Namo's Request

I eased myself into a small seat, tucked away in between my paper-covered work desk and closet. Compared to the dull gray of the walls and my desk, the chair's dark blue was as striking as the stars in the night sky. I had chosen it because it had once matched the color of my own hair. The supple cloth was a relief to my aching back. I gave a good sigh and reclined deeply, wondering if I might fall asleep in it as opposed to my bed. Sleep was tugging at my legs like a rabid dog—not that I had ever seen one—and soon it would leap into my lap and curl tightly. I looked over to my desk—nothing was particularly urgent. It was an odd feeling—the blissful relief of leisure lifted the weight off my bones, yet still my brain twisted itself in knots for something to do. Surely there was something.

When my mind had realized there was truly nothing, it untangled itself and was...confused. I thought back to the last day I had been this free in the terran evening. The only memory was a fuzzy one from several years back, of kicking back and laughing with my crew in the steamy jungles of a new planet. Which one was that one? There had been so, so many. They blurred into one at this point. I sighed as my door opened.

“Hey, Luna.” A dark-skinned man nearing his forties opened the door, carrying a piping hot pitcher of tea on a tray. “What's the sigh for?”

“Oh, nothing.” I relaxed in my seat the best I could. “I'm thinking about our adventures together. They all seem to...blur after a while.”

“Really?” He walked to my desk and placed the tray down, pouring a cup and handing it to me. “They seem so distinct to me.”

“I wonder why it hasn't happened to you.” I motioned for him to leave the cup on the desk. “Maybe I'm getting old, Vrisha.”

“I'm nearly as old as you.” He sat down on my bed and stretched. He was the same as ever. So much more life in his bones. I looked at my own hands. “But you are the captain.”

“Unfortunately.” I mused. He laughed.

“You should try the tea here, this place actually has some nice varieties.”

“I will. Just leave me be for now. Only the godstars know when we'll arrive on a peaceful planet like this.” He frowned, but got up and silently exited the room, closing the door behind him.

As he left, I muttered “Does it really matter?” Did it? This planet was one of billions amongst the stars. There was nothing unique here. Surely there was somewhere that was even better. The better question to ask was if I would ever go there or not.

I rose from my chair, ignoring the pain in my back, and walked to my closet, pulling out a small folded paper. As I gripped it, memories came flooding back—mostly of my own crew admonishing my ancient ways, until our power failed and we found ourselves crowded around a table with a single light, plotting out our course by finger and pencil. I sat at my desk and opened it gingerly. It was a map of the entire galaxy. The entire disk was a field of stars—pinpointing the exact one you were at was a waste. A single pinprick held thousands upon tens of thousands of them. Still, I scoured the map until I found a small circle with “SHIP” written above it. That one circle still held thousands of stars, but it did let me orient myself. I traced a path from it past my finger, around the Theian Ring, past scores of now-erased circles, the thin imprints of “SHIP” still running underneath my fingers. Billion—no, quadrillions of people passed below my finger. Finally, I found the only other circle that had not been erased. It was on the complete opposite side of “SHIP”, and it was labeled “HOME”.

I sighed. My finger laid on “HOME” for a very long time. I took it off and silently pressed a button on my desk. “Corona...how long to send a message to Achaia?”

“Approximately 8 months.” A robotic female voice replied. “You ask this question often.” She cheekily replied.

I sighed again, and released the button. “That's it, Corona.” I leaned back in my seat. 8 months. I knew that was the answer. I did not know why I kept asking the question, hoping the answer would change.

I pressed the button again, staring at the soft gray ceiling. “Corona, is Nagara still a jungle?”

“Checking all relevant databases...yes. It is still a jungle world where the average temp--”

I released my finger and sighed again. I truly did not care. I had seen a hundred Nagaras and would probably see a thousand more.

	I glanced at the tea. It was no longer steaming. I grasped the cup and took one sip. Lukewarm. There were hints of lush flavor and subtle complexities that could have delighted my tongue—a paradox of sweet sand savory. Now, however, they had disappeared by the cruel passage of time.

	I glanced over at my chair, admiring the deep blue. Then I looked at the honey-hued liquid. My dulling blue hair stared back at me.

“You too, huh?” I smiled bitterly and gulped the rest down.