It was late and she was tired. Too tired. She had been called to work early this morning for an emergency, worked hard all day, and thought she was finishing the day after the command conference that evening. She would have been if the Caldoran ship hadn’t crash-landed on the moon. So, her second day had started. They explored the ship, managed to inadvertently kill one of the crew aboard the ship, made peace with the other occupants and performed an examination on the Caldorans to determine their compatibility with humans from Earth.
No wonder she was exhausted. She escorted the Caldorans to the quarters prepared for them, called Medical Center to let them know she would be trying to get a couple of hours sleep, and slipped into her quarters.
She was certain, however, that sleep wouldn’t come right away. Instead of pajamas, she pulled on tights and leotard and pulled out her yoga mat. She punched a familiar code into the comm-post and the peaceful sounds of New Age chimes filled the room. She settled into lotus position and drew a deep breath. Following the instructions given her by the yoga instructor, she began the steps for relaxation and meditation.
Tonight a meditative state was being illusive. Her thoughts drifted back to the examination of Captain Zantor. Her mind’s eye kept returning to his tall somber figure and she kept hearing him tell her how suspended animation would enhance her beauty. Her mouth twitched into a smile. It was an oddly sensual compliment and she got the feeling that it was meant sincerely. She sensed no duplicity in him, or the other Caldorans. Other than the captain, they were, to her, a faceless bunch. Zantor was the only name she remembered, and the only one who had spoken to her.
She tried to return to a more contemplative state. Unbidden, an image of John Koenig formed, sitting across the conference table. Now why was she thinking of him? She knew there was an attraction there. In fact, without the interference of Breakaway, she was certain that they would have formed some sort of relationship. He had remained businesslike; too dedicated to his position and too circumspect to pursue a relationship that would be inappropriate with a subordinate. She wished that wasn’t the case.
After the problems she had experienced with Gorsky, she had been appreciative of John’s efforts to keep their relationship formal and impersonal. But, John was not Gorsky, and she already thought of him by his first name and knew she was quite attracted to him. Her thoughts turned to his impressive energy and intensity. To have that focused on her, in bed…
She took another deep breath. Don’t go there, Helena, she commanded herself sternly. As a doctor and a woman, she knew all too well that there were times when she wanted and needed a man. She could usually tell when she was fertile. Fantasies flew and sometimes she felt the need as a physical pain. She missed her husband, Lee. Even after five years, it was so hard at times to think of what she had lost. She remembered their last few weeks together, a time of almost desperate passion as they said goodbye, knowing they would be separated for a long time, but having no clue that it would be forever. Thoughts of Lee became fantasies that she had conjured before about John, and those turned to the stirring she had first felt today when Zantor had touched her hand.
His shipmate had been killed, and she knew she must take the blame. But blame had not been his intention. As he and the others awakened, and they circled the remains of their stricken comrade, he had taken her hand, touching her lightly, and brought her with John and Victor into their circle of mourning. She had detected absolutely no animosity and somehow, had felt a kind of trust from that first touch.
Experienced with the routine, she had gone from the first stretches, through Child’s Pose, to Dog’s Pose and into Proud Warrior, hands over her head, legs stretched in the proper manner without conscious thought. She bent as the instructor’s voice indicated she was to rest her forehead on the floor. It had taken her years to become comfortable with this position, legs spread wide and straight, elbows bent, head to the floor. As she finally began to relax, allowing the tension to drain out of her, the buzzer sounding, indicating that someone was at her door.
Could it be John? That was her immediate thought. Not that he had been to her quarters more than a scant handful of times. Plus he was more than preoccupied now with the Caldoran ship. And, it was close to 3 a.m. Still, she felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach, as well as a familiar wetness as she thought of him. Considering the thoughts she had been having, she wasn’t surprised at this reaction.
She pushed herself upright and looked at the post across the room. A picture from the hallway had replaced the recorded yoga instructor on a serene and far away beach. Zantor’s somber face appeared on the screen. She gave the verbal command to open the door and stood straight. Zantor stepped into the room and the door closed behind him. She was suddenly very aware of her aroused state and the skin-tight outfit that revealed everything.
