Reality intrudes without warning, without guarantees. I could not yet wrap my thoughts around the chain of events that so rudely dropped the mantle of authority on my frail shoulders, but I was beginning to see that every power answers to a higher power. For me, that higher power was the need of the armada. With so many races working together, with so many cultures, needs, and hopes, leadership simply could not fail. The face of that higher power was Captain Taush.

He and I stood shoulder to shoulder before the council of elders. They were twelve Huims of cycle twenty and above. None were as old as Nathlan but that body of appointed officials acted as the executive arm of the King’s authority. They sat behind a white table and were dressed in white robes. If ever a soul exuded mastery, those twelve were the precedent. I felt nervous. I was ill at ease as when I had stood before my schoolmasters in my formative rotations.

Their speaker sat at the center of the white table. After receiving the suggestions of the Captain, and the judgments of his fellow elders, he voiced the final decision. “It is decided, then,” said he. “The ranking representatives within their fields, those selected by Captain Taush of the Eighth Elite Legion, will each be allotted thirty rotations to bring the heir of our King up to speed. Test results will be delivered to this council for review and recommendation. With no further issues pending, I deem this council adjourned.”

There it was, the proclamation of doom. My heart sank as I realized how much of my time would be taken from me. Perhaps, what I mean to say is I realized I would be away from my Seed Ship for turns untold. I would stagger back to my compartment, brain-weary, and soul-numb, to complete my shipboard labors from my communication node. I would have to put the Kee in charge of every task. I would see my ship in dark mode only and there would be a dearth of personal contact. As I hung my head and massaged my brows, the Captain spoke.

“Come, now,” said he. “It will not be that bad. Learning these things will keep you from having to ask later.” He took my arm and turned me away from the council. As we walked away, he continued to speak. “I have recently learned that two of the four guards I had secured for you were pulled away for other duties. For the time being, Khamuel and Barachiel will be your sole guards.”

“That’s fine,” I replied.

Taush informed me, as we neared the transport tree, “I will send a list of your instructors to your node.”

Feeling wholly defeated, I thanked the Captain and stepped into the tree. I took the lift down and walked to my quarters. My guards looked up from a board game as I went past. I fell into my bed and threw an arm across my eyes. I felt that life had taken a bite out of me. I felt that my personal freedom had been violated in the worst way. I should have shouted at the Captain. I should have railed and used foul language. Instead, I thanked him like the loser I thought I was. Why do people say thank you for that which is forced upon them? I may never know but my bitter ruminations were halted by the door alarm.

I half expected to find Rigil standing there when I opened the door. I was surprised to see Ava smiling up at me. She held a tray of food. Sliced beef under a steaming thick gravy was heaped on a yellow porcelain plate. Beside that were a salad, a roll, and a glass of water. The beef smelled good to me, the rich aroma made me hungry. I stood aside to allow her in. As she walked past, I saw my two guards watching me. What did they imagine they saw, I wondered, suddenly angry. I pointed my finger at their board game and closed my door.

I don’t ask much from life. My ship, my people, and an occasional plate of sliced beef will get me by. Ava sat with me while I ate. I told her my sad tale, and she was sad with me. She spoke of ship matters, of the children in Thusa, of the needs over in Hope, of the ranch. We laughed together and spoke of coming changes. For a turn, in the company of a sweet soul, life seemed right and good. When Ava left, I sat at my node to read the list of instructors. The floor fell from beneath me as I understood that on the following rotation, I would be under the thumb of science instructor 0L01. I hated science.

Seeing 0L01, I had to rethink my initial assessment. One can not be under the thumb of a Phlaecian. Phlaecians were versatile and poetic in their movements. The advancement into atomic existence worked to their advantage. Almost all of them added a skeletal matrix to their larger tentacles which permitted bipedal locomotion. His tentaclegs, as they were called, made a rolling motion as he walked across the room. The two mid-section tentacles were used as brace guides. As he passed the room’s central console, one of his upper tentacles snapped up a portable node and tapped it on. Olol, as he preferred to be called, stood a mere hand before me and turned his mottled head so that both of his large eyes could see me. He bowed slightly forward in greeting and I did likewise.

I was unsure what I might say in our initial exchange and was glad that he spoke first. “I am Olol. I will be your instructor. The elders have communicated to me,” he said, checking the portable node, “that your grasp of basic science is weak. That is unacceptable for one of your position. I shall repair that deficit.”

I said, apologetically, “Admittedly, I don’t have a head for science. I hope you make it painless.”

Olol made a gurgling noise, which I took for a laugh, and replied, “Engage. Engulf. Wrap your mind around the truth and it is a part of you.” As he said that, two of his upper tentacles wrapped themselves around what might have been a neck in another species.

Without preamble, Olol turned and walked to the large wall monitor across the room. Beneath the monitor was an atomic light-activated touchpad as long as the monitor was broad. His tentacles quickly manipulated the touchpad. An atomic seat appeared behind him and adapted to his form as he sat. With another tap, he provided a seat for me. Don’t get me wrong; I liked science. I liked the application of it. I just didn’t understand it. It made my thoughts hurt. Whenever others spoke science, I ended up hanging my head and massaging my eyebrows. I guess I hoped, somehow, to reach and rub away the offense.

