The Navigator

Assignment

Assignment

"Dr. Christopher Fox?" the attendant said, announcing it as if there were more waiting in the antechamber than just himself.

Rising, he ran a hand through his almost black hair. He wished he'd had time for a haircut. He felt shaggy and unkempt. Stepping forward, he turned to face his reflection in the viewport window and attempted to smooth the creases out of his nicest shirt. His eyes changed focus and he stared at the starry space beyond, still in awe of living in space on the orbiting station, even after many years.

And now he was going to have his first field assignment. After eight years of toil he was finally ready to apply his knowledge. It's not like studying at the academy was bad or anything. It was just boring. He wanted adventure, excitement, and the thrill of making new discoveries. This was almost certainly his only chance.

The attendant stood aside, allowing him to enter. He strode into the chamber, standing tall and trying to portray confidence he didn't feel. He was surprised by its sparse furnishings. He had expected the council chambers to be opulent and grand. This was infinitely more intimidating.

Seated behind a long wooden desk were the seven council members. Sitting across from them in a row of uncomfortable looking chairs was Dr. Phillips. She looked just as uncomfortable as the chair she was sitting in. He could see the look of disappointment on her face as she turned toward him.

"Please be seated, Dr. Fox, we'll be with you in a moment," Dr. Gron Shockly, the council chair, said to him.

Dr. Shockly was an intimidating, weathered man with a deep set scowl and stern jaw. Dr. Fox sat as he resumed speaking.

"As we said, Dr. Phillips, we are not willing to risk the reputation of our organization on your speculation."

"But it's not speculation. I've got evidence, honest-to-goodness evidence. There is a lost alien civilization out there," Dr. Phillips responded, conviction coloring her voice.

"You have some symbols you claim make up a star chart. But how could primitive cultures have had star charts?"

"They're not primitive. It's a ruse, I believe. The cities hide a secret, I'm sure of it. The symbols I've decoded support my theory. You can read my papers on the topic, then you'll understand."

"We've read them," round-faced, dark skinned Dr. Osaka Osain said from the end of the table. "And we were not swayed. Your theories are indeed interesting, but lack substantive proof."

Dr. Fox knew Dr. Osain as pragmatic and steadfast, a strong proponent of fieldwork. Yet here he seemed to be agreeing with the chairman. In fact, all the counselors' faces seemed to mirror the sentiment of complete indifference. He was surprised. Dr. Phillips had a sterling reputation. He'd followed her career closely, even written his thesis on her discovery of the ancient Valteran people. Maybe her latest theories were crackpot, if the entire council was this skeptical.

"Whether you think my research is worthwhile or not, don't you think I've earned the latitude to pursue it? My research has benefited the Bureau of Cultural Reclamation greatly. You can't deny the magnitude of the discovery it would be if my theories are correct. And if not, the BCR gains one more ancient culture's remains to notch its belt."

Dr. Fox watched as the counselors' faces darkened, obviously prickling at her heated remarks.

"If I fail, I'll step down. How's that, enough for you people?" Dr. Phillips continued hotly.

"Indeed, I look forward to it," the chairman replied, vitriol in his voice.

"So you'll approve my expedition?"

The chairman snorted. "Your expedition? We're not awarding the funding you've requested, that's madness. We are graciously, and I do mean graciously, appointing a research assistant to you. Be thankful, or I may rescind even that."

"Welcome Dr. Fox, thank you for volunteering for fieldwork. You are being assigned to Dr. Phillips for the duration of her expedition. Your stipend will be sixteen-hundred credits per month until your return," Dr. Osain interjected.

Dr. Phillips turned, an anxious look on her face. Her eyes landed on him and he saw the same disappointment he'd seen earlier.

"A greenhorn researcher? You give me a bookworm?" she said angrily.

"Remember, we were gracious. We could just as easily not be," the chairman responded. "You're a resourceful woman, I'm sure you'll find a way to make it work."

Rising slowly, she said through gritted teeth, "Thanks for your help."

She turned and strode from the hall, motioning for Dr. Fox to follow. He fell in line behind her, struggling to keep up with her brisk pace.

She wasn't a young woman, but not old by any means of the word. He guessed she was forty, maybe forty five, but he wouldn't dare ask her. Besides, his young twenty-six made him feel like a kid next to her.

"Dr. Phillips, I'm Dr. Christopher Fox. I'm so excited to be working with you, I wrote my thesis on your discovery of the Valteran civilization. I've read your papers, I think you're..." he was interrupted with a raised hand.

"You've got two hours. The shuttle from bay A-two-seventy-nine will be your ride to my ship. Don't be late. Oh, and don't call me Dr. Phillips, call me Reese," she said, turning down a corridor and striding away.

He watched her as she walked away. It didn't matter that he thought she was good looking. It didn't matter that she had golden hair that was always tied neatly in a pony tail. Her looks were irrelevant, he was awed by her mind. He had read all of her papers, seen all of her holovids. Her research had taken her all over the galaxy. She was brilliant, confident, and worldly.

Simply put, she was his idol. And he was working for her. Now he just had to figure out how to tell his mother he wouldn't be there for dinner.