The blades of the Void Strider
By
J.L. Young

The first year of the deceleration phase of a six-year jaunt to Alpha Centauri is nearing completion. The last communique of the year has been sent via laser bound for Houston. Most of the crew aboard the Void Strider are in suspended animation. Three crewmembers remain awake to function as a skeleton crew to conserve resources.

A woman rotated her seat while rubbing her eyes, “The packet is sent, Ash. Shouldn’t be long until we receive the scheduled communique from Houston.”

Ash’s thick southern drawl filled the small flight deck, “You look tired Dezzy. I know you haven’t been sleepin.’ Perhaps the Docbot can give you somethin’.”

“Don’t let him hear you call him that. He’ll suddenly forget the whole ‘do no harm’ thing.”

“Can he forget? I thought he had that,” his head wiggled with mirthful imprudence, “Eidetic memory.”

“Just how in the hell do you know I haven’t been sleeping?”

“You wear it like that uniform,” he replied.

“Is it that noticeable?”

“Sure as a South Carolina speedin’ ticket.”

Dezzy drew a deep breath, “I guess I’ll be back.”

“Might could be tomorra. If so, ‘night.”

She stepped up to a ladder and climbed it to the hub. From there, she expertly pushed off into the spinal corridor and past the cargo hold. The microgravity eased her descent toward the aft section of the ship.

In the second rotating wheel, Dezzy found the doctor making his rounds of the sleeper pods. She climbed down to meet him. “Horus?”

The doctor smiled and without diverting his eyes from the readout on a pod, “‘He hath achieved a maid that paragons description and wild fame;
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
And in the essential vesture of creation does tire the ingener.’ Hello Desdemona, our fair captain.

“I think Cassio should have been with my namesake, perhaps she would have lived. But no, she was married to Othello, the man possessed by the demon jealousy.

“Indeed, but the story wouldn’t have been a tragedy,” Horus replied.

“Those were all the rage back then, weren’t they?”

His brow raised, “Still are. Did you need me for something?”

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Do you have something or someone weighing on your mind?”

“About 150 someones.”

“From the biometric scans of the passengers and crew, we’re all fine.”

“Even Ash?”

“I’m not qualified to diagnose Ashley’s mental state. He’s beyond the bounds of human psychology. But if I were to venture a guess, he’s fine as well.”

“Can you just give me something to make me sleep?”

“I can, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“I can’t order you to, either.”

“Uh-huh. However, I can prescribe an hour of meditation each night before you bed down. Let’s give that a try, Desdemona.”

“Alright,” she replied.

Dezzy opened the hatch to her cabin, slipped off her boots, and kneaded her toes into the natural green lawn carpeting the deck. She sat and crossed her legs. The breathing technique taught by a guru eased her into a meditative state.

Her morning alarm sounded. The Captain’s eyes opened and the blades she laid among were last night’s bed.