"Not Necessarily Genre"

NOT NECESSARILY GENRE
By Curtis C. Chen

"Why is he wearing one glove?" I whispered.

"Quiet," Anne replied. "He hates interruptions."

We were sitting near the back of the lecture hall, fingers poised over our tablets to take notes. But Professor Glendor hadn't covered anything new yet. I also couldn't believe he hadn't noticed that his left hand was purple.

"That's a sterile glove," I hissed. "If he came from his lab—"

"Apparently someone has a comment," Glendor's voice boomed.

His eyes scanned the room. I sat perfectly still.

"Now you've done it," Anne said.

Glendor pointed at me. "You!"

I gave Anne a dirty look. "Thanks a lot."

"Would you like to share your scintillating conversation with the rest of us?" Glendor asked.

"I was just wondering," I said, "why you're only wearing one sterile glove, Professor."

He squinted at me. "Who are you?"

My mouth felt dry. "Jodette Shah."

"I didn't ask for your name," Glendor said. "Who are you?"

My tongue was a desert. "I-I'm a third-year pre-med—"

"No!" He smacked the podium. "Who are you?"

"I don't understand the question!"

Glendor stared at me. "Come down here, please."

I walked to the front of the lecture hall slowly. I didn't want to trip and fall and make an even bigger scene than I already was.

"Now," Glendor said when I was standing next to him, "I'm going to ask you a different question. Why does it matter that I'm only wearing one sterile glove?"

"It's just—unusual."

"What makes it unusual?"

"You wouldn't wear gloves unless you were doing lab work or a medical procedure," I said. "And you wouldn't wear just one. You walked into class like that, which implies—possibly—you removed the right glove and forgot about the left one."

"So?" Glendor said. "Maybe I'm just eccentric."

"You've never done it before," I said. "And it doesn't matter which situation is more likely. Not knowing is the problem."

Glendor nodded. "I'm going to ask you again, Miss Shah: who are you?"

I took a chance. "I'm the one who asked the question."

"Close enough!" Glendor snapped off his glove and addressed the room. "Miss Shah is the only other person here with even half a brain.

"If any of you shared her concerns about why I walked in with a sterile glove on one hand, you sure didn't speak up. You see something out of the ordinary, you ask about it. You're afraid you'll look dumb in front of your peers? Get used to it.

"Given the choice between saving face or saving your patient, which do you choose? If you have to think about that for any amount of time, get the hell out of here right now!"

I leaned over and asked, "May I sit down now, Professor?"

"Sit down?" Glendor pulled me over to stand behind the podium, then sat down in the front row. "You're giving the rest of this lecture."

As much as I hated the old man in that moment, I also fell in love with him that day.



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"A Middle Portion of the Star-Sailor's Tale"

A MIDDLE PORTION OF THE STAR-SAILOR'S TALE
By Curtis C. Chen

The sailor refused to answer questions about why he had journeyed into prohibited space, but the Brigadier could prove no wrongdoing more severe than trespassing on the sailor's part. After the prescribed holding period had expired, the peacekeepers released the sailor onto a small merchant moon in the Western Spiral Arm. Once again penniless and friendless, that is where the sailor met the gene-seeker.

Indeed, these are the fables you surely heard as a child, or saw played out in countless popular holodramas: the adventures of the star-sailor and the gene-seeker, traveling the known galaxy and beyond in search of adventure! But those swashbuckling tales are not the whole story, of course.

The sailor was not so carefree and inquisitive when he first encountered the gene-seeker. In fact, the sailor was quite single-minded in the pursuit of his sworn enemies, the pirates of the near-core systems. His first meeting with the gene-seeker was a clash over which of them would hire a particular starship out of lunar orbit.

"Your dead science can wait," the sailor said to the gene-seeker. "I have more pressing engagements. And none will stand in my way."

"Oh, you intend to hunt down your former captors all by yourself, do you?" the gene-seeker replied. "Be realistic, my friend. The peacekeepers devastated that pirate fleet when rescuing you; the surviving raiders have surely scattered to distant stars by now. It would take years to track them all down."

"I have nothing but time," the sailor said.

"Allow me to propose another situation," the gene-seeker said. "You have, I understand, been sequestered for some time, and may lack knowledge of certain current events. I offer my services as information broker, negotiator, and guide. I mean no offense, but it seems clear that you are not, at this time, well suited to the task of establishing and maintaining interpersonal relationships."

"And what do you want in return for these services?" the sailor asked.

"Let us travel together," the gene-seeker said. "We shall begin the long and difficult task of locating your enemies, and along the way, explore the various worlds we encounter and inspect any life-forms of interest. My research is not constrained; I have no predetermined path. As long as there is biological data to collect, my analysis can proceed. You will be free to direct our travels."

