Page 106 of Melinda's Choice

Relieved, if not a little sheepish at the curious looks I’m getting, I hurry towards her. She fastens on the seat extension and takes her position, legs opened wide. I manoeuver my body into her lap, laying my head on her chest. She tightens the safety straps securely around us as I try to calm myself with slow breaths in and out.

We begin our tilt backward, and my heart starts to pound double time. Rivlor’s hands begin a leisurely stroke of my head, shoulders and chest. “You will be fine, Wyatt,” she states. Her voice is nearly drowned out by the loud roar of the ship’s engine beneath us.Oh God, I don’t think I can do this again.

“Yes, you can,” murmurs the mind reader at my back. She wraps both her arms around my torso and squeezes me tight.

And well yes, I manage to get through it. I don’t think it’s ever something I’ll get accustomed to. After a while, I become aware that our seats have tilted back to an upright position and that others are unstrapping themselves and getting up to stretch their legs. That’s it. We’re in space, on our way to Krovatia. Before too long, I’ll be finding Melinda, and trying to win her back.

???

Our first few days in space are a period of adjustment for all of us. I’m not exact on the science, or on Venorian technology, but the spaceship manages to maintain gravity so we’re not floating about in the air. It’s not quite on a par with what it is on the Earth’s surface, but near enough. Our steps feel a little slower and heavier when we walk, and it takes a bit longer to get back down to the ground when jumping up in the air. Not much of an issue for me, but for the dancers trying to maintain their training regimen, it has posed interesting challenges. In one corner of the dining hall, they have set up a barre to do their stretches and exercises on, but floor work involving pirouettes and jumps has proved far too tricky.

While the dancers try their best at maintaining their physique, the actors learn their lines and the musicians practise on their instruments. In between all this, we keep each other company, getting to know one another a little better, our resident rockstar, Ricky Charles, being the one prominent exception. He has kept mostly to himself, using the privacy of his own room as the perfect excuse not to mingle with us ordinary folk. However, his roadie, a guy named Wilson, has regaled us with lots of fun tales of their adventures on the road, making up for his boss’s social ineptitude.

Of Rivlor, I have seen very little. Her duties as the ship’s captain keep her busy, and mostly in the vicinity of the operations room which we do not frequent.

Being quartered in the cargo hold and sleeping in a pod doesn’t afford me a huge amount of privacy. The pods are foldable structures made of durable plastic and silicone, brightly colored candy pink—someone’s idea of a joke, I’m sure. Each pod, when erected, has space for a single bed, a small desk area and a storage compartment. I use the desk to work, sending out messages to my contacts on Krovatia, Ven and Driskia to arrange accommodation and confirm the venues for our shows. Our venue on Krovatia will be a lecture theater at the university in the northern sector, which has a large stage and auditorium. Pravol kindly put me in touch with the university authorities to start the ball rolling. I sit now to compose and send a message to the university outlining our requirements, the dates we plan to perform and requesting a price quote for our rental of the premises.

Then I stretch out my legs uncomfortably in the cramped space and listen to a message that has just arrived from my main contact on the planet Ven, a lady named Flidar, who also happens to be Treylor’s mom. Flidar has scouted for possible venues that would suit our requirements. The Venorians do not have theaters, preferring to consume their arts in more intimate surroundings. The concept of a large theater with a stage is somewhat alien to them. It’s funny to think that on their planet, we will be the ones considered alien, not them. I listen to Flidar suggest a possible venue for us. It’s the lecture hall at the Institute for the Advancement of Science, where Treylor used to work before being deployed to Krovatia. I watch the video footage of the space that Flidar has kindly recorded for me, but my heart sinks. Unlike the Krovatian lecture theater, this space will not work for us at all. The stage area is far too small for dancers to skip and prance about on.

I sit back on my chair and sigh. If push comes to shove, we could consider setting up an outdoor stage, perhaps on some kind of sports field, if they have such a thing on the planet Ven. I start a new message. “Athena, record message to Flidar. Begin.”

Smiling at my communicator screen, I speak. “Hello Flidar, I hope you and your mate are well. Thank you for sending me the video footage of the lecture hall at the Institute for the Advancement of Science. Unfortunately, it’s not going to be a suitable venue for us. Our dancers need a larger stage to perform on. I am going to send you some video clips of ballet performances so you can get an idea of what kind of activities they will be doing and the space they’ll require. If there is no suitable venue to be found, I’m wondering whether we could erect a stage outdoors, perhaps on some kind of sports field? I would be very grateful if you could look into this and get back to me as soon as possible. Thank you again for all your efforts on our behalf. Athena, end message.”

Fingers crossed Flidar will be able to find something suitable for us soon, or else I dread to think what will happen. I’ll have egg on my face for sure, having brought artists light years away from their home only to find they have nowhere to perform. And then, if and when that’s sorted, I still have to sell tickets to our shows and ensure we have a paying audience. Abruptly, the ramifications of all I have to do start to weigh down on me. So far, I’ve been running on adrenaline, my efforts focused on putting this project together and getting it off the ground. Now that we are literally off the ground, the reality of what I’m undertaking is beginning to sink in.What the fuck am I doing here?

I stand abruptly, needing to get out of the confines of my pod and breathe some fresh air. Ha! That’s a joke. I’m on a spaceship. No fresh air available. I step outside my pod, breathing heavily, and rush out of the cargo hold into the corridor. I have no set direction in mind, just a need to walk off my anxiety. What the fuck am I going to do if I can’t find us a place to perform our shows? Oh my God why didn’t I just stay home and continue with my nice, safe existence as a chiropractor? Why did I feel the need to make such a fucking grand gesture?

I’m striding forward in my agitation, uncaring where I go. That’s why I end up barrelling into a tall, firm body, sending me falling down on my backside. “Wyatt,” a voice barks. “Why are you running on my ship? Did you not listen to the rules?”

Rivlor holds out a hand to help me up. I stand and brush myself off, not knowing what to say. At last, I grunt out, “Sorry.”

She frowns at me. “What is the matter now?”

I run my hand through my hair sheepishly. “It’s nothing. Just another anxiety attack.”

She examines me a moment more, then comes to a decision. “Come.”

She strides off in the opposite direction, and I follow at her heels. We come to a door—her chamber—and she opens it with a touch of her hand to the wall scanner. I step inside hesitantly, not sure what we are doing here.

She points to the bed. “Go lie down.”

My eyes flit to hers in confusion.

“Be a good boy Wyatt, and do as I say,” she says in a clipped voice. “Go lie down on the bed, on your back, eyes closed.”

The command in her voice is impossible to resist, so I do as she says, hesitantly making my way to the bed, slipping my shoes off and lying down.

“Close your eyes, Wyatt.” I close them.

“Breathe deeply in and hold the breath.” I take a deep breath and hold it.

“Now breathe out, and with that breath, let everything that is worrying you flow out of your body. Let it go.” I breathe out, trying to empty my mind.

“Again.” A cool hand touches my forehead as I take my next breath in and out. “Keep going, let your anxiety flow out with each breath.”

I spend the next few minutes focusing on my breath, all the while feeling her cool hand on my face. She’s using her telepathy to read my mind.

“Yes, I am.”

---