"White Ribbons, Red Roses"
(Science fiction - space opera)
For more information, read about my Will & Tass stories

This was written in two sittings over two days, an unplanned writing frenzy from an idea sparked from nowhere. I submitted it to Amazing Journeys but the editor opted to include it in his forthcoming anthology, Unparalleled Journeys. Read about that event here and order a copy of this anthology!

Will Duncan's wife and daughter have been killed in a bizarre space accident, and Will feels it was entirely his fault. Plagued by flashbacks and nightmares, he discovers his last hope on a planet deep inside enemy territory. Vazhgar is reputed to have powerful magical properties capable of working miracles to those who pilgrimage there and meditate. He leaves his job and hires Tass Keaverly, a cybernetic mercenary, to take him there, and along the way he learns a bit about her and himself. But none of that compares with what he learns once he gets to Vazhgar and experiences the inexplicable magic emanating deep under the planet's surface.

Ed Knight, editor of Unparalleled Journeys Magazine
Ed Knight had this to say about "White Ribbons, Red Roses":

"...his story in [Unparalleled Journeys] is an emotional powder keg. As I read it I could feel the poignant power building. I'd almost rather be anybody than Will Duncan. Will Duncan would rather be anyone other than Will Duncan. The question is, can he find a way to live with himself? Be ready for an emotional rollercoaster ride when you read this one. Oh, and along the way the sci-fi elements are absolutely fantastic..."
 

"White Ribbons, Red Roses"
(Excerpt)
by David M. Fitzpatrick

He saw them again, their eyes wide in terror—understanding, in those final moments, what he had done. He reached for them as they blew out the open airlock and into the black void of space. He could hear their screams cut off as the atmosphere vanished, see the alert lights flashing, feel the rumble of the emergency door as it kicked in. His own body violently jerked against the restraining harness, the only thing that saved him. The only thing that condemned him.

He watched yet again as they flew away from him, beautiful red roses in their hair, green stems entwined there. The door slid closed between he and them as they moved away, helpless and terrified, their faces frozen forever in terrible accusation.

Then the door thundered shut, the gravity kicked on, and he hit the floor in his harness as the interior of the ship repressurized. He undid the harness, tried to get to the controls, but he knew it was too late. They were gone, and there was nothing he could do to get them back alive.

But they were dying, out there in space, a woman and a girl with roses in their hair. They would suffer for a few seconds and die painfully and horribly, and the last neural activity in their brains would tell their fading consciousnesses that he had killed them.

*   *   *

Will Duncan woke then, as he usually did, sweating, crying, shaking. His subconscious tortured him every time he slept, but was at least merciful enough to wake him before he had to relive bringing the ship around to see their bodies tumbling away.

But that was imprinted on his brain like the rest of it. He didn’t need to relive any of it through his subconscious—he was perfectly conscious of it, every waking moment of every single day.

He collapsed back on the bed and bawled like a child.

*   *   *

The antigrav lift rocketed him up beyond the three hundredth floor. He could feel the inertia dampeners humming as they kept him from being flattened to the floor. For a moment, he hoped the dampeners would fail and it would all be over… but just for a moment. He needed answers first. He couldn’t die without them.

The trip took just a few seconds and he was there. He took a deep breath and tried his best to look awake, coherent, alive. Jim Harlow met him outside his office door with a broad smile.

“Will, good to see you,” Harlow said, pumping his hand, and Duncan knew he meant it.

“Thanks,” Duncan said, taking a seat. Harlow took his behind an obsidian desk and leaned back in his chair. Behind him, the sky was almost entirely green; only a few golden clouds dotted the scene. A half-mile long transport vessel slowly navigated between a skyline thick with megatowers. Smaller craft flitted about. Harlow studied him for an hour-long few moments.

“How’ve you been?” he finally said.

“Not well,” Duncan said. “Still can’t sleep. Still having nightmares.”

