(and Other Stories)

a collection by

Patrick J Stephens

What if love at first sight meant being transported into someone’s deepest imagination?

Who would you leave behind to man the first probe into the sun?

Aurichrome (and Other Stories) explores the role of humankind in a future inspired only by our present. From struggling to provide for a family as the instrument of a larger corporation (AURICHROME), to how the jury will sway on a murder conviction in the wake of a tragic childbirth (THE TRIAL OF WESLEY CARPENTER) – these stories embrace the human spirit.

William Loews-Miller kept Parker's MC-11 in his periphery as he folded survey reports into the lining of his pack. Through the port-glass window, the planet turned a blind eye to William after being eclipsed by a gas giant in its orbital path. On a normal rotation, MC-11 would have been nothing more than a planet hinting at hostility, strangely welcoming. Today, the Earth-sized MC-11 hid as if it knew William was there to place it on the market.

William picked up and tested his handheld seismograph, having replaced the antenna that often distracted him with the scent of copper rust. He set it at the bottom of the pack with various sonar devices, and next to a container labelled 'Soil Samples.' He inspected the contents of the bag three more times, making sure everything he needed was there. Survey forms; a spade attached by rubber band to a couple of unlabelled canisters; a communications relay in the shape of a handheld cell; and an inventory list stamped with his boss' name on the top, and Jameson Starliner Realties emblazoned below.

If he lost or damaged anything, that sheet would make or break his commission.

He mentally compared the items he had with the list of items he wished he had and, while whispering a prayer to himself, yanked up the zipper circling his pack.

"Please," he said, bowing his head and mumbling, "Jamie deserves something better, a real home. Help me, just this once." He almost dropped his bag from the nervous tension rushing through his arms.

"Five minutes, Miller. Good luck."

The deep baritone voice of Lane Jacobs - a serviceman destined for the second string team of realtors - carried past the hatchway. Jacob’s knock on his chamber door echoed down the hall. In response, William strapped the shoulder lines over his arms, latched the vinyl belt around his waist, and repeated the prayer again, silently. Now more than ever, William needed to believe that the prayers he knew by heart, and those he would come to know, could shape his future.

The horizon circled William and his colleague like a stagnant, algae coated dome. The soil was the color of faded crimson, slightly off the pigment of Mars, but closer to Rudolph's AX-12 - a planet William had sold around his twenty-second birthday. That world had been an easier sell. It was back in the days when business men and women bought planets with a fix-'em up attitude, on whims, or after being coerced by spur of the moment mid-life crises.

Even moons needed a selling point these days, something unique that whispered 'I'm yours,' without adding 'but first...'

If there was a scent he had to attribute to the planet, William would have chosen the rusty end of an aquarium mixed with a boiling septic tank. It would have easily turned away any buyers who intended to use Parker's MC-11 as a tourist spot - a fact he hurriedly jotted on the first blank survey sheet. His colleague, Arthur Haroldson, pointed to a pool of water from a recent rainfall. The puddle had been heavily discoloured by the soil.

"Don't step in the blood," laughed Haroldson. "Should be safe though, primary scans show no groundwater in the area. That's all on the top; it's safe to dig."

William knelt down and picked up a handful of wet soil. He crumbled lumpy grains of dirt between his fingers, stood up, and ordered Haroldson to start to the east.

"And don’t dawdle!" William called out as Haroldson walked away. Haroldson was tall, with dark, cropped hair, almost the mirror image of William. They shared the same slightly protruding gut that extended a finger's length over their belts. Everything that made the two men different - personality, and the physical ramifications of ambition - had flown away the moment they stepped foot on the planet. He was a man William had usually enjoyed being teamed up with. Haroldson would go off in one direction, but never too far, just in case William needed help. As long as he knew William was in control, William liked him.

But Haroldson didn't know this was supposed to be William's last job; he didn't know about the home in Scotland, or about his dreams of living on Earth. William would be damned if he let it slip that he wanted to return to the place his family had been born – it was by returning there that William felt he could really understand having succeeded. Haroldson would have urged William to buy a place on Mars, or someplace where properties were still affordable.

Earth? He'd joke; you'd have to be the richest man in the world to pay for that.

