The new headquarters complex of the Galactic Alliance was bustling with activity as the official dedication and opening ceremonies were only a couple of days off. Most of the main building was finished and fairly sparkled with newness, although workers and engineers could sometimes be spotted unobtrusively working in some corner, hurrying to get everything just right. The building itself was all sleek silvery steel beams arcing upward in a seemingly random fashion but all coming together in the gigantic stained-glass atrium room some two hundred meters above the entrance lobby. It was a symphony of grace and design, breathtaking yet understated, and the gentle late spring light from the outside cascaded down and seemed to find its way into every corridor and passageway of the magnificent structure.
After a period of time not much longer than a Terran decade, the headquarters of the Galactic Alliance moved from a host city on a member planet to another host city and planet. Formerly, the city of Ritrelan on the planet Solana played host to the huge variety of scientists, diplomats, soldiers, warriors and merchants that all had some sort of connection to the Galactic Alliance. Beginning in a few days, the Terran city of Edinburgh, Scotland would be the home of the Alliance, down the Royal Mile from the grand edifice of Edinburgh Castle, next to the ruins of Holyrood Palace.
Captain Robert Twillig of the Galactic Alliance Starship Archangel was standing in front of the entrance to the massive library in the middle level of the main building, making small talk with some old friends and colleagues who always seemed to turn up unexpectedly at places such as this. They laughed and talked about past adventures and mutual friends and acquaintances, and caught up with family matters and where they went on their last vacation. Captain Twillig gradually excused himself and made his way to the railing of the atrium, where he could look downward and see a dozen floors and levels leading to the huge, ornate fountain in the middle of the street-level concourse, and look upward to the stunning round rose-shaped stained-glass window at the top, which poured every conceivable color down the atrium, illuminating everything in a bright, pleasing glow.
He reached up and touched a communication device built into his uniform. “Twillig to Azara,” he said. Seconds later, a voice came over the device in reply. “Miranda Azara here, sir,” the voice said in very familiar, warm tones of someone who has seen a great deal and loved even more.
“Miranda, where are you?” the captain asked. “I’m up on the top level of the atrium, captain,” she replied. “Stay there,” he said, looking around the hustle and bustle of the communications center across the atrium. “I’m on my way up.”
“Acknowledged,” was the answer, and Captain Twillig started toward the bank of elevators near the cluster of exhibit halls and dining areas.
Minutes later he was up on the highest level of the atrium. The stained-glass roseate window seemed so much bigger and the colors much deeper and saturated. Everywhere he looked there were bright splashes of burgundy, sapphire, emerald and amethyst light as the sun outside reflected and refracted through the complicated shapes of the window. There was an almost reverent, cathedral-like hush on this top level of the building, closest to the sky, and people walked slowly past large statues and holographic images of some of the most respected figures in the three-century history of the Galactic Alliance.
Captain Twillig walked mostly unnoticed past the groups of people reading about the historical figures from the silver plaques or listening on earpieces to the information being constantly broadcast in over 350 languages. Most people strolled around in silence or talked in hushed tones as representations of over 60 beings from 28 planets towered over them. He walked up to a woman hair of average height with chestnut-brown, but with a warm, wide smile and welcoming brown eyes. Twillig looked over to the hologram of the historical figure in front of them.
“How did I know you would be right here?” Twillig asked with a little sparkle in his eye. Miranda Azara, ship’s psychologist on the Archangel for the past 28 years, smiled broadly as she read the inscription on base of the pedestal in front of them. “Admiral Samuel J. Twillig,” she said almost proudly. She turned to look at the captain. “I can see the family resemblance.”
Captain Twillig looked for a little while at the three-dimensional image of his great-grandfather. The image looked so real that you could almost see the blue twinkle in the eyes, his brown hair swept back on his head, looking out over top of them toward who knows what. The captain started reading the historical information on the pedestal.
