Voyage to Alpha Centauri: A Novel by Michael D. O'Brien
Authors: Michael D. O'Brien
Tags: Spiritual & Religion
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said none of this. Just squeezed her hand and excused myself.
I’ve been doing some research and have learned that kangaroos are usually not aggressive; it’s very rare for them to attack a human without provocation. I found the news of Edwin’s death in an archive file of the Sydney Morning Herald . One muses on whether the kangaroo that was the occasion of his meeting his wife was the ancestor of the kangaroo that killed him. On the next page was an article by an eco-politician, writing about the need to obey the endangered species laws, under a banner headline: Save the Kangaroo!
Day 717 :
I asked Dwayne what he is paid for his janitorial services.
“I mean,” I said apologetically, “I hope they’re paying you good wages.”
“Very good”, he said.
“Not that you can spend it, really. I’m curious to know why the large number of service personnel continues to work so diligently, while the rest of us sit back and enjoy a sabbatical.”
“This way we get to come on the voyage. That’s payment enough for most of us. But we also get double the pay we’d be earning back home. With no place to spend it, other than a meal out now and then, this means that in twenty years all us deck-swabbers and bottle-washers will be able to retire young. I’ll be forty-eight years old when I see Earth again.”
“Not a bad employment opportunity.”
“And an adventure thrown into the bargain.”
Recalling that sterilized people get double pay, I said, “Uh . . . forgive me for asking, but do you hope to be married some day?”
“Yup.”
“Hope to have children?”
I had used the plural, as in illegal. He fixed me with a cool, level stare. “Yup.”
“What will you do when you retire?”
“Buy a small ranch, raise horses, and . . . raise children.”
“A worthy dream. May it become reality. By the way, have you ever seen the Santa Fe Mountains?”
We talked on about his dreams for some time. He had thought everything through in great detail. He wanted a family, independence—big horizons. I told him about my real cabin in the mountains. His eyes got all visionary as he tried to imagine it.
“So you dreamed too, Dr. Hoyos”, he said at last.
“I did. It took patience and ingenuity getting there. It cost a lot. I don’t mean money.”
“I know you don’t mean money. You mean the way things are.”
“Yes, the way things are.”
Day 730 :
Second year completed. No changes in the panorama outside the window, at least none that my eyes can detect. Only the three sisters are slightly brighter, their magnitudes increasing at snail’s pace. Telescopic zoom now gives us AC-A-7 as a well-defined sphere, very small, no surface details visible.
Day 819 :
Here I am again, the lapsed journalist. Nothing much to report. I have at least five hundred Kashmiri words tucked away in my head, enough to make me functional in a certain state of northern India. Dariush the Great is master of a vocabulary numbering upward of three thousand words. He is not competitive about it; he is an enthusiast. We enjoy simple conversations in Kashmiri. Who could have predicted this for my life!
Stron’s drinking is getting worse. Where does he find the stuff? I’ll bet he stashes it in that little highland castle he calls his room. Nevertheless, he is always coherent.
Maria is doing well. She does a lot of knitting in public places, and younger folk gather around her. She has made many friends. Every home needs a mother, and she’s great at it. Maria the truly Great.
Pia and I joke whenever we meet, just to keep things on an even keel. I believe she has found somebody to love among the flight staff. I see her nose to nose with him in various bistros now and then. The symptoms are unmistakable. I am pleased to observe that I am happy about it, since this reaction reveals to me that my affections are unselfish. How unseemly it would be, indeed pathetic, if the case were otherwise. Poor old Quasimodo.
Day 846
I’ve been doing some research and have learned that kangaroos are usually not aggressive; it’s very rare for them to attack a human without provocation. I found the news of Edwin’s death in an archive file of the Sydney Morning Herald . One muses on whether the kangaroo that was the occasion of his meeting his wife was the ancestor of the kangaroo that killed him. On the next page was an article by an eco-politician, writing about the need to obey the endangered species laws, under a banner headline: Save the Kangaroo!
Day 717 :
I asked Dwayne what he is paid for his janitorial services.
“I mean,” I said apologetically, “I hope they’re paying you good wages.”
“Very good”, he said.
“Not that you can spend it, really. I’m curious to know why the large number of service personnel continues to work so diligently, while the rest of us sit back and enjoy a sabbatical.”
“This way we get to come on the voyage. That’s payment enough for most of us. But we also get double the pay we’d be earning back home. With no place to spend it, other than a meal out now and then, this means that in twenty years all us deck-swabbers and bottle-washers will be able to retire young. I’ll be forty-eight years old when I see Earth again.”
“Not a bad employment opportunity.”
“And an adventure thrown into the bargain.”
Recalling that sterilized people get double pay, I said, “Uh . . . forgive me for asking, but do you hope to be married some day?”
“Yup.”
“Hope to have children?”
I had used the plural, as in illegal. He fixed me with a cool, level stare. “Yup.”
“What will you do when you retire?”
“Buy a small ranch, raise horses, and . . . raise children.”
“A worthy dream. May it become reality. By the way, have you ever seen the Santa Fe Mountains?”
We talked on about his dreams for some time. He had thought everything through in great detail. He wanted a family, independence—big horizons. I told him about my real cabin in the mountains. His eyes got all visionary as he tried to imagine it.
“So you dreamed too, Dr. Hoyos”, he said at last.
“I did. It took patience and ingenuity getting there. It cost a lot. I don’t mean money.”
“I know you don’t mean money. You mean the way things are.”
“Yes, the way things are.”
Day 730 :
Second year completed. No changes in the panorama outside the window, at least none that my eyes can detect. Only the three sisters are slightly brighter, their magnitudes increasing at snail’s pace. Telescopic zoom now gives us AC-A-7 as a well-defined sphere, very small, no surface details visible.
Day 819 :
Here I am again, the lapsed journalist. Nothing much to report. I have at least five hundred Kashmiri words tucked away in my head, enough to make me functional in a certain state of northern India. Dariush the Great is master of a vocabulary numbering upward of three thousand words. He is not competitive about it; he is an enthusiast. We enjoy simple conversations in Kashmiri. Who could have predicted this for my life!
Stron’s drinking is getting worse. Where does he find the stuff? I’ll bet he stashes it in that little highland castle he calls his room. Nevertheless, he is always coherent.
Maria is doing well. She does a lot of knitting in public places, and younger folk gather around her. She has made many friends. Every home needs a mother, and she’s great at it. Maria the truly Great.
Pia and I joke whenever we meet, just to keep things on an even keel. I believe she has found somebody to love among the flight staff. I see her nose to nose with him in various bistros now and then. The symptoms are unmistakable. I am pleased to observe that I am happy about it, since this reaction reveals to me that my affections are unselfish. How unseemly it would be, indeed pathetic, if the case were otherwise. Poor old Quasimodo.
Day 846
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