“It’s too early for you to be back to work, just like I told you. Listen, take another month. You’ve got plenty of leave time coming to you—”

“I’m quitting, Jim.”

“Quitting?” Harlow shook his head, leaning over the black, glassy desk. “Back up, Will. I mean it, you have months of time. Take a vacation, get away from Tarquin. Go somewhere the sky’s blue and the air doesn’t smell like seaweed—go back to Earth, even. You need this.”
“It’s more than that. I have to leave—forever.”

Harlow sighed and leaned back again. “We’ve known each other thirty years. I gave you a job when you were young and without direction, and I’ve watched you build a career—you’re the best chief I have. You can’t let your life crumble into jagged little pieces over this.”

“It was my wife and my little girl, Jim,” Duncan said, and he felt himself aching to cry again. “Can you understand what that means?”

“I can understand,” Harlow said, and his face was grim as if chiseled from stone. “I lost my first wife, if you’ll recall. She died in a shuttle accident.”
“I know.”

“And my son, too, remember? He died in combat, defending Earth against the Malkarian Empire.” His eyes blazed, blue flame, across the polished stone. “They died horribly, and I hurt like hell… but I survived, Will, and you’re going to do the same.”

“They were terrible tragedies,” Duncan said, picking his words carefully. “But you weren’t piloting the shuttle that went down with your wife on it. You weren’t the Malkarian who killed your son. They didn’t die because of you.”

Harlow’s face softened like butter in the sun. “All right… I can’t imagine how you feel. But you have to accept that it wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” Duncan said, his eyes burning. “I knew the airlock was failing. The computer told me the breach was in progress—that it would have to eject the airlock in order to seal the emergency door. I had time to harness them in. I didn’t. I saved myself.”

“You did what you should have done,” Harlow said, punctuating his words with a pointing finger. “You put on your harness before helping anyone else. You had a hold on Kathleen and Katy. You did it all right. It just went all wrong.”

“If I’d harnessed them first, they’d be alive.”

“You don’t know that—maybe you’d have all been killed. You can debate this forever and never find the answers you want, but the fact is you did exactly what you should have done. The force of the depressurization was too much, that’s all, and you lost your grip on them—”

Duncan felt the tears fighting to break free. “I had them in my hands, Jim. I thought I could hold on long enough for the airlock to blow and the emergency door to close, but I wasn’t holding them tightly enough, I didn’t have as good a grip as I thought… I let them go, Jim… I let them go…

He broke down, dropping his head into his hands and crying like a child, his entire body racking with wailing sobs. Jim sat silently, respectfully letting him work through it. He finally quieted down, wiped the tears away, and regained his composure. He sniffed and wiped his eyes again, and Harlow looked up.

“So, I’m quitting,” Duncan repeated quietly.

“What’s that going to do for you?” Harlow said, his eyes pleading. “You’ll throw away a career and a paycheck.”

“Like you said, I have plenty of time coming to me.”

“But where will you go? What will you do?”

This was going to be the hardest part, and Duncan knew it. He locked eyes with his mentor and friend. “I’m going to Vazhgar—in the Zalthari System.”

Harlow’s face contorted as he thought hard, searching, and then his brow raised as he put it together. “That’s in the Malkarian Empire.”

Duncan nodded slightly, and Harlow came to his feet, pounding the desk with his hand.

“You’re out of your mind! That’s not only illegal but it’s insane, too! Especially considering who you are and what you do for a living! And of all people to tell... you tell me?”
“You’re the only one I can trust.”

Harlow sunk, exasperated, in his chair. “Even if you and I didn’t do what we do with Utopian Solutions Industries, even if it weren’t illegal at all, it’s insane. The Malkarians aren’t fond of anyone on our side of the galaxy.”

“Vazhgar is just one world,” Duncan said. “I’ve read about the Vazhgarians… they’re magical—wizards of sorts. They have powers—some sort of control over… spiritual things.”

