I sensed the door open behind me. I looked into the GUF and saw the reflection of Khamuel and Barachiel as they entered. They walked to the bench and sat behind me. Barachiel placed my belt around my neck. I was happy to see them in casual clothing.

I asked, “Training went well?”

It was a moot topic. Regular training and exams were essential to keep our warriors in top form, but I sensed the underlying futility. Once you reached your pinnacle, there was nowhere higher to go. The challenge was lost. My question went unanswered, as it usually did. Instead, I faced Barachiel’s standard inquiry.

“Why are you sitting in the floor?”

Khamuel added a second question. “Have you been speaking with your father?”

“I was hoping to hear from him,” I answered.

Barachiel asked, “May we listen in?”

I said, “That’s up to father.”

My guards could have gone to their table for a game. They could have settled in for a read. They chose to sit on the bench and stare at the back of my head. Sitting before the GUF brought me comfort. It was a quiet place for reflection. On that occasion, the reflection of my guards staring at me in abject boredom redirected peace into self-consciousness.

I stood and faced my friends, bracing myself against the GUF with my left hand. It was then that my father spoke. “I am here,” said father.

At the moment my father spoke, Barachiel said, “It’s just that . . .”

I cut him off with a lifted hand, a raised finger that asked for silence. I listened for father to speak. I whispered into the silence, “He’s here.”

A moment passed while the three of us remained frozen in curious anticipation. Barachiel leaned forward and asked in a whisper that matched mine, “What’s he saying?”

As I looked from middle space to focus on my guards, father spoke again. “Trouble comes.”

I repeated father’s words for the benefit of my guards. “Trouble comes.”

Their expressions were strained as they considered my father’s words. I looked between them as I waited. It was a question on all of our faces. What kind of trouble? As if our strained anticipation could bring forth more, we leaned into the moment, I with my ear to the GUF, my angels with rapt attention for the messenger.

Father spoke again, his deep voice filling me. I immediately repeated each word. “Move my GUF to the Seed Ship.”

I waited. My guards waited. I could feel father’s presence receding. After another moment, I tired and dropped my hands. I shrugged an apology, and said, “That’s it.”

“Move the GUF?” asked Barachiel. The thought seemed to alarm him.

Khamuel said, “That would be a massive undertaking.” He looked at Barachiel.

Barachiel looked at Khamuel thoughtfully and said, “We’d have to cut a hole around the door, bring in the heavy machinery just to get it out.”

Khamuel said, “Getting it to the Seed Ship would require several transporters working in unison.”

Barachiel added, speaking to Khamuel as if I no longer stood in front of them, “And, then, we’d need to rip a hole in the Seed Ship.”

“We could take out the ferry hub,” said Khamuel. “We would need to create a shield.”

I stood and watched my guards discuss the matter. They suddenly turned back to me, frowning at the debatable task my father had set. Suddenly, the bright white room dimmed oppressively. Father’s face appeared in the GUF and moved forward. It loomed large before my guards. As my guards moved quickly behind the bench, I could feel heat from the apparition. His visage stern, father’s face illuminated the room in a fearful manner.

“Hear my son!” he exclaimed loudly.

Between two beats of my heart, father was gone, and the room seemed normal. There was a palpable absence between my guards and me. The face we shared between us was a face of astonishment. Our silence was reverent.

Barachiel spoke into the hush. “Scary.”

It was a massive undertaking. It took the combined efforts of fifty-four workers. The maneuvering of the Throne Ship and the Seed Ship took many turns. Shields and openings were put in place. Three large machines were used to get father’s GUF from the white room. Four transporters eased the GUF across the void between the two ships, and finally, on the second rotation, Father’s GUF was installed in the Seed Ship.

Lives and normalcy had been put on hold. Everyone wanted to watch and discuss the event. Archivists, recording devices in hand, came out of the proverbial woodwork. The Generals asked why I chose such an out-of-the-ordinary endeavor. All I could tell them was father had instructed me to do so. People treed in from the furthest ships to throng the event. My poor guards were over-tasked to hold the curious multitudes at bay.

We stood by the wall as two techs finished the installation of father’s GUF. The milling hoards were retained up top and wandered through fields like happy sightseers. The space in which my guards and I stood was small and quiet. The GUF filled it and left little room for ought else. The departure of the techs left me feeling out the remaining space with my guards.

One could barely walk around it. The coff and altar were moved to the sides, which pressed the passerby through tight corridors from lift to connecting tunnels. I polished a smudge from the GUF with a sleeve and turned to find a seat in the lounge. My guards sat across from me, mentally ravaged.

“You two have your promotions,” I said. “You can take posts of your choosing.”

“Oh, no,” Barachiel quickly replied. “Life with you is interesting.”

I smiled my appreciation. My friends were loyal to a fault. I looked around the ample lounge and asked broadcast, “What do you think? I can turn the lounge into an office, and combine the two rooms into a suite. The blood banks behind us can be moved anywhere.”

Khamuel said calmly, “The choices are yours to make.”

Barachiel pointed past my left shoulder and said, grinning, “We can put the table in the back corner.”