William surveyed the planet's face, turning around slowly, like he'd done when the shuttle had first landed. He felt nothing from Parker's MC-11, which struck him as strange because he usually felt something on first arrival. A twinge of irritation, a morsel of respect. He'd detested everything about Rudolph's. He was glad to see it go to the lowest bidder, a film company from Titan's New York attempting to remake some early twentieth century disaster films William knew he'd never pay to see. But here, William was indifferent. He couldn't force a single emotion to surface, even though the glowing horizon should have made him wish he was a painter.

His pack emitted a shrill chirrup, and Haroldson's masculine voice spoke through, muffled. "Hey, old man," he said, not releasing the button that allowed William to respond. "What do you say we make this a competition?"

William waited for radio silence to respond. "We're here to work, Arthur."

"I know that," he chirped back. "But, why don't we put something down on who can make this place worth Jameson's time?"

"Jameson writes the checks. He won't go for us gambling away his own money, even to each other." William held back a sarcastic laugh.

"I know that. I mean something else. Like the name on the deed or something. To be determined later. Oh, how 'bout this. We both get the same amount of money whether or not we sell it, right? Well, how 'bout, the person who finds whatever makes this place special gets to lead the team to the surface? Whoever's earned this sale, or something? Kinda like getting the bragging rights."

"You're on."

William had brought his wife to the ship, raised their son in space, and risked the life of his marriage every day. Ellen could have stayed at home, but instead she'd come with him to save up their money, living for free on Jameson's real estate barge. If anyone was going to earn the sale, it would be him. He wasn't going to end his career in second place for anything.

He swallowed, set his pack down, and pulled out the seismograph. The first of many tools, he hoped, that would turn this landscape of nothingness into something profitable. He fingered the antennae, glossing over a small bump in the rod that hadn't been there before, and placed it on the ground. The cylindrical backing opened up and dug into the soil, like it was trying to find shelter underground. The idea of the device was a simple one, a modification of seismographs from long ago. It measured plate tectonics by digging into the planet and embedding sensors into the thickest parts of the soil.

William had to force himself to slow down, letting the feel of the competition wash over him slowly instead of drinking it in all at once. He turned to his pack and pulled out the samples container as the seismograph injected small probes into planet's tectonic membrane. Everything was silent until a flood of water bled out through the pinprick holes beneath the seismograph, alerting him by first soaking his shoes with distinct warmth. It was like he'd burst a vein running beneath the surface. William grabbed his bag and backed away, violently pulling the device off the ground and cursing. He clicked it on and off and turned it over to check the sensors.

Still working, William cursed silently again, and found a new spot to work.

As he placed the seismograph back on the soil, prepared to work through the night, William's thoughts returned to his son. He knew he would win Haroldson's bet. His son and his wife deserved it. His mind remained there until the shift was done.

Three days earlier, William had returned from a late-night call in the commissary with his banker back on Earth to discover his wife, red-faced and clearly unhappy, ushering their son to bed. He didn't know how to tell her that their recent statement had come up short - just a couple thousand, the banker reassured - and that they couldn't afford the property on Earth. The stone framed, three bedroom home in the south of Scotland would have to wait.

Again.

He didn’t know how to break the news to his wife.

"Come away from the window, Jamie," Ellen said, stepping over the tassels dangling from her nightgown as she joined her husband in the common area. In her wake, she left bits of thread strewn about the floor from where she'd been ripping at the seams, nervous. She eyed William, silently pleading for him to take charge - to be the father. He responded by kneeling in front of his son, so that he could look his ten year old boy in the eyes.

Jamie was a small boy, one who hadn't quite grown into his age, mostly due to the fact that kids on the ship were scarce. Jamie spent more time with his mother going between the family lounges, the garden, or taking care of their quarters. He was the only little boy William had ever known that liked dusting to the point of exhaustion. It was often a source of conflict that neither Jamie nor Ellen was allowed to go down to the many planet surfaces, but it was something Ellen had known would happen before coming on-board.

Jamie was ready for bed, his single suit pyjamas bearing pictures of retro-rocket ships and vintage models of star cruisers. His eyes were red, already showing the signs of a tantrum if he didn't get to stay up any longer.