Harlow was looking at him with bulging eyes. “You’re talking magic and wizards. Do you even hear yourself? You’re running away from your life with a faith that some alien mystics in enemy territory can solve all your problems. Are you hoping to find some kind of god, Will?”

“It isn’t like that,” Duncan said through clenched teeth, leaning over the desk on his elbows. “I heard the stories, so I researched the Vazhgarians. It seems like a fairy tale, but… they deal in some kind of force, or power, or magic—I don’t know what to call it, and neither do the experts. But aliens from all types of worlds, cultures, and religions pilgrimage there from all over the Malkarian Empire to find inner peace.” He was excited now as he talked. “They say it’s different for everyone, but whatever magic they work on you works for you. All manner of unexplainable effects have been reported—people able to fly or healed of terrible maladies; teleportation across the galaxy; even mental projection back in time. Usually the effects are less extraordinary, like being imbued with knowledge or finding truths within one’s self. But it’s always been what the individual needed. I need that self-discovery—I need a chance for that kind of solution.”

Harlow shook his head with a deep, heaving sigh. “Will, I’ve been your friend for a lot of years, so let me give it to you straight: this won’t work. It’s a feel-good answer that won’t answer anything—it’s delusional spiritual therapy and a bad substitute for dealing with your problems.”

“It isn’t like that.”

“It is like that. But if you must go through with this, you don’t have to risk everything by going to Vazhgar—any member planet in the United Worlds has shamans, witch doctors, psychics, and magicians. So if you’re going to do this to yourself, vacation back on Earth. Find a fortune teller, get drunk, and park yourself at a resort where they give you full-body massages and anything else you want to pay for that will help you work through this and make you feel like a whole man again.”

Duncan shook his head in defeat, looking at the carpet. “You just don’t understand.”

“Oh, I have a fairly good idea. You can’t move forward without doing something, but you don’t know what that something is. Maybe it’s a vacation, spiritual self-discovery, a mug of stout, a beautiful woman, or just someone to listen to your crying and tell you it’s going to be all right. Whatever it is, I can tell you what it’s not: it isn’t magic, and it isn’t senseless and illogical, and it isn’t on Vazhgar. I’m not about to let you throw away your career and your life in favor of this outlandish excuse for a solution. Kathleen and Katy are gone, and that’s a terrible tragedy; but you have the rest of your life ahead of you and you can’t throw that away.”

“You found strength after Melanie died,” Duncan said, “and you remarried. I don’t have that strength. You had other children to help you through Gerald’s death—I don’t. I know they say this is how everyone feels, and that it goes away with time—but it isn’t!” He threw his hands up in frustration. “It’s just getting worse. I can’t go on like this. I can’t replace Kathleen because you can’t replace that one perfect someone. I can’t even try to feel better in the arms of another woman, not even for a night. And every time I see a laughing child, I know Katy’s gone forever. I could marry a wonderful woman and have lots of great children, and die an old man… but I don’t want to. I don’t want to endure a long, painful life reliving those deaths through nightmares every time I close my eyes. I’m going because there is simply nothing in all the galaxy like the stories I’ve read about Vazhgar. It’s my last chance—my only chance.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Harlow said. “Let’s say you throw away everything to go there and you don’t have some spiritual epiphany… you don’t come back a cured, new man. What then?”

“Then I won’t be coming back,” Duncan said. “I’ll find peace on Vazhgar, one way or another.”

Harlow slumped back in his seat, defeated. “This isn’t the man I’ve known for thirty years.”
“I’m not the man I was before Kathleen came into my life. I’m not the man I was before Katy was born. And I’m certainly not the man I was before I killed them. You don’t have to see it my way, Jim, just support me. I need to quit because I need all that vacation time and severance pay to get to Vazhgar. It’s going to be expensive to get anyone to take me that deep into Malkarian space. So, please… as my friend, help me.”

“Help you place your life in the hands of alien wizards deep inside the Malkarian Empire?”

Harlow said with a rueful smile. “Help you commit suicide? Destroy a career? Maybe land you on a prison planet for treason? What kind of friend would I be if I did that?”