“Samuel Joseph Twillig, 2324-2418. As a lieutenant j.g. in the Galactic Infantry he was largely responsible for capturing a highly advanced early prototype of the first Rigellian space vessel capable of compressed-space travel and delivering it to the Galactic Alliance, after the fall of the Rigellian military installation of Ceren Tahk during the Cepheid rebellions.”
“Indeed,” Miranda said. “That turned out to be quite the pivotal moment in the history of the Galactic Alliance,” she said, “in so many ways.”
“Both good and bad,” the captain said. “Before the fall of Ceren Tahk the Rigellians were our sworn enemies and the Kellurians were our friends and allies, although there always was uneasiness, a lack of trust, between the Alliance and the Kellurians. We just happened to be temporarily fighting on the same team, for the same outcome, but had very little in common otherwise.”
“And once we got the compressed-space technology from the Rigellians,” Miranda continued, “there was really no reason for the Kellurians and the Alliance to get along anymore, and the unsteady, unstable working relationship quickly disintegrated.”
“Quite true,” the captain said. “After my great-grandfather delivered the prototype to the Alliance, nearly half a star base of scientists and technicians spent every second of the following six months taking the ship apart and learning all its secrets. The Alliance had their own working prototype of a compressed-space-capable vessel by the end of the year, and the Kellurians soon thereafter. The Kellurians wanted to restrict the compressed-space technology to only the military forces, and the Alliance wanted to distribute the technology to the private sector and make it available to all. The Kellurians hollered like banshees and threatened to start another war over the fate of the technology, but in the end the Alliance released it to non-military concerns. That brought the Coalition of the Alliance and the Kellurians to an abrupt end, and things have kind of gone downhill ever since. The Rigellians soon got over the fact that we took the technology from them and gradually came to cooperate with the Alliance on many humanitarian and scientific endeavors. The Kellurians became more belligerent, blood-thirsty and treacherous as time went on and we almost always find ourselves in some intractable disagreement with them, teetering on the brink of open warfare.”
“Our enemies became our friends and our friends our enemies,” Miranda observed almost wearily. “How many times has that happened in human history?” she asked, her voice trailing off quietly. After a couple of seconds of silence, she turned to the captain and asked, “Did you ever meet him?”
“He died when I was eight years old,” the captain replied, “but I clearly remember meeting him when I was about six. I had heard for months that I was going to meet Great-grandfather Samuel,” the captain said, “and my parents made a huge deal about it. After a while I thought I was meeting God himself,” he said with a little chuckle, “they had built it up so much. The day finally arrived when I was dressed in my finest outfit and my hair was combed to perfection, and I was marched into a large room with a crowd of other very important looking people, where a man with white hair was sitting in a chair at a desk.”
“Oh my, that must have been an astounding experience for you,” Miranda noted with a chuckle. “You probably did think you were meeting the most important person that ever lived.”
“I absolutely did,” the captain continued. “My parents escorted me in and we stopped a ways back from great-grandfather, and they gave me a gentle push to walk toward him. I could hear my father say to him, ‘Admiral, this is your great-nephew, Robert Joseph. The white-haired man stopped reading something from an electronic pad on the desk and turned to look at me. I felt my feet suddenly become stuck to the floor and I felt like I was glued to the spot, unable to move. An eerie, almost deathly quiet descended on the room full of at least a dozen other people.”
“What did he say to you?” Miranda asked with great curiosity. “I can’t imagine how intimidating that must have been to a six-year-old.”
“He slowly swiveled around on his chair to get a good look at me,” Captain Twillig continued, “and I could feel his eyes giving me the once-over from top to bottom. I can still clearly recall his eyes being a bright, piercing blue color.” Captain Twillig looked again at the motionless, frozen face of the holographic image of his great-grandfather. “They didn’t quite get his right eye-color in this hologram.”
He turned to Miranda Azara again. “I just returned his gaze right back at him, and slowly looked down his wrinkled, lined face to the gold stars on his old-fashioned Galactic Coalition uniform, the several rows of colored bars above his left pocket indicating some of the awards and recognitions he received. As I continued to look downward I noticed the zipper of his pants was a little bit open at the top, right below his belt. In a very clear, loud and confident voice, I announced to him, my parents and all the other people in the room, ‘YOUR ZIPPER IS OPEN!’”