"Fine," the sailor said. "Just stay out of my way."

"Of course, my friend," the gene-seeker said. "We shall journey side by side."

And so they did, for nigh on a century. I will not repeat those tales here, for they are numerous, and you have surely heard the most engaging of the lot many times before. Suffice to say that the star-sailor and the gene-seeker became great friends, boon companions through all manner of hardship and mystery, inseparable except by death at the end.

And so it was, when the gene-seeker passed on, that the next part of the sailor's story began.



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"The Space Between"

PREVIOUSLY: "Funny Story"

THE SPACE BETWEEN
By Curtis C. Chen

"How's your migraine?" Barrett asked.

"Better." Liz shifted in her armchair. It should have concerned her that Doctor Sawhney had a ready supply of placebo pills on board, but she could see where they'd come in handy with elderly hypochondriacs. "How was your thing?"

"Pretty awesome," Barrett lilted. "I'm editing the video now. You are going to be so impressed."

Liz closed her book and watched Barrett fiddle with his laptop for a while. She looked around the ship's library. It was about half full of other passengers relaxing with books, drinks, games, or just with each other.

"How do you do it?" Liz asked.

Barrett looked up from his computer. "Well, first I import the video from my camera—"

"Not that." Liz smacked his shoulder with her book. "How are you so happy all the time? I've never seen you upset or even irritated. Other people get depressed; why don't you?"

"I get depressed. Were you there when we watched Titanic?"

"I'm serious."

He nodded and closed his laptop. "Okay, this is going to sound dumb, but... every morning, when I wake up, I tell myself I'm going to be happy, that it's going to be a good day."

"That's it?" Liz squinted at him. "That actually works?"

"That's just the first step," Barrett said. "Look, I'm not saying this would work for you, since your job's a lot more stressful than mine—"

"I'm not asking for advice," Liz said. "I just want to understand. I want..." She looked away. "I want to know more about you."

Barrett gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, at least you didn't say 'we need to talk.'"

Liz shook her head. "Okay, you wake up, it's going to be a good day. What next?"

"I just keep telling myself it's a good day," he said. "No matter what happens, no matter how bad or how difficult things get, I remind myself how lucky I am. I'm healthy, I have clean water and plentiful food, I have a rewarding career and wonderful friends." He smiled at her. "I'm a very lucky man. And that makes me happy."

Liz thought about all the times she'd been infuriated by Barrett's apparent obliviousness. He wasn't actually clueless, she realized. His optimism was a monumental effort in the face of all the evil and hardship in the world.

Liz saw pain and suffering every day in the ICU. She couldn't just ignore the darkness by focusing on how she was mitigating it. It wasn't enough to light her one candle.

But maybe Barrett could help her. If she asked, he'd rattle off a list of things she should be happy about. And he'd do it in such a friendly, reasonable way, she would have to believe him.

Maybe that would be enough.

She leaned over and kissed him.

"I'm glad we came on this cruise," she said.

"Me too."

"You know what we should do later?" Liz grinned. "Karaoke."

Barrett made a face. "I thought you wanted me to be happy."

The book made a satisfying thump against his forehead.



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"Funny Story"

PREVIOUSLY: "Dinner Conversation"

FUNNY STORY
By Curtis C. Chen

Dejah Thoris' sickbay was subdued and cramped when compared to the ship's passenger spaces. Liz played with the interactive drug compendium on the wall while waiting.

Doctor Sawhney hurried in, pulled the privacy screen closed, and frowned at the wall computer. "This terminal should be locked."

Liz shrugged. "You should change the password from the factory default. So what happened yesterday in the excursion area? Another drunk guy? Some kid messing with the controls?"

Sawhney held up a hand. "I cannot legally divulge names. And I cannot confirm that the passenger in question was attempting to commit suicide."

Liz gaped for a moment. "With a note and everything?"

Sawhney nodded. "His cabin stewards found it. And no, I can't tell you what it said."

"Fair enough. But you were there an awfully long time..." Liz snapped her fingers. "You were talking him down, weren't you? You're the closest thing to a therapist on this ship, and you must have malpractice insurance."

"We have two medical professionals on staff," Sawhney said, "and every crew member is trained for—"

"Don't change the subject. I know you're bound by doctor-patient privilege and the threat of a lawsuit, but what if I run into this guy later?" Liz shrugged theatrically. "And what if we start talking, and I accidentally utter some trigger phrase that causes him to attempt suicide again?"