“A loyal friend,” Duncan said softly.

“Nice try.” Harlow stood up, facing a surprised Duncan, hands on his hips. “I won’t accept your resignation. I won’t pay off your vacation time. And I won’t approve any severance package.”

Duncan came to his feet, desperation blowing over his face like a sudden storm. “Damn you, Jim, I need—

Harlow held up his hand. “Wait. Now, I think this is ridiculous, but I’ll see it your way—to a point. I’ll authorize an extended leave of absence and I’ll personally front you all the money you need. But there’s a catch: if you don’t find whatever it is you’re looking for, you come back here and you stand in this office and tell me you want to die. Chase across the galaxy for alien wizards but, by the gods, you’ll look me in the eye when you decide you’re ready to run out of this life with your tail between your legs. Deal?”

Duncan regarded him with a tired smile. “The least I can do is stick around long enough to pay you back.”

*   *   *

“I like all the colors,” Kathleen said. “I just like red best.”

The bouquet was three dozen full, and the colors were spectacular: blues, yellows, and greens; pinks and purples; burgundy, white, and red. She had picked out the two best-looking red roses, and they were unearthly crimson with leaves and stems of deep green. Katy was chasing a squirrel on the edge of the woods near their picnic spot. The sky was brilliantly blue, the grass perfectly green.

“Katy!” she called, and the child paused in her squirrel hunt to look to her mother. “Come here, honey… Mommy wants to put a rose in your hair.”

Katy rushed toward them, squealing with excitement. “It’s pretty, Mommy!”

Duncan watched it all happen, watched the scene replay as a nightmare, and it was as if his body was under someone else’s control: he participated in the scene against his will, as if his body were possessed by some demonic thespian bent on acting out the horror. In his mind, he screamed and beat mental fists furiously against the inside of his skull, desperate to get out and stop it all from happening again.

Katy clambered up and Kathleen went to work feeding the stem into her blond hair. “I like red, Mommy,” Katy said.

“Red roses mean love,” Kathleen said. “That’s why it’s my favorite.”

He watched, helpless, as she finished and began tucking the second rose into her own hair. He’d had this dream before, and he knew what came next.

“Daddy bought us red roses because he loves us,” Katy said with the blind sureness that little girls have about their daddies.

“He certainly does,” Kathleen says. “Don’t you, Daddy?”

Their beautiful faces looked at him, all smiles, waiting for his confirmation, but when he opened his mouth to tell them so the scene changed in a flash, and their faces were sheer horror as their bodies blew out of the hole in the ship as if fired from a cannon. In his nightmare, he screamed and cried, and he woke doing the same.

*   *   *

He’d rarely taken the bike out since the accident, because every time he did, his overpowering enjoyment led to even greater guilt. But it was great. He felt a brief, weak surge of being alive welling up inside him as he streaked across the sky, winding through the colossal megatowers like a winged insect amongst pillars on Olympus. He’d spent a thousand days with a magnified version of that feeling, usually with Kathleen or Katy on the back, arms wrapped around him as they went supersonic.

He knew it would take more than the bike, though. There was no Kathleen holding on to him, no Katy giggling and screaming with delight as he barrel-rolled amid dancing clouds. All meaning to the event was lost now. Then, it had been an emotional experience; now, it was just a bike flight.

It was a stereotypically seedy bar at the outskirts of the city, on the ground level where all the riffraff were to be found. Tarquin didn’t enforce practically any laws below the fog level, which usually cloaked the planet’s surface a hundred feet thick. From down here, only the monstrous foundations of the megatowers could be clearly seen; above, the green sky was visible only as a mint glow through the thick haze, and the golden-red sun was an ethereal, yellow-pink ball fighting to be seen.

