be a lengthier ordeal. At least, that's what Zham had assumed until Jaina confessed otherwise.

At dinner one night, she nervously explained that the delay in Bren's security clearance was her fault. She had intentionally delayed his paperwork because she thought Bren's presence would ruin her friendship with Zham. She worried Bren would occupy all of Zham's time and leave her alone, again. She shared with Zham that all of her newly married friends had disappeared from her life one by one as they moved in new directions. Zham was the last of her dearest friends, and since she didn't want to lose him as well, she had selfishly postponed his security clearance for their spousal residence request. It should have only taken three weeks, she admitted, not three months.