Sawhney frowned. "That's highly unlikely."

"But it is possible. And preventable."

The doctor sighed. "I do not envy the hospital staff who have to work with you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Come on, spill."

"I am not a psychiatrist," Sawhney said. "But this gentleman exhibited clear signs of clinical depression. He was supposed to have come on this cruise with his wife—it was their thirtieth wedding anniversary—but she divorced him last month, rather unexpectedly. He decided to sail alone. I don't know when he decided to kill himself.

"Fortunately, all our airlocks are interlocked, and the only override is on the interior controls, but the gentleman managed to jam the doors closed. It took our engineers some time to set up a bypass. Meanwhile, I had to make sure he didn't break anything else, like the exterior window."

"So what did you say?" Liz asked. "How did you convince this guy his life was still worth living?"

"We sang."

Liz blinked. "Sang?"

"I noticed he was speaking in very strange phrases. One of the crew recognized them as song lyrics."

"You have to tell me what song."

"No. Believe me, it was nothing special. Anyway, we played a karaoke track through the intercom, and I started singing, hoping that the gentleman would respond.

"I don't know why this particular song was special to him. Maybe it meant something to him and his ex-wife; I don't know. I must have talked to him for half an hour, but it was the singing that brought him back." Sawhney shrugged. "Sometimes, words alone aren't enough. It takes more to make a connection."

Liz nodded. "Was it an Elvis song?"

"Please go away now."

CONTINUED IN "The Space Between"...



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"Dinner Conversation"

PREVIOUSLY: "Phobos Cruise Crazy"

DINNER CONVERSATION
By Curtis C. Chen

"More shrimp cocktail, sir?"

Barrett nodded. "Don't mind if I do!"

"Thank you, sir." The server piled more tiny pink crustaceans onto Barrett's plate, followed by a dish of dark red sauce. "Please enjoy."

Liz elbowed Barrett in the ribs. "Slow down there. You're going to make yourself sick."

"Well, obviously," Barrett said. "It's not a real sea voyage unless somebody gets sick."

"You're hilarious. And we're not at sea."

"Metaphorically."

But she wasn't listening to him anymore. Her own words rang inside her head: "at sea." They weren't on the ocean, but Liz was feeling somewhat lost.

She looked around the cavernous, multi-level dining room. An army of servers and wait staff maneuvered around the labyrinth of tables, dishing out food, refilling wine glasses, and generally making sure that none of the seated guests had to do anything but eat, drink, and be merry.

Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I just don't know how to be happy. Liz looked back at Barrett's smiling face. Maybe you should be with someone who does.

A burst of applause sounded behind her, and Liz turned to see two uniformed crewmen approaching the Captain's Table: a tall, Nordic-looking man with large hands, followed by the dark and compact Doctor Sawhney.

"Sorry we're late, folks," the Norseman said, bowing slightly before he sat down. "I'm Captain Erickson. And I believe some of you have already met Doctor Sawhney, our ship's physician."

The two officers walked around the elliptical table, shaking hands with each of the diners, then took their reserved places. Captain Erickson sat directly across from Liz, on the short axis of the ellipse, and Doctor Sawhney took the empty seat on her right.

Conversation meandered for a while, from food to wine to the ship's specifications to each passenger's occupation and reason for coming on this particular Mars cruise. An older gentleman was loudly telling the story of how he and his wife had met when Liz looked over at Doctor Sawhney and saw that he wasn't particularly interested, either.

She leaned toward him and said, "Tell me about the incident. The one that occupied you for so long."

Sawhney blinked. "We had a passenger in the airlock."

"Isn't that what the excursion area is for?"

"He wasn't wearing a spacesuit."

Liz leaned closer. "What happened?"

Sawhney shook his head. "I'm sorry. The situation has become more... complicated since I spoke to you at the staircase. I'm afraid I can't offer many more details."

"Well, what can you tell me?"

"Wouldn't you rather talk about something besides medicine? You are on vacation, after all."

Liz tilted her head. "You think I became a nurse because I don't like discussing medicine?"

Sawhney shrugged. "I make no assumptions."

"Come on. I'm sure whatever you have to say will be more interesting than Mr. and Mrs. Rubenstein's meet cute."

The doctor looked up and across the table. Liz followed his gaze and saw the captain watching them with a passionless smile.

"Not here," Sawhney said.

CONTINUED IN "Funny Story"...



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Coming Soon!

"The Space Between" will be published on Friday, February 22nd, 2013.

Coming Soon!

"Funny Story" will be published on Friday, February 15th, 2013.

Coming Soon!

"Dinner Conversation" will be published on Friday, February 8th, 2013.