She was sitting in a corner, back to the wall—but then, everyone in the place has his back against the wall. There weren’t even seats out in the open. Paranoia was certainly rampant, but it wasn’t without reason. The place was populated by all the galaxy’s bad guy archetypes. She was dressed just as she’d promised: dark purple bodysuit; maroon boots and matching gloves; black waistpack; a wild, white hairdo. She sported a gun on each hip and a nasty-looking pulse rifle slung over her back. He didn’t look anyone in the eye, just headed straight for her. He made it to the table and they regarded each other.

“You must be Will Duncan,” she finally said.

“Which would make you Tass Keaverly,” he said. “Aren’t pulse rifles illegal?”

“They don’t pay attention to us down here in the fog.” She looked him up and down, and she wasn’t subtle about it. Her eyes had tiny pupils but were otherwise all silver. Clearly, she wasn’t human. “You’d better sit down before someone takes notice of your exposed back.”

He slid in beside her, but she kept her distance. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“It isn’t a favor. You’re paying me a lot of money.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. You’re the only one I’ve found who will even cross the border, much less to the Zalthari System.”

She laughed lightly, but it wasn’t girly. “Then you didn’t look too hard. Any merc with a ship would do it, and probably for less.”

He frowned. “That’s not smart business.”

“I didn’t say you’d get a better pilot—just that anyone would take you. Some of them would take you agree just to take your money and dump you out in space.”

Her statement invoked the images as if she’d thrown a switch. He closed his eyes, but all he saw were their faces as they died. Over and over, nonstop… he tried to ignore them, but he knew it wasn’t—

She was poking him in the arm, jumping him out of his reverie. “Did I lose you? Are you with me?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Is your ship reliable?”

“Extremely.”

“And what are the chances of us getting to Vazhgar?”

Tass shrugged. “As close to a hundred percent as they can get. The Malkarians aren’t as bad as everyone on this side of the galaxy makes them out to be. They regulate us just as they do over here, and unless they suspect we’re spying for the United Worlds, they leave us alone. And my usual run is to Vazhgar anyway.”

He gave a start. “Interesting. Why?”

She chuckled. “Because all my passengers want what you want. Enlightenment. Personal discovery. Serious cure for depression.”

He felt his face redden, but it was dark enough in the bar that she might not have noticed with her pinhole pupils. “What makes you think that’s why I’m going?”

“Oh, please. Nobody goes to Vazhgar for any other reason. The jareeshti seers are renowned throughout the Malkarian Empire. It’s a sort of universal reverence—even the imperial forces leave them alone. It’s the only planet completely untouched by the Empire, you know.”

“So this won’t be as bad as I thought,” Duncan mused thoughtfully.

“That depends on your finances. I’ve told you what it’ll cost. Can you handle it?”

He produced a credit disc. “It’s all here.”

“Fine. Now, put it down before someone decides it’s worth taking and we both get killed.”

He lowered it under the table and passed it to her. She subtly slid it into the table’s payment slot and danced her fingers over the flat touchpad. The DNA scan took an instant and then the banking network reported back. “Okay, all transferred.” She looked sideways at him with a suddenly raised eyebrow. “So what are you looking for on Vazhgar?”

“I don’t know.”

She nodded sagely. “Yeah, I see a lot of that, too.”

He was intrigued. “Just how many times have you made this trip?”

“Dozens. It’s a regular underground tourist route.” She gestured toward the door. “Let’s leave together. I’m thinking I shouldn’t leave you in here alone.”

“I can handle myself,” he said.

“You don’t look the type.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’d have to be,” she said. “Anyway, you can give me a lift back to the stellar port.”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I didn’t come in a flitter.”

“I know you didn’t walk over, and they don’t run public transportation down here in the fog. And I can’t imagine a cabbie from up there coming down here.”

“I have a bike,” he said, and somehow felt foolish about it—as if he were an old man trying to behave young.

Her face brightened and her argentine eyes widened. “No kidding? You? You have a bike?”

Irritation snarled within him. “Yes, me.”

“What, a basic street hoverbike?”

“Hypersonic,” he said, and her eyes got bigger.