“Am I… disturbing you?” he asked in his deep serene voice.
“No, no.” She assured him. “Please come in. I was just doing some stretching exercises,” she said with a smile. She brought her hand to her shoulder. “Sometimes, my shoulder muscles tighten up. It makes it difficult to rest.”
He stepped closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. The spot where his skin touched hers tingled slightly. “Here?” he asked. He rubbed the tense muscle. The effect was soothing.
“Yes,” she said softly, relaxing into his massaging fingers. She felt again that trust, that confidence in him. She looked up into his dark brown eyes. Above them was the area of his skin that was white, then deep black. She had an urge to touch the dark area. She remembered her first day of kindergarten. She was seated next to a chubby black child whose skin was the color of milk chocolate. LaTisha had become one of her closest friends, but that first day the fascination of her dark colored skin had nearly overwhelmed Helena.
Eyes never leaving his, she reached up to touch the area with a hesitant finger. Somehow, she knew the gesture was welcome. The dark skin felt soft and warm beneath her finger.
“The area of somonoclea is very sensitive,” Zantor informed her softly, his deep voice sounding welcoming and reassuring. “Much like your lips.”
His breath smelled sweet, slightly musky, but attractive. Almost mesmerized by his proximity and his touch, she reached up. He was so much taller than her. He crouched slightly so that she did not have to stretch. Her lips pressed slightly against the dark area. She knew by his sigh that he was enjoying the moment as much as she.
She felt… something. A flicker of thought? A sense of empathy? She placed her hands on his shoulders. Whatever it was, she did not feel threatened by it, rather, it heightened her own arousal and made her very aware of his.
“Some members of my clan,” he said softly. “Claim the gift of ‘anandru’, the ability to detect others thoughts and emotions. Some are… were… highly trained in the art.”
“And you… have this gift?” she whispered against his forehead, lips again grazing against his highly sensitive somonoclea.
“I was not aware of it… until now. Sometimes it lies dormant until called up by one who is similarly gifted.”
Her hands moved down from his shoulders to his chest. His colorful silken robes hid his body. He reached to his throat and unfastened a hidden clasp. The robes dropped to the floor and he stood before her. His undergarments consisted of a tight-fitting mesh from shoulder to ankle, not dissimilar to what she was wearing.
He was more than sufficiently human, and more than sufficiently aroused. His lips caressed her cheek and forehead, kissing her as she had kissed him. She took in the sight of his firm body with a feeling akin to hunger. She wanted him.
One look up into his eyes and she knew he understood that thought with perfect clarity. She touched his long white hair that made him look anything but old.
It took him little time to peel her out of the exercise clothes and rid himself of his own garments. He touched her body with a reverence she couldn’t ever remember experiencing. He explored her, touched her, finding all those spots that aroused her even more. She would never be sure if he actually asked her questions, or merely read her thoughts as he homed in with unerring accuracy on those places where she most wanted his attention.
There was never a moment of hesitation or guilt on her part. She wanted this. She explored him as well, and led him to her bed, much as he had first taken her hand earlier that day. But this time, rather than mourn, they rejoiced, in each others similarities, and differences, and needs and pleasures. Three hundred years of suspended animation had done nothing to his reaction time, muscle tone, or ability to perform. He was magnificent, and made her feel more alive than she had in a very long time.
At one point, he whispered to her that there was a place on his ship for her. “Stay by my side,” he offered. “Show me your world.”
“I’ll be a stranger there,” she countered. “You cannot understand how much my people can change in seventy-five years.”
He could not understand that, and she knew it. They were a long-lived race, and his was an old and stable culture. Seventy-five years would mean little to his people.
“Be with me,” he offered.
“My people need me. Stay with us,” she countered.
“My people need me,” he reminded her.
She closed her eyes and he touched his lips to hers. “I must finish my journey.”
Why did she always fall for men more devoted to others than to her? How could she fault him for his devotion to his people?
“I wish… there was hope for us,” she whispered with a sigh.
He touched her hair, her neck, her shoulder. He held her close and made her feel more like a woman than she had felt in years. Eventually, they slept.
When the alarm rang, she opened her eyes to find herself alone. She checked the time. She had just enough time to shower and dress before the command conference.
