THE END OF BEGINNINGS

TWENTY-FOUR

Moros leaned back in the old chair.  His eyes watched the dazzling spectacle of excited particles and streams of distorted matter race past the Pilgrim's viewports.  His ears listened to the faint rattle of loose console covers from around the cockpit.  It wasn't a sound that made the seventeen-year-old nervous.  He'd been hearing the subtle noises of the ancient ship his whole life.  Centuries of traveling through hyperspace, of rocketing into and out of the energized plane of the cosmic strata, had left permanent stress points throughout the craft.
After a minute or two, Moros was suddenly aware of how quiet the rest of the ship was.  He pivoted the chair, then stood up.  Most of the lights of the cabin had been dimmed.  He spotted his father sitting at one of the workstations.  He was alone at the elbow-shaped table.  Moros left the cockpit, slowly approaching the spot where Geras was seated.  As he drew closer, Moros realized his father wasn't completely alone.  Nearby, Hasha was lying on one of the narrow bunks fastened to the cabin wall.  But the unconscious Hasha wasn't who Moros had meant.
Moros' eyes became fixed on the same thing that Geras was staring intently at.  Held between the thumb and index finger of both of his hands was an old image of Moros' mother.  The picture had been printed onto a small rectangle of thin glass.  Its surface had become scratched and the image had faded slightly.  Her golden hair had lost some of its luster and her skin had become subtly opaque.  Moros thought it made her appear ghost-like.  And that made the heaviness in his heart, seeing the image had created, all the more intense.
"Do you miss her," Moros finally asked, breaking the silence.
Geras didn't flinch at the sound of his son's voice from over his shoulder.  "Yes.  She has never left my heart.  And, she never will."
Geras smiled down at the picture as Moros walked closer.  "I loved her very much.  She was such a bright spirit in the universe."
"And a force to be reckoned with," Moros added.
"Very much so.  Her absence has never been anything but...profound.  Of all the things I have had to endure, watching your mother suffer and waste away was, by far, the most difficult.  Watching her ascend, however,...one of the most hopeful and inspiring."
Geras lifted his gaze up toward Moros.  "As has watching you grow into the great man I know you are destined to become."
"You think I am going to be a great man?"
"Yes.  Without a doubt.  Your actions back in the village have only made me more certain of that."
"I thought you were upset with me."
Geras smiled at his son.  "No.  I was frustrated that you leapt so quickly to singularly take responsibility for something which many were simultaneously responsible for and...not.  But, I was also proud of you for that.  You were willing to sacrifice yourself to protect your family.  Not to mention your selfless actions during the dea'esh attack itself."
Geras glanced away from Moros who had taken a seat on the other side of the softly glowing desk.  "I only wish I had been a better observer of how grown up you've become and how skillful you have taught yourself to be."
Moros stared at the glass image between Geras' fingers a moment more.  Then, he looked up into his father's eyes.  "I've had the best teachers I could ask for."
Geras smiled warmly.  He let his eyes look down one last time at the old image in his hand before he placed it back in the box where he had found it.
"Does Sidonia know you still have that image of mother," Moros asked, watching as Geras placed the little rectangle of glass back amongst an assortment of supplies in the dense, square container.
"Probably," Geras answered, placing the last of the other items he had taken out of the medical kit back into the white, polymer case.  "This was one of the kits Sidonia had stocked and brought on board before we left Camrial.  She must have been holding onto it before then."
"Oh."
Geras stood up.  He touched the corner of a panel above the workstation.  A thin door opened with a whisper, revealing a crowded bin with one spot open.  "Sidonia has never been jealous of your mother," Geras said as he slid the medical kit back into the place he had pulled it from a few hours before.  It rested tightly amongst the other containers, each one packed with various tools, containers, and equipment of a medical variety.  "She was a great admirer of your mother.  She even dedicated the last years of her apprenticeship to trying to find a cure for your mother's disease.
"She felt just as much sadness as I did-and do-when the quest proved fruitless.  Sidonia is a wonderful woman, just as much as your mother was.  And I love her just as much as I loved your mother.  She has never tried to replace your mother-for me or...for you.  It is just not in her character."
Moros considered his father's words.  Memories of his cold and condescending attitude toward his stepmother from over the last few years circled guiltily through this thoughts.  He owed Sidonia an apology.  His desperate want to have his mother back in his daily life had blinded him from the mother Sidonia was trying to be.  He realized, staring up at the bin that closed behind his father, that what he wanted and what he had were not as dissimilar as he thought.  Moros promised himself he would make more of an effort with Sidonia when they returned from Atlantis.