“No way. You don’t ever take it hypersonic, do you?”

“I’ve been known to. I usually keep it just above supersonic, though.”

She grinned broadly. “Sounds like fun.”

*   *   *

When Tass climbed on the back of the bike and wrapped her arms around him, he immediately noticed how good she felt, but he shoved the feeling from his mind. He kicked in the antigravs and the reaction jets and punched it. The bike shot into the sky above the fog, staying lower than the busy traffic altitudes, and he opened it up. She directed him to the other side of the corporate province, a lengthy ride. The whole way, he kept giving it a little more. She never complained—considering her outfit and attitude, he didn’t expect her to. Eventually, they screamed through the cool evening air faster than the speed of sound, the invisible force field breaking most of the wind around them. It felt fantastic.

The stellar port came into sight along a flat mesa that rose above the fog, far from the megatowers and heavy traffic. She pointed to one of the docking bays and he came in for a high speed landing culminating in an exhilarating, sudden stop.

She climbed off, all smiles. “I didn’t think you had it in you. I bet it’s the only thing that turns you on anymore.”

He flushed red again. “I wouldn’t use that phrase.”

“But this crisis of the spirit you’re going through… it’s wrecking your life and that’s why you’re going to Vazhgar,” she diagnosed. “I bet this bike is the only thing that takes your mind off whatever it is that’s killing you.”

He was far away, suddenly, and he said, “Nothing takes my mind off it. But flying this bike… it’s the only thing that reminds me that, somewhere deep inside, I’m still alive.”

She nodded, adjusted the pulse rifle on her back. “Then I’d live on the thing if I were you. It’s a better solution than Vazhgar.”

“Do your passengers ever find what they’re looking for?”

“Most of them. But it’s all in the mind, Duncan. It’s all what you believe. Those clever magic tricks the jareeshti pull off aren’t anything but special effects. It’s all about what’s inside you. But this—” She slapped her hand on the sleek bike. “—this is real. Cheap thrill, maybe, but if it helps you deal with things, that’s what matters.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve done this run for six years, and I’ve taken a lot of people there. They tend to fall into a few categories. You, you’re going because of some terrible tragedy in your life. You can’t deal with it and somehow it’s your fault—or you think it is.”

Her frankness annoyed yet intrigued him. “Do tell.”

“You’re imposing a self-exile. You’re hoping against hope the jareeshti will help you find your answers, but you don’t expect them. All you really want to do is punish yourself.”

He snorted. “It’s a good thing I hired you as a pilot and not a therapist.”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen all types of people go through this. I know them well. But take it or leave it. I already have your money, so it makes no difference to me if you want to waste your time. We take off around midday tomorrow. If you’re not there, we leave without you—me and the other twelve passengers who’ve shelled out their life savings.”

He grimaced. “That seems coldly capitalist.”

“Maybe, but the whole thing is illegal… so who do you complain to?” She grinned. “Trust me, Duncan, I’m worth the money.”

With that, she spun on the heel of her maroon boot and swanked her way to the service bay doors. Duncan caught himself looking after her—partly in admiration for her direct approach, partly because she intrigued him, and partly because she looked really good walking away.

Then she was inside and gone. Duncan revved up the bike and then he was, too.

*   *   *

“I’d have gotten all red roses, if I’d known how much you preferred them,” he said with a smile as they flew. Through the runner’s window was the fantastic display of the wormhole through which they traveled. It looked as if they were literally flying through an iridescent tunnel hollowed out by some monstrous worm.

“I like them all,” Kathleen said. The rose was still in her hair. Behind them, in the small common area, Katy was playing with her dolls. “But the colors mean different things, you know. Burgundy is beauty, blue is mystery. Pink is grace, dark pink gratitude. White is innocence or secrecy—or friendship, depending on who you believe. But red is love, pure and simple.”

“How fitting,” he said, “because I love you.”

She smiled a beautiful white smile. “And I love you.”