As she entered the Commander’s office, Victor was telling John and Zantor how the repairs to the ship were coming along. Zantor looked at her briefly and turned to John, and offered the extra spot on the ship to someone from Alpha. She knew Zantor would have publicly offered it to her if she had given him any encouragement.
She stepped forward quickly to volunteer to work with him to make sure the process would work. He agreed
They worked side by side. She asked questions in rapid fire and he patiently explained each procedure to her. When they both felt that she understood what was required, he helped her onto the pedestal.
“I won’t remember what happens?” she asked one last time.
“It will be for you as if the time has not passed,” he assured her.
His hands held hers for a moment longer than necessary and she could feel as well as hear his reassurance. She also knew that should she give him any indication, he would prepare her for the journey and they would be away, to wake up together in seventy-five years, on Earth.
She lay on the pallet and watched the clear cube descend around her like Snow White’s crystal coffin. She closed her eyes and regulated her breathing as if she were beginning her yoga exercises. She had a fleeting thought of John in his office. Then… nothing.
The dreams were disturbing. She kept asking Zantor why he had assured her that she would remember nothing when that was obviously not the case. He had never lied to her before. John brought her a flower and kissed her cheek and she murmured to him that he was her Prince Charming. Lee stopped by and left an apple on her coffin, but he couldn’t stay. He assured her that he was already dead. That didn’t comfort her. Nor did Zantor, who seemed to be accusing her of something. What was it? It was not the death of his shipmate. Ignorance? He seemed to doubt her intelligence. John was nearby, insisting, no, willing her to return, from… wherever she was. He was impatient, waiting for her. She must return. She couldn’t go to Earth. She couldn’t go with Zantor. John had ordered it.
With a flash of pain like a dagger through the skull it was over. She looked above her to the fabric-covered canopy of the ship through the glass-like coffin. Then she looked to the side and her eyes met John’s. For a moment he was stern, tense, but he was there, waiting for her. She had to smile at him. To her delight, he smiled back. It was the kind of smile that made her forget everything else. The kind of smile that had haunted her fantasies about him. She had glimpsed her Prince Charming.
The rest was denouement. John was so delighted to see her back whole. Zantor grew more distant as his journey approached. She would not be the one to go to Earth. She had known that all along. It would not be her.
It didn’t deserve to be Simmonds, who held the base hostage to achieve his goal. She wanted to protest when Zantor gave himself as hostage, but she remained silent. He would not be the man she had come to know if he reacted in any other way. As Simmonds surrendered to him Zantor said his goodbyes, taking her hands in his.
In that moment, they both saw the life that might have been. A chance to love each other, to explore the new Earth together, a chance to grow old together and cherish each other until the end of their days. It was not meant to be. She also caught a flash of something else; something buried deep; something Zantor was ashamed of. Simmonds would not be allowed to achieve his goal. She had no idea what Zantor intended. That was shielded from her.
Then the contact was broken. Zantor was gone. She could do nothing more than hope that he made it to Earth someday.
There was still plenty of work to do. She watched the lift-off with John and Victor from Main Mission. John’s look spoke volumes to her. Without even the kind of connection she had found with Zantor, she knew he was pleased that she was alive and safe and on Alpha with him. She was more sure than ever that they had some kind of future together.
They were looking over plans for some needed improvements to Alpha when Simmonds call came in. He was not in suspended animation. He was trapped on a ship that was rapidly accelerating away from him. There was nothing they could do. No matter how they felt about the man, this sort of death was worse than anyone might deserve.
She heard Victor assure John that Zantor couldn’t have known. She kept quiet. She knew better. Zantor knew exactly what would happen. He would see Simmonds doom as just. His thoughts and mores, although similar to their own, were alien, nonetheless. Zantor had made a decision and Helena, more than anyone else, knew that he would have no regrets. Not about Simmonds.
As for any regrets Helena had, they would remain buried. She spent a few quiet moments with John, sharing the odd irony of Simmonds fate. There was the seed of something between them, perhaps not as bright as what she had felt with Zantor or Lee, but it was there, and in its own time, it would grow. She was sure of that now.
Broomhildi
2003