Valediction

An excerpt from Peripatetica, by M. K. Sebastien, Engr. ret.

Thursday, 01 Dec 2518
En Route to Angel
Kalidasa (Xuan Wu) System
14:30 hrs, ship's time

        After the oppressive jungle heat of Lassek, the cooler atmo aboard the Gift felt like heaven. I’d quickly stripped out of my coveralls and my vest after we’d left dirt and for once donned my off-duty duds while still on the clock. I stocked my pockets with the barest minimum of tools and left my boots on the deck in my quarters, padding barefoot to the galley to grab something cold to drink.
        Christian was stowing the last of our new provisions and I ducked under his arm crossing the threshold.
        “Got any juice?” I asked, poking through the boxes, bags and cans on the counter.
        “In the fridge.”
        I caught him looking at me and I checked myself: black t-shirt tucked into cargo pants, with my feet bare and visible past the dragging hems.
        “What?” I frowned at him, expecting a smart-ass comment.
        “Nothing.”
        Yeah, right.
        I grabbed a juice from the fridge and flounced out. Or as much as anyone could flounce with several inches of cotton twill flopping past their ankles. The leather of the couch was smooth and cool when I dropped into it. The juice was cold and went down like God’s own blessing. Eyes closed in sheer bliss, I sank against the cushions and took another long pull, savoring the sensation of the beverage chilling my insides.
        “There’s gotta be a mango tree around here somewhere.”
        Someone dropped onto the couch and jostled me mid-sip, and juice splashed past my lips. I righted the bottle and held it clear, sputtering.
        “Dammit!”
        I opened my eyes and found Mike leaning in and grinning down at me, and before I could move he wiped the juice off my chin and licked his thumb clean.
        “Yup,” he said with a smack. “Mango.”
        “Want some more?” I looked at him narrowly and held the bottle up.
        “Yeah.” He took it from my hand and set it on the low table without looking, and bracketed me on the couch. Hidden from the others in the lounge, his face took on a serious cast and I recognized the ruse for what it was. “But not here.”
        We need to talk.
        “Let’s go,” I said.

        I took the bottle with me to my quarters and when I got there I saw the drawer I’d cleared for him emptied of his belongings. A duffle sat zipped and packed on the deck. It looked new, likely purchased when with the girls in New Kinshasa.
        I’d always known he’d leave. It was the pattern we’d established years ago, after the War. Either he’d fly with me or I’d spend my downtime dirtside with him, but it always ended with one of us leaving the other. Our careers were mutually exclusive and our absences ran longer than our reunions. So we’d meet, part, and meet again, with our memories when solitary keeping us together even as our lives swung our paths askew.
        As twin stiff compasses are two, he’d said to me.
        I sat on one end of my bed and he sat on the other.
        Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show to move,
        “Going somewhere?” I asked.
        But doth, if the other do.
        “You knew this was comin’, Irina.”
        And though it in the center sit,
        “The second you came aboard, you were already gone.”
        Yet, when the other far doth roam,
        “I have to do this.”
        It leans and hearkens after it,
        “I know.”
        And grows erect, as that comes home.

        I reached for him and he pulled me in and everything else ceased to matter.

        Such wilt thou be to me, who must
        Like the other foot, obliquely run;
        Thy firmness makes my circle just,
        And makes me end where I begun.



Author's Note: For those who are curious, go here to read the entire poem.


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