The nav computer beeped an alert. “We’re about to exit the wormhole. Better go back and buckle yourself and Katy up.”

She leaned in and kissed him. “See you in a few minutes.”

She headed back and he prepared to take the ship off autopilot. The beeping increased in tone and got faster: the end was near. Straight ahead, the seemingly endless tunnel suddenly exploded out into open space. Duncan switched the runner over to manual control and they blasted out into normal space—

—and right into a meteor storm. They flew across his bow from behind and starboard, and he cursed aloud. Several pelted the outer skin of the ship. Behind him, Katy wailed in fright.

“Will, what is it?” Kathleen hollered.

“Meteor storm!” he shouted back. “Get buckled in—”

The impact was tremendous, like being inside a barrel when a cannonball slammed into it, and the ship lurched to port and spun. Duncan slammed up against the wall as Kathleen and Katy screamed behind him. The alert beacon began to wail, and the computer called out, “Warning … airlock breach in progress … warning … preparing to eject airlock…”

“No!” he yelled, and at that moment the artificial gravity kicked out and he floated out of his seat. Behind him, his daughter wailed louder.

“Will!” Kathleen screamed.

“I’m coming!” he yelled back, and found the handgrips, began pulling himself along the ceiling. “Hang on!”

He saw them floating there as the ship barrel-rolled around them, saw their pretty white dresses and the beautiful red roses in their hair, saw their terrified faces as they waited for him to save them…

*   *   *

Tass Keaverly’s ship was a converted military transport, salvaged after the United Worlds had abandoned it on a planet called Jester 4. She told him the unknown tale of how the UWF had duked it out with Malkarian Empire forces in a territorial dispute only to discover Jester 4 didn’t have large trilomactin deposits like both sides had thought. The losses had been great but neither side had interest in salvage operations; so, mercs from both sides plundered the wreckage for years afterward.

They left Tarquin at midday. The transport was replete with rack-style bunkrooms, and, with a holding capacity of sixty, they all had ample privacy. Once she had plotted and opened a stable wormhole and sent the ship through it, Tass came below to see how everyone was doing. Eventually she made it to Duncan, who was reclined in a bunk, reading a book.

“Nobody reads paper books anymore,” she said curiously, squinting her silver eyes at him.
“I find it relaxing,” he replied.

She bent sideways to look at the cover. “Hero with a Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell,” she read. “Isn’t that a study of the mythical hero who fights against impossible odds to achieve his goals?”

“I didn’t think you were the literary type.”

“I’m full of surprises. Campbell talked about the journey a hero takes in three parts, didn’t he? Initiation, departure, and return. And how they received gifts from the gods to help them in their quests.”

He sighed and flopped the book on his chest, glaring at her. “Can I help you?”
She shrugged. “Just making an observation about you, that’s all.”

He thought on this. “I missed your point, then.”

“You’ve made it past the initiation and departure. You hope to find your metaphorical gifts from the gods on Vazhgar. Then you’ll return, and be your own hero.”

He laughed aloud. “Hardly.”

“So what’s your story?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t. I’m just nosy.”

She was persistent and amusing, if nothing else. And maybe Harlow was right: he just needed someone to listen to him, and tell him everything would be all right. And maybe he needed a beautiful woman to hold him while she told him that. “I killed my wife and daughter,” he said abruptly.

She was clearly surprised. “Okay… wow. But… an unfaithful wife I can at least understand… but your own kid?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, looking away. “You wanted to know, but all you do is judge me. You think you have me all figured out, but you don’t. Forget it.”

“No, you’re right, that was uncalled for,” she said, holding her hands up. Duncan noticed she wasn’t wearing her maroon gloves anymore, and her hands were light blue in color. Moreover, she had no fingernails. He thought she was wearing different gloves at first, but a closer look told him it was skin he was seeing. Her face wasn’t blue, but who knew what her species was like. “But you did start off with ‘I killed my wife and daughter,’ you know.”

