VI.

Part VI of Backwash.

VI.

 

            I slept soundly that night. There were no dreams, only a constant, monotonous blackness that effectively lulled me to sleep. I went to bed that night thinking about Garth, wondering about why he reacted the way he did and what it could possibly entail. I paced up and down my quarters in silent agony, thoughts and voices screaming at my head for hours. And then I saw it.

            The Dauntless.

            My window isn’t large—three feet by two feet—but I saw it in clear view anyway. At first, it was a little brown speck on the horizon, emitting light, moving slowly towards me. Like a crippled comet. Or a brown tsunami…yes, that was a better analogy. I was watching a brown tsunami form and shape itself, rushing to greet and eventually engulf me. And after it would crash onto me, it would recede, taking away something precious in my life and leaving me behind. That’s how I felt anyway. I wasn’t thinking straight that night; I was melodramatic, angry, confused, hopeful and resigned. That was Emotion’s finest. And my eyes glimpsed the tiny brown dot among the blackness of space and all my irrational Emotions seemed justified.

            I laughed.

            It started out slow—a soft gurgling at the back of my throat, a barely audible giggle, a mild chuckle and finally to full-blown roaring laughter. I was grateful for the soundproof walls that night. I laughed at Garth’s face in my head, at the brilliantly soft touch of his skin on mine, at the Dauntless bringing about the end of what could have been a happy thing, at my clothes strewn over the floor, at the pimple forming near the right side of my chin, at Captain H’s message over the telecomm, formally informing the crew about Garth’s departure, at my parents chiming my door to see if I was alright, at my failure to open the door, prompting my father to leave a message on my telecomm, telling me that my mother and him were at my disposal if I needed them, at everything. I was crazy. I was ecstatic.

            And so I looked at the Dauntless one last time. It seemed to be moving faster now that it was closer, undoubtedly in a hurry to meet up with us at the rendezvous coordinates and examine the man worth all their troubles. It was an intimidating, first-class ship, the kind I’d only seen in First Rank documentaries. Then, still giggling, I rubbed some clearing cream on my pimple and climbed into bed. The last thing I saw in my mind was Garth’s face: unsmiling, unfriendly and unloving. It was a beautiful sight.

            I had no dreams that night. Undoubtedly, my body never entered REM sleep. The Doctor told me once that that was a bad thing; the body only regenerates during REM sleep. But the next day, I felt no different. I didn’t wake up early to wish Garth a final goodbye and to see him off the ship. I was too tired. But I did hear—and feel—something. At around 0530 hours, I heard someone chime my door. I checked the time and decided that I was too sleepy to answer. I closed my eyes and drifted back into a half-sleep. I vaguely heard the door open, an emotionless voice invoking the use of personal security overrides. I snuggled deeper into my bed, cozily resting the blanket under my chin. The sound of footsteps getting louder as someone approached me. The dull clank as a data pad was dropped onto the metallic surface of my night table. I stirred in my half-sleep, seeing darkness periodically interrupted by flashes of bright light. Even with my eyes closed, I could see the shadows of my quarters move. The subtle brush of lips against my forehead. I sighed happily and nestled my head further into my pillow.

            The first thing I did when I woke up at 0900 hours was sit up and rub my eyes. I then picked up the data pad and began to read. Garth had left me a letter.

B,

I am truly sorry we must part like this but I am afraid I have no other choice. I feel that I must explain myself, for I am sure that you must have been thoroughly confused at my behavior last night. It was uncouth behavior. I am afraid that what you told me caught me by surprise and I was unsure of how to respond.

            However, that is not all. You must be wondering why I responded the way I did. To that, I can only say one thing: it was pure Instinct. I don’t believe in love. I never did. It doesn’t exist. At least, not in the way most people think it to exist. Love is an excuse, a sugar coating, an attempt to making mating more personal. The Emotion of love is a more socially acceptable mask for the mating Instinct.

            However, I cannot deny that the concept of love embeds cultural notions and expectations of how to behave, rituals needed to be completed (example: marriage), etc. In some ways, the mask is more complex than Instinct. I suspect that it is this form of love you meant when you said what you said.

            I must confess, however: I do not love you. But I have immensely enjoyed your company over the last several months. You are a unique conversationalist, you are simple, you are easy to understand and though you are Emotional, you do not flaunt it. Some may call you heartless. I call you reasonable. And because of your admirable qualities, I would often find myself wondering about Emotion and how our relationship could be redefined. If I wanted to, I could love you. But you know my opinions about Emotion. If I were ever to settle down and find myself an exclusive partner, it would have been you. The Instinct to mate was always the strongest when I was around you.

            Please do not think of me any less because I have revealed this. It is the truth, though an unsettling truth, I am sure.

            I, of course, hope to see you again sometime but I doubt I will return to the ship. It was never home. So since us encountering each other in the future seems unlikely, I can only wish you well and hope all your future endeavors are a success.