"Father," Moros asked, turning in his seat to face Geras.  His curiosity was suddenly piqued again.  The image of his mother had reminded him of a question Geras had not completely answered.  "Why are we going to Atlantis?  Really?"
Geras leaned his head down between the narrow bunk beds near Moros.  He gently placed two fingers against Hasha's neck, checking the boy's pulse.  His heartbeat was calm and steady.  That was a good sign.  Geras hadn't been completely sure how the Aganni native would react to the cocktail of immune boosters and vaccines he had given him.  So far, they-and the mild sedative Geras had included-had only knocked him out.
"A man I once knew stands accused of firing upon and destroying a United Lantean ship and killing its crew," Geras said with a sigh, standing upright again.  "The Lantean Council is putting together a tribunal.  They want me to testify on his character."
"Why?"
"Because we used to be friends," answered Geras.  "Very close friends.  We served together in the fleet.  But, that was a long time ago."
"And you're not friends anymore?"
Geras shook his head.  "No.  We haven't been friends for a very long time.  He's dangerous and...unstable.  He suffered tremendous loss many years ago and it changed him.  The man I knew...the man I had called my best friend...well, I don't believe he exists anymore."
"What happened?"
Geras didn't answer at first.  He stared off into the ship, his mind becoming flooded with memories he did his best to keep locked away out of his consciousness.  Finally, Geras responded the best way he could.  "Consequences of a series of bad decisions...on both our parts."
Moros was about to ask more on the matter.  But, his questions never came.  Suddenly, from the narrow bunk behind him, Hasha breathed deeply.  He sat upright with a rush, smacking his head into the frame of the bunk above him.  He groaned and cursed loudly in Aganni.
"Oh, good," said Geras, looking toward Hasha.  "He's awake."
"My head feels thick," Hasha said drowsily.  "My arm is tingling.  Wha...What happened?"
"I gave you medicine to get you ready for where we are going and it put you to sleep for a few hours," Geras explained in the boy's language as he walked back toward the bunk.  He had picked something up off the workstation Moros was still sitting at.
"What medicine?  Why?  I was not sick!  Now...Now I do not feel good!"
Geras sat down at the front of the narrow bed.  Moros was watching him.  He was trying to see what was in his father's hand.  "It was a medicine to help protect your body.  You aren't used to it yet," Geras said, continuing to speak in Aganni.  "We're going to a place none of your people have ever been to before.  It is important for me to do my best to protect you, especially from any sickness you might catch."
Hasha only groaned.
Geras couldn't help but smile.  "Don't worry.  You will feel much better very soon."
"This is a very strange way to be welcomed into your people," Hasha said, holding the sides of his head."
"Maybe.  But, it is the way it has to be.  And, there's one more thing I have to do."
"What?"
"This."
"Aaah," Hasha exclaimed.  He breathed in with a loud hiss, his body recoiling from the painful, electric sting that shot through his body.  It came from a spot Geras had touched behind his right ear.
Geras smiled.  "I'm sorry for that surprise, Hasha."
The teenager gasped at the words the older man had spoken.  They were not Aganni words.  And, yet, he could understand each one of them.  He looked at Geras, his eyes wide and flooded with tremendous surprise and confusion.  With shaking fingers, Hasha tentatively touched the sensitive spot behind his ear.  There was something there.  It was barely bigger than his fingertip.  The little object was round with smooth, warm edges and a rough, spongy center.  The skin underneath it was still tingling, though most of the biting sting had already faded away.
"It's okay," said Geras.  "It's a translator.  It is a device our people sometimes use to help with understanding languages.  Now, you'll be able to understand what all of us are saying."
Moros smiled excitedly.  "Hasha, how do you feel," he asked in his own language.
Hasha looked over at his best friend.  His expression was not quite what Moros had expected.  But then again, the question Hasha had heard was not a usual one.  "How do I feet?  What about my feet," he asked in Aganni.
"Oh, dear," said Geras.  "Yeah, I was afraid of that.  Sorry, Hasha.  It isn't going to work perfectly.  At least, not for a while.  I had to program the translator with the closest language to Aganni in our database.  Soo, there's a good chance you might hear some very strange phrasing."
"All part of the adventure, I guess," Moros said, trying to force a chuckle.
Hasha groaned then slumped back onto the narrow bed.
"Hopefully," said Moros, "it's the only hiccup on our journey."
I hope so, too, Geras thought to himself.  I really hope so.