“Do you want to hear about it or not?”

“Do you need to tell someone?”

“Maybe.”

She nodded and moved to sit on the bunk beside him. He scooted his reclined body sideways to make room for her, and he felt somewhat cornered. It wasn’t an entirely bad feeling. “All right, I’m all ears.”

“It was an accident,” he said. “We were shuttling back to Tarquin from Earth when we took a meteorite hit in the airlock. It kicked out the gravity and jammed the emergency door, which couldn’t close unless the ‘lock was ejected. I only had a few seconds to act. They always tell you to get your own harness on first so you can help others. I didn’t think I had time to harness them up anyway, so I got mine on and grabbed hold of them as tightly as I could. It should have been easy—the airlock was jettisoned and the door immediately began to seal off.”

“But the explosive depressurization was more powerful than you thought,” Tass said softly. Somehow, her metallic eyes and pinhole pupils were mournful.

He nodded, fighting back the sting of tears. He wasn’t going to cry in front of her—not this tough, spacewise woman. He refused to let himself.

“So you feel unfathomable guilt over this,” she said. “You blame yourself and you don’t think you can go on living. But you’re going to Vazhgar just in case there’s some magic that will make it all better.”

He was losing his battle. He looked at her through blurred vision. “Kathleen was my life,” he said. “Katy was our future. Wouldn’t you feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” she said solemnly, lowering her eyes.

“Nobody knows,” he said, wiping his sleeve across his wet face. “You’d have to be in the same kind of situation to answer that.”

“Probably,” Tass said quietly. “But you know what I think, Duncan? I think you’re beating yourself up over this. You feel helpless because you can’t undo it—but deep down, you know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know nothing of the sort!” Duncan hissed, and the tears flowed again, harder now. “You’re a pilot, not a therapist! Who are you to draw these conclusions about me?”

“I didn’t draw them. You did.”

He blinked through his tears, looking up at her in surprise. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” she said. “When you started this story, your first words were ‘It was an accident.’ The intellectual Will Duncan already knows that. You just have to convince the emotional Will Duncan of that.”

They stared at each other for many long moments. She was right, of course, and Duncan knew it.

“You know I’m right,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “You want to be able to live and experience life without guilt. You can’t even think of being with another woman without dishonoring the memory of your wife and child. You want some magic to take away your pain, because you can’t imagine anything other than that pulling it off.”

He just kept staring. He didn’t know what to say.

She leaned over suddenly, a slight smile on her face, until her face was just inches above his. “Will Duncan… there’s no shame in this, and you’re not dishonoring your wife, but… do you think I’m attractive?”

It caught him completely off guard, and he felt cornered in this position, with her hovering above him, asking such pointed questions. “I suppose so,” he managed.

“Suppose so, huh? You’ve been checking me out since we met in the bar. It’s okay to look at another woman, you know. It’s part of the healing process. You’ve probably been numb to the thought of looking at women—probably forced yourself not to. Am I right?”

She was, and all he could do was nod slightly. Her gleaming gray eyes were really pretty this close.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s all right. Now you think I’m just a pilot, so you have me all figured out… so let me ask you something.”

“Okay,” he said.

She managed to lean in closer, until their lips were almost touching, and said, “Would you like to be with me tonight, Will Duncan?”

Kathleen flashed in front of his mind, and he felt guilty, but somehow he couldn’t control the basic desire and need that overtook him, and he said, “Yes.”

She licked her lips slowly, and the tip of her tongue almost touched his own lips. Then, abruptly, she leaned away, stood up, and faced him. “I bet you would,” she said with a broad smile. “Congratulations… you’re making extraordinary progress.”

And then she was gone, striding confidently off toward the control bay of the transport, leaving Duncan surprised and confused. Then he couldn’t help but chuckle...

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  

What does Will Duncan find on Vazhgar? What role does Tass Keaverly play in his life? And what is the magic?

To read the whole story, order a copy of Unparalleled Journeys now!

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