Olol said, “Naturally, I am not an instructor by profession. I am an archivist for the GM. Here, on the Light, three hundred archivists, myself included, monitor everything that needs to be known. As we say, our mind begins with the first word. Our records go back to the launch of the original Starship. We also maintain the GM and thus ensure the communication of every information sought by every soul. Our ship may be small, but we hold the fleet together. Exciting, really. Do you agree?”

I asked, “Not to be rude but, if I can obtain any answer at any time, do I really need to learn all the little annoying bits?”

Olol gurgled and turned to me. “One must not be dependent on machines,” he replied. “There will doubtless be circumstances in which you must input commands that drive the machine. It is by science that our navigators chart our path through the stars. We proceed from one equation to the next. I will give you an example. If I asked you to turn our ship antennae to the nearest star, what would you do?”

I felt the urge to knead my eyebrows but I resisted. I held my hands together. I looked down and smoothed a wrinkle on my trouser leg. I answered, “I would ask the GM to turn the antennae.”

“Of course you would,” said Olol. “The GM would then ask you for the parameters needed for that action. You would be required to input information. Not all functions are automatic. You need a knowledge of science to achieve any task.”

He was right. I was stupid. I looked forward and saw the mind-numbing path that lay ahead of me. I could only hope that Olol was a patient soul. “Well,” I extemporized, “I could ask the GM for the formulae for determining which is the nearest star.” 

Olol answered, “A current location would be required of you.”

I countered by calling broadcast, “GM, what is our current location?”

The neutral male voice used by our GM answered, “Please verify the spatial-temporal reference points.”

I hung my head and confessed, “I am truly lost.”

Olol gurgled. Many turns later, I returned to the Seed Ship, my entire being athrob like some massive cosmic headache. I walked below our simulated starry sky without looking up. There was no joy. My guards followed silently until I reached my room and closed my door behind me. I dropped the armload of synth sheets I had been given and fell into my bed exhausted. Reality was cruel. I could not believe how abjectly ignorant I was. Compared to me, Rigil was a genius. I envied him. I felt like the fleet imbecile and my mind absolutely ached. I had twenty-nine rotations of the same to look forward to. 

How I reached rotation twenty-eight is a mystery, but there I was. My perpetual mind-ache had mostly subsided and I felt somewhat competent under the steady tutelage of my science instructor. He had taken me from basic concepts to advanced formulas and equations. I was well beyond turning an antenna to the nearest star. I understood not only the science of space travel but the basic operation of ships. Rudimentary as my lessons had been, I felt I had a better grasp of how the armada functioned. I was humbly pleased with the progress of my schooling and Olol was cautiously optimistic that my final exam would receive a good score.

I touched the send-pad and the monitor chimed. A moment later, white numerals appeared on the dark background. Ninety-eight percent. I was both amazed and relieved. I was not the type to jump up and dance so I smiled. I cast that broad smile around as if switching on a light and looking for something to illuminate. There was only Olol, and his mouth could not smile. He gurgled effusively and congratulated my hard work. I was happy. My teacher was happy.

Olol coiled a tentacle around my shoulders and said, “Be proud of your progress. Take your seven rotations and celebrate but, do not think it is over. Your next instructor awaits. I suggest, then, that whatever strength you drew upon to learn from this humble instructor, you hold fast for your next.”

I am unable to convey just how free I felt as I stepped from the transport tree into my Seed Ship. I felt almost giddy at the prospect of seven whole rotations without an instructor. My ship felt warm and friendly as I stepped away from the center and out under the bright overhead lights. I faced the second fourth unwilling to tear myself away from the sight of it. Then I walked to a place where I could stand and view the first fourth. From there, I walked around to the fourth fourth and stood there a while. I concluded my circuit by standing before the third fourth.

By then, my guards were perplexed. Perhaps they were bored. Khamuel asked me, “Have you made up your mind, then?”

I turned with a smile. My archangels waited patiently. Their clothing was immaculate. Khamuel smoothed his left lapel and tugged on his jacket. Barachiel stood unmoving and statuesque. Their manner was unruffled yet wanting. Atomics were driven by cause; they needed a purpose. For souls of action, like my two guards, action was called for. I nodded my head toward the third fourth and walked in through the open gate. Every fourth had a place in my heart but none as deeply moving as the third. The first had Thusa. They were the character of the ship. They were the strength. They provided fields essential to the up-cycle. Ranch occupied the second. It produced livestock. There was meat for the moleculars and blood for the GUF.

Then there was the fourth fourth; there was Hope. A new settlement bustled with excited vigor. Newness characterized that fourth. They had built a new school, a hospital. Each family had its own home and personal garden. The fields of that fourth were dedicated to herbs. It was the fourth of vitality, an amazing place, the likes of which my Kee had never known. The cobbled streets of Hope were a place of joy. The markets of Hope traded chickens and pigs, herbs and goats, smoked meats, wool, and cotton. Hope was loud and happy.

The third fourth was a park. Words can not convey the beauty it possessed. Invisible fences held wild grazing animals in large tracts with forested hills, broad flat valleys, and stepped promontories. White waterfalls sprayed cooling mists around the lakes they fed, where fat fish played and bullfrogs jumped. I led my guards along the main trail toward the back of the third. We saw elk and deer. We saw moose, antelope, and shorthorn goats. In the back of the third was a garden of exquisite joy. It was an oasis among palm and was fed by a gentle waterfall. Large yellow fish swam in there, and rabbits were common.