Miranda gasped audibly and then started to giggle almost uncontrollably. “Oh my goodness!” she said. “You met your great-grandfather for the first time, an inestimable and highly-esteemed Admiral, hero of the Galactic Alliance, and the only thing you could say was that his fly was open!” Miranda started laughing harder now. “I would expect something like that from Brisbane Richardson,” she chortled, “not from Captain Robert J. Twillig!” She turned to him, “What on earth did he say?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Well, he really didn’t say anything at first,” the captain said, “but I will never forget what he did. His face slowly opened up into a smile, and he gave me a wink! Right then I understood what a warm, amazing and human person he was, and I felt an instant and immediate bond with him. He reached over and pulled up his zipper, and we were the best of friends from that time on!”
“What a wonderful, amazing story,” Miranda said, catching her breath. “Why have I not heard that before?”
“I don’t really know,” the captain answered. “I hadn’t thought about it much until right now. There are a lot of stories that are not really known outside of my family. One such story is that after my great-grandfather spirited the prototype away from Ceren Tahk,” the captain said, “they could not figure out how to work the navigation system onboard, and spent nearly two weeks flying from one end of the galaxy to the other trying to figure out how to get back to Alliance territory. They were starting to get worried because the only food onboard was Rigellian, and it is the blandest, most tasteless food imaginable, at least to humans!” The two shipmates continued looking at the image of the youthful, future admiral, staring off at some unknown object in the distance. “What do you think he would say if he were looking at this holographic image of himself in the Hall of Heroes in the new headquarters building of the Galactic Alliance?” Miranda asked.
Captain Twillig got kind of a crooked grin on his face and he let out a little laugh. “I think he would probably stomp his feet,” he said, “and then either spit on the floor or utter a few carefully chosen curse words,” the captain said, smiling. “I think he would have been pretty embarrassed at this kind of adulation.”
“He does seem like the kind of person who was really grounded, and had a keen sense of what was important in life and what wasn’t,” Miranda said. She turned to look at her good friend. “Again, I can see the family resemblance.”
The captain looked at his friend and a little wave of bittersweet regret crossed his features. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to talk you out of leaving the Archangel, Miranda?” he asked almost imploringly.
Miranda returned his gaze, the warmth of her smile as welcoming as a fireplace on a cold, damp day. “We’ve talked about this at length, Robert,” she said, “and I honestly don’t want to leave that beautiful silvery spaceship we have all called home for almost three decades.” She turned and looked toward the atrium window. “But I have done my share of gallivanting from one end of this galaxy to the other, and I have seen and done such amazing things which I will never forget. But I knew several weeks ago when I walked again through the Highland moors and along the shore of Loch Lomond that my heart needs to stay in the land of my ancestors for a while. I feel I can really contribute to the good of the Alliance by heading the Applied Psychology research center here at headquarters. And that is what I must do. But you, on the other hand,” – she reached up and gently touched the captain’s face – “you are still being called by the stars and galaxies out there. Your job is not yet finished, and it is there that you must go. You will not be happy otherwise.” Captain Twillig could not conceal a twinge of disappointment.
“Doctor Zeerling will be an excellent psychologist,” Miranda said as cheerfully as she could. “I chose him myself. He is a Lyriad, and they are extremely perceptive and empathetic.”
“I know he will be excellent at his job,” the captain said, “but he will never take your place.” He looked into her eyes one last time. “Goodbye, Miranda,” he said wistfully. “There will always be a place for you on the Archangel.”
“Take care of yourself, Robert,” she said sincerely. “There will always be a place for you in my heart.” She leaned forward and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Without saying another word, she turned and walked toward the elevators which would take her down and outside to the warm, moist Scottish spring breezes. Captain Twillig turned and looked to the unchanging gaze of his great-grandfather, shook his head and walked away.