"Watching the stars again?" William whispered. "Good. You should always keep an eye on 'em."

"Why?"

William pulled his son close, cradling him as if preparing to scoop him up and carry him off to bed. Ellen scoffed her disapproval and disappeared to the bedroom. That was a storm he'd have to deal with later. "When you see 'em flicker, that means they're whispering to each other."

"What are they talking about?"

"The taste of stardust, what asteroid belt they need to visit. Home. Things families talk about," William paused and looked out the window where the stars stared back at him; MC-11 hovered in the distance, mocking him with the idea of what was to come. "Thing is, we aren't supposed to see 'em do that. So if you catch them in the act, they owe you."

"What can a star give me?" His tone of disbelief couldn't mask the curiosity that gleamed through his youthful expression.

"One free wish. It's their way of asking you not to tell anyone."

Jamie's attention jumped back to the window as he pulled out of his father's hold. The prospect of a free wish was far greater than what he could offer, William joked. He stood there for a moment, watching his son's attention flitter back and forth between the stars like a hummingbird's - not nearly long enough for him to catch a blink, or even so much as a wink from the vast expanse outside. He clapped his son on the back, stood up, and joined Ellen in the bedroom, where she nursed a mug of cold tea.

When William sat down, she whispered over the rim: "Stars only flicker from the perspective of someone standing on a planet, not out here. I wish you would stop filling his head with such ridiculous nonsense."

"Since when have you stopped looking?" William asked. After a momentary pause, he sat back against a pillow and offered something else: "Besides, you make it sound like we'll be here forever."

"For Jamie, it has been forever. He's never even set foot on a real planet. Today, when I was picking up our rations, he asked me how they grow tomatoes in space."

William had been with Ellen for over thirty years, on this ship for ten. This wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. This time, he knew it meant something more. It wasn't the usual cabin fever talking tonight. "You promised the last planet would be the final one. We're supposed to be making money, so when will we make enough? I can't keep working odd jobs around this damn place, there's only so much gardening and cooking a woman can do. I don't want my obituary to be a cliché, William."

William sighed, he couldn't tell if that was a joke or not.

He had to tell her.

As William described their bank statements those looks became more rigid and stoic when he promised that Parker's MC-11 really would be the last one.

"I'm not staying here forever. Neither is my son. I don't care if it means leaving you." William was too focused on himself to catch the glint of tears in her eyes.

"After this," he said, "we're home free. I give you my word."

"And how much is that worth?"

William didn't want to answer; instead, he got up, walked to the doorway, and called their son to bed.

All the evidence suggested that life had once existed on MC-11; however, it also supported the idea that the planet was barren, and impregnable to any kind of burgeoning life forms. It seems, William noted in his log, that human kind can survive here because we've realized that cold doesn't necessarily get staved off by living in a cave.

William called Haroldson on the radio and ordered him to run a second toxicology scan on a few soil samples from a tent he'd set up in the east, the first having been done an hour prior; Haroldson said he was already on it. He could tell Haroldson wanted to bring up the bet again. William scanned his survey reports. He hadn't found anything that would give MC-11 the edge it needed for the market - not from a buyer's point of view – so he held his tongue on the bet as well.

Three more hours produced only a few more items of note: the tectonic readings from the shuttle team revealed that the continents far in the north suffered from a tectonic movement unfamiliar to human experience: a steady, triplet beat that - defying the logic William had grown up with - rocked the mountains at an even interval. The tides in that region seemed to flush out, replaced by rivers and streams that opened up into the salt water oceans. In the south, and in one volatile spot on the equator, methane clouds belched into the sky like flocks of bird following the wind patterns. And a further analysis confirmed that thread-like veins of water ran under the surface, barely detectable to any of the equipment William had relied on. He looked past the reports and scanned his surroundings again: How are you showing life where there is none? He had to know.

William fumbled next to his stack of reports. His survey sheets drooped under their own weight.

"I think I may beat you just yet," Haroldson's voice erupted from the radio, stealing William's surface thoughts in a single gasp, "There's a vein of Aurichrome poking out of a field a few kilometres from here. Standard tests reveal it goes deep. Very deep. Should I pursue?"