It took seven rotations to make the changes and move back into the Seed Ship. I did not walk around telling people so, but my face announced just how happy I was. The banks had been cleared to make room for my storage and 43S7’s quarters.  I enclosed the back corner of the lounge with large windows around the playing table, and I put shelves on the walls for reading materials. It felt great to be back.

Trouble comes. That was the first thing father said. Being back in the Seed Ship; being settled, I had time to consider father’s warning. I sat on the side of my bed, looking at my water closet. Trouble. What did father mean? Why had he not elaborated? Leaving my bed, I walked through my guest reception, and into the previous apartment. It had been converted into a food preparation and dining area. I took water to the table, sat, and sipped. My thoughts explored all possible forms of trouble.

Stability throughout the fleet was unwavering. The ships were in good condition. There was no want, no strife. I could think of nothing that might blow up in our faces. The one bane of our atomic existence was monotony, but we kept busy. We held monotony at bay and called it routine. We filled routine with purpose and lifted purpose with praise. 

Plus, we stood on the cusp of our central objective. The fleet was close enough to our destination that our sensors could generate an image of the spiral galaxy we had yet to name. Home was in sight. We were poised for a final push to reach our goal. 

Then, on a personal level, I would soon be reunited with LUC. I had not received word from him, but I thought that only natural. He would have set his ship on automatic and put himself into the tree. We were unable to fix our instruments on his ship, but I stilled my fears assuring myself that his ship was small.

I imagined myself seeing LUC after so long a time. I saw myself embracing my brother. His image was faceless in my mind. How often, in our separation, had he entered the tree? What would LUC look like? I did not have answers. I wondered if he might suffer from exhaustive application of Atomic Progression. I longed to impart the news that he could put the tree from him and live without it.

My node sounded and brought me out of my thoughts. I sat at my desk and tapped the incoming message. The Chief Legal’s face appeared on the screen. He looked so seriously official; I had to smile.

“Oobulublay,” I said. “I must congratulate you. I hear you will soon be a Judge.”

“I thank Your Majesty,” said Oobulublay. “I just wanted to let you know that we are on our way.”

I met them in my lounge/office. General Taush led the group. Finbarr and Tuvlasemonali followed with the Chief Legal entering last. We seated ourselves at my new large table, and the meeting began without preamble. Sitting somewhat center of the others, Oobulublay passed fact sheets left and right. Taush spoke first, his palm atop his fact sheet.

“Your Majesty,” said he. “We must speak of our next jump.”

“Speak,” I said.

Taush said, “It is prudent to make a smaller jump and conserve resources.”

“Very well,” I answered. “I will go with your recommendation. What’s next?”

Tuvlasemonali spoke next. “The navigators are asking for a new fleet disbursement with home ships center and military ships in a protective configuration.”

Taush said, “It’s a good plan.”

“Approved,” I said. “Any word of my brother’s ship?”

Finbarr answered. “No, Your Majesty. The GM is tracking some objects of interest. They are peripheral to our course and most likely of no significance.”

Taush said, “We are set to jump in three rotations.”

“Approved,” I said standing. “Everything is approved. If there is nothing else, allow me to discard this uncomfortable belt.”

I removed the large gold belt and dropped it on the table. I sighed relief and turned to Oobulublay. He immediately tapped on his node in practiced readiness.

I said to him, “I would like to have this belt replaced with a gold-colored cord. Something that does not chafe.”

As Oobulublay entered my request, Finbarr said, “We’ve planned an event for the Chief Legal’s promotion to Judge.”

I answered with a smile. “Excellent idea. I hope I’m invited.”

Finbarr answered, “Yes, please. We would like the King to be our central speaker.”

“I have only good things to say about Oobulublay,” I said.

The meeting ended in small talk. I took my belt and changed in my apartment. When I came back out, I waved my guards back into their seats and left them with a happy instruction.

“I’ll be by the GUF,” I said. “Give me some time alone.”

The surface was cool as I sat on the floor and pressed my forehead to it. The inner mists of the GUF swirled forward to meet me. I often sat just so, a time alone with father, even when he did not speak.

Monotony can dull the finest edge. The same activities, revolution after revolution, lull one into a false sense of security. Life in the fleet was damnably predictable. On some deeper level, I was disappointed that issues did not arise, something, anything about which I might react in a kingly manner.

Father’s voice came to me. “Son.”

I smiled to myself. I kept my eyes closed. “I am here,” I said.

He said, “Your kingdom will be filled with loss and sacrifice.”

I sat back and looked into the swirling mists of the GUF. “What do you mean?” I asked. I was met with stark silence. I asked again, “Who will I lose?”

I feared. I thought of Zotha. My mind added possible names to a pensive list. I thought of Oobulublay. I thought of 43S7. I thought of happy Barachiel and solemn Khamuel. I thought of General Taush. Those were the names closest to me. Those were the souls that bolstered my sense of being. How could I lose Rigil? I would not want to outlive my dearest friend. Or, how could I lose steadfast Bollate? I could not imagine life without my Kee. Father’s words had turned me inside out. I filled my lungs, ready to demand an answer.

Father said, “Prepare for war.”