Take care,

Garth

            So there it was. My answers, several sentences, many more words and hundreds of letters clicking together to create a signal, a calling, in response to the infinite and timeless questions that had wandered into my mind the night before. Instinct. As simple as that. I was not disappointed, strangely. I set down the data pad gently on my bed and looked out the window thoughtfully. That was it? I had cried for days after James’s death. I had felt the hard lump in my throat form and rise swiftly, the moisture in my eyes and the face of darkness pressing against mine, smothering me until I could hardly breathe. Now, I simply felt a small emptiness that could be shunted off to the side and disregarded if I wanted to do so. I got up and brushed my teeth, staring at my tired and somewhat pallid reflection in the clean mirror. Happily, I noted that the pimple had disappeared overnight. The clearing cream had worked. I then drudged over to my closet and threw my day clothes on before returning to the bathroom to tie up my hair. As I passed my bed, my eyes automatically landed on the data pad. A soft chuckle escaped my lips and I couldn’t help myself. I picked up the data pad, sank onto my couch half-dressed and read the letter over again.

            I do not love you.

            And so there it was! The concept of love, the real concept of love. I had experienced many moods over the last several days, from my melancholy at Garth’s cynicism to my anger and disbelief at his reassignment. And now, at the face of his rejection—which wasn’t really a rejection at all—I could only smile at the irony hidden intricately behind his words. And I knew that once I put down the data pad and turn my eyes to other things of urgent matter, my face will automatically mold itself into a grim but slightly unfeeling mask. That’s it! What mattered now was that I was now late for work and I rushed to the bathroom to put up a ponytail and afterwards rushed to the cafeteria to get J her raspberry flavored iced tea.

            Later that day, the Doctor cornered me.

            “B!” I heard him call. I turned around, no smile nor frown on my face.

            “Doctor,” I said but I continued to walk. He sped up his pace to match mine, carefully studying my carefully.

            “How are you?”

            “Since when does the Doctor make corridor visits?”

            “I heard about Garth and I just—”

            I whirled around to face him dead-on.

            “Look Doctor,” I said calmly, “I’m fine. Garth didn’t die like James did. There’s no need to send me to Counselor N. I’m okay.”

            “You may be in denial…”

            “Over what? Garth has relocated to another ship, I fully understand that.”

            “But you don’t seem to understand that things like these happen. It’s normal to feel sadness!”

            “Normal…” My voice faded as I thought, staring off into space. He seized the opportunity to talk some more.

            “You must miss him! You must realize the consequences of his work on the Dauntless! He could perish, he could never see you again…and I take it you cared for him very much.”

            I was brought back to my senses.

            “Doctor, I’m fine. Really. And if I have thought about wanting to jump ship into empty space in an effort to rid myself of my miserable life, then I will gladly report to Counselor N. But in the meantime, thank you for your concern, Doctor.”

            He blinked.

            “As Senior Medical Officer, I have the authority to command you to see Counselor Nina…”

            “Doctor…”

            He sighed.

            “Alright, fine. I don’t believe that this “I’m fine” sentiment is normal and really means that you are fine but who am I to say? I am just, after all, the ship’s doctor…” and so he wandered off, muttering under his breath about low crew tolerance and lack of appreciation.

            And my day carried on as normal, except I drew strange looks from several members of the crew. It was like James’s death had been repeated with Garth. J told me in secret at work that the medical and psychological staffs were preparing for a sudden breakdown on my part—two rejections from potential exclusive partners in a lifetime was a lot to bear. I couldn’t understand why. I did not spend two days in my quarters, crying. I did not walk out of my quarters this morning with red and puffy eyes and a breakable expression of feigned satisfaction on my face. I did not leave my mashed potatoes cold. I continued my life as normal—fetching documents for J, entering analysis data into the main computer, making small talk with the lab technicians when J was too busy to give me tasks—but some people (not all, as only some people knew of my romantic feelings for Garth) treated me like I was a ticking bomb: something to be careful around. Every word was dropped with great thought, every action premeditated, every gesture planned for any sort of contingency. I vaguely considered, only with mild amusement, faking a breakdown just so I could satisfy their fears. But the thought killed itself instantly; it was pointless, callow and would use up a number of the ship’s resources needlessly. It was impractical.

            I sat by myself during dinner for the first time in months. I didn’t really mind the silence—it was almost always silent when I ate with Garth anyway—so the change was not significant. However, there was no pair of intriguing gray eyes to stare into as I chewed the pasta primavera the cook had made today. And so I rested my eyes on the Earth poster instead.

            It looked no different than it had yesterday. Still with the same glassy texture, the same smoothness, the same mysterious aura that revolved around it. I found myself longing to go there as I sat in the brightly lit cafeteria, sipping my iced coffee thoughtfully. It must have changed in the last two decades, since my parents left it. Change is inevitable and it is one of the two things life is never without. The other is death. I took a sweeping glance at my fellow shipmates, noticing them averting their gazes from my solitary figure as they realized I was looking around. Emotion had finally settled here, on this ship. We now accepted it without question, without complaint and without pain. It had become the norm. I wondered if that was how it was on Earth. Perhaps. But larger populations brought larger diversity; would it be likely that a good majority would react to Emotion the same way? Different parts of my mind screamed different answers but I shut them all out, taking in the picture as I always did as my eyes glazed over the smooth blues of Earth’s oceans.