William's heart began to thump in his chest. This was it. Investors, buyers, anyone with a few million stashed away would jump at the chance to buy this place. And even though he knew he had another hurdle to jump over, one that he refused to think about just yet, William picked up the radio and called back, tossing his pen and the filing folder onto the desk: "Do it. I'll call Jameson and tell him. Get as much information as you can."

"Yeah," Haroldson added, "make sure you tell him I found it, too."

William nodded, knowing that Haroldson wouldn't see it. His partner may have found the ore, but it was William that would make sure it became a selling point. He clicked on the receiver, thinking of Ellen and Jamie, and added, "just make sure you understand that I'm the one who'll win this thing." For a brief moment, he thought he could hear Haroldson laughing from kilometres away.

By the time Haroldson returned, William had already convinced his boss that the Aurichrome was destined for the fuel industry. Usually planets this size went to merchants looking to create something out of the minerals, artists seeking a new landscape, or industries that could put such the alien landscape to good use - whether through film, or converting the largest continent to a warehouse district.

Yes, there were some strange things, he'd reasoned, but those were scientific oddities, not deal breakers. Aurichrome, on the other hand, was a big deal.

"It's amazing. It winds throughout the entire planet," William said into the receiver, speaking excitedly about the Aurichrome deposits. On the other end, Jameson was silent - mostly due to the lag between ground to ship communications. "Running like a clock, all the way around, without touching the core."

"Do you have any idea how we'll mine such a big deposit?" Jameson's husky voice trailed off at the end.

"I assumed the buyer would take care of that," William stifled a nervous laugh. "I mean, the entire planet can be used as a fuel source. Isn't that enough?"

"With something this big, nobody's going to touch it.”

"Sir," William said. "I don’t think you understand."

"I understand everything, Miller. But I think your mind may be a bit clouded right now. Do you even remember our policy?" The internal motto - never leave the customer alone with the product - broke into his surface thoughts as William listened. "Think. We are selling a product. What use does a planet have if the buyer doesn't know how to use its best features?"

"We could mine the Aurichrome ourselves."

"And who's going to pay for that?"

"Our gains would far outweigh the losses, I'm sure."

"This coming from a man who continues to let his emotions dictate price," Jameson whispered, but his voice came out loud and clear through the speaker. All the images of the home in Scotland started to melt away from William's mind; days of playing with his son in the front yard, or of fishing in the stream near the neighbour’s house, distanced themselves from him in a fleeting burst of bitter defeat. The idea of Haroldson standing triumphant over him burned right behind them.

"Look," Jameson said. "If you can find a way to mine the deposit without costing us a fortune, or at least give me a report to hand off to any potential buyers… that would be a start. But I refuse to go into this blind. Aurichrome may be valuable, but it's also extremely volatile - there's a reason it powers combustion engines, Miller."

"Yes, sir," William responded.

"Oh, and William, tell your wife that I may have a few things for her to do next week. A couple of loading dock crewmen were thinking of embroidering the new Jameson logo on their uniforms. Think Ellen can learn how to do that? Or cross stitch?"

William set the receiver down without clicking it off. He let the static fill the air, like a storm rushing from the distance, one he couldn't see. Barely registering in his periphery, Haroldson huddled at the end of the tent, watching closely, with his head bowed. His silence made William feel completely alone. He was drowning in it, he thought. Aurichrome that would last dozens of years and he couldn't touch a drop.

William returned to his quarters half a day later, at midnight - ship time. He stepped lightly from the door to the bedroom, where his wife cradled their son as they both slept. She had switched off all the lights, but the auxiliary bulbs lit a scattered trail around the lounge table to the foot of the bed. He let his body collapse onto a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and rested his eyes in the palms of his hands.

He'd let them down again.

It was beginning to look like he would never have enough to leave. William didn't plan on telling Ellen any of what happened on MC-11. He was a good father; a great provider. Nothing could stand in his way when it came to giving his family what they needed - no, what they wanted. Haroldson was probably still working on the problem, so why wasn't he?

He shifted further onto the edge of the bed; Jamie stirred, kicking out his bare feet from beneath the coverlet, revealing Ellen's bare leg in the process. William pulled the sheet back over his son's toes before Jamie woke. He had a faint, sleep-filled smile illuminating the corners of his eyes, brighter than any star. Then he looked at his wife, a beam of starlight shone on her through the blackened window like dozens of distant spotlights from far away. It wasn't that he didn't love her anymore; it was that he didn't know how to love her without having something tangible to prove it. All the waiting, all the promises he'd made, each one had worn her down so that all they ever shared was the occasional spat.

The first promise had been the one of the ship.

He'd told her that she would fit in just fine and that she would make friends with the other surveyor's wives and husbands. Eventually it would be like their old neighborhood back on Titan. Only, there were four other jobless spouses on the ship, and each one had paired off or chosen to focus on a small, private career. Ellen had her writing, but she'd never really been serious about that enough to stay still and finish a story. Then there had been Jamie. I promise you, once Jamie comes, you'll spend more time with those women, they'll want nothing more than to see him, which means you'll definitely get out more. Only, by then, the others had their own children. That was the second promise he was forced to break.

And so it went.

She worked job after job, spending most of her time trying to find something that kept her mind off of where she was, occasionally fraternizing with the crew, but too afraid to latch on to anyone for fear that they may reject her. The only promise that remained unbroken to William was that he would make enough so they would be able to leave.

The screen at the end of the room flickered to life, muted, but alive with silver sheen. It flashed a picture of Jameson followed by an unopened envelope below. Moments later, a catch opened below the screen and an order sheet slid out. William walked over to the monitor and eyed the piece of paper. Orders, he read, for the next planet.

"Damn you," he whispered, rubbing his eyes with his palms, and dabbing away tears from the corners. He stood up, straightened his shirt, and clicked off the monitor - it was MC-11 or nothing. He wasn't going to make them wait anymore.

No more promises.

Haroldson was working on a problem he should have already solved.

Morning came faster than William wanted. He'd stayed up all night, working in the corner of the bedroom in silence, every now and then glancing back at his wife and son. At one point, Ellen awoke to use the bathroom, and said nothing to him. It was as if William wasn't there. Her eyes were glossed over by sleep. She returned moments later and William attempted a smile. She walked past and fell back to sleep. What William didn’t notice, however, was that she stopped at the bathroom door. She watched him work. When she returned to bed, she wiped away her tears and stared out the window, waiting for a star to wink.

All William considered was that if ever she’d seemed cold and disdainful, it was his fault.

There were sheets filled to the last line with diagnostic equations, and icons that stood for sentences William didn't want to spell out. Haroldson had sent him about dozens of different kinds of mineral deposits littering the surface - though, the last person William wanted to think about was Haroldson.

Every now and then, the sleeping bodies of Jamie and Ellen reinvigorated his sense of duty which, even now, needed to be stoked every so often to keep sleep at bay. He hadn't prayed for anything to happen yet - he'd actually forgotten that was an option - but he did turn his gaze to the window, hoping to see a star or two winking back.

The face to face meeting with Jameson came later that same day, and William was more prideful than he'd ever felt. He went in knowing he would succeed.

Jameson had always been a good boss, a little rough around the edges, but he had a way of scouring every pretence from William's mind. Jameson had come up with the idea of pre-paying his realtors. Instead of working on a negotiable commission, Jameson cut his checks early for a price that he would ensure he got from a later buyer. It set the bar for Jameson to work from, and never back down from haggling. And Jameson never took more or less than what he asked for. It was why William had gone with Jameson's realty business instead of any of the other companies. That was, also, why William knew his boss would fight alongside him if he could provide something worth fighting for.

Pushing through the office door, William carried a diagnostic screen underneath his arm and set it up at the front of the room, making sure Jameson could see it clearly. He switched it on, revealing a cross section of MC-11, with the Aurichrome signified in dull silver. The reports had said it ran throughout the planet, and they were right. Small strands, like arteries, jutted out from the circular mass all around it, like webbing; the centre stayed unwavering without touching the core. William marked a twelve at the northern pole of the planet, a six at the south, and other time related increments around the planet until the cross section looked like a clock instead of a scientific display. When Jameson asked William to begin, he started effortlessly.

"Slow burn," he said, pointing to the twelve. He touched the side of the screen and the image came to life. The Aurichrome began to burn from the top, scrolling back to eleven, then to ten, and onwards - shifting the silver material into black, like a countdown. "We would normally have a month, but with a slow burn we could have twelve burns at thirty days each. Aurichrome burns slowly, it's the gaseous state that contaminates the ore around it and causes the rapid inflammation. So, we would have to mine the gas as quickly as possible. We need to turn our attention from the immediate situation, and focus on what happens behind the scenes. If we do that, the delayed reaction would allow the Aurichrome to be mined safely, without incident. It would just take a few months."

Jameson looked pleased.

"So," Jameson started, "the buyer will need to have this kind of technology, or at least the funding for it because I don't know anyone here willing to cut a check for that." William held his tongue. "Miller, this is good, but did you even consider the budget when you thought of it? Have you consulted with Haroldson on any of this?"

The comment struck William swiftly. It was as if Jameson had come into the meeting knowing just how to counter his data. Why did he stay up all night? What did he achieve but giving Haroldson more time to steal his prize from him?

"Keep going with it," Jameson said, standing. He stopped before leaving, "I'll give you a bit more time. Just think it through this time. Pay attention."

William set the diagnostic down and allowed himself to fall into the nearest seat. At least he was halfway there.

Nothing was real, it was all work.

Maybe there was something in the veins running beneath the surface. No, that couldn't work, because every water vein veered away from the Aurichrome the moment it got close - there were capillaries of condensation, but those weren't near enough to do anything of consequence. Or the tectonic pulsing? Defibrillation. No, that could destabilize the core since the Aurichrome was all connected. He couldn't even grasp at how his mind made the connections anymore. Everything jumped at him all at once, memories, numbers, reports, chances, promises, and disappointment. William looked out the port window. He wished there was a way to calm everything down.

Ellen called twice, asking him if he would be home for dinner. He expected her to give him the third degree: 'I understand what you're trying to do,' she was supposed to say. 'But have you considered what you're doing to your son? What ignoring him does?'

He could always sense her fighting to use herself in those phrases.

But instead of asking those questions, she asked when he would be home for dinner. William didn't know if the call was about the same dinner or two different ones, but he replied that he wasn't hungry all the same. She put Jamie on the line, his voice cracked with excitement as he tried to tell his father about what he'd just seen outside the window - a star had winked, though the story remained unconfirmed by Ellen. Instead, she'd added, “I'll talk to you later, William. Come home whenever you want."

William's heart dropped in his chest. The fight in her voice had gone. It wasn't resentment he'd felt, it was nothing. She wasn't calling him home; she was calling because Jamie had asked her to. He could deal with her anger, her hatred, or even jealousy. But now that she displayed nothing about their life, William was at an absolute loss. It was the first time he'd worried about Ellen.

So his mind jumped back to the Aurichrome, right into work. He had to do it for her, he convinced himself. He closed his eyes and started to pursue a different train of thought when another call broke his concentration. He let the machine answer. "Hey man," said Haroldson. "Just want you to know. No hard feelings bud." That was all. The machine clicked off, and William erased the message immediately.

Less than a half hour later, Jameson called. William wanted to throw his papers across the room, and pick up the phone with a dozen curses that had sprung into his mind. But the shrill, annoying ringing of the intercom struck the thought out of his head as fast as it had occurred.

"William," Jameson said. "Don't worry about MC-11; Haroldson's down here. He came up with something that'll blow your mind. You guys have done me proud today; your cuts will be issued tomorrow. I'll take it from here."

It was done. Just that quick. Their commissions would be cut tomorrow.

He had the money.

But Haroldson had beaten him - had given him his pass to a better life. He could have easily understood suicide in that moment, but his family would forever resent him for it. Instead, without a response, William set the receiver down, placed his head on the smooth surface of the desk, and wept. It was all he could think to do.

Three days later, William watched from the common room window, his fingers rested on the edge of the glass. A trio of shuttles led by Haroldson flew down to the planet. William had called Haroldson earlier to congratulate him, and Haroldson hadn't rubbed it in. That, at least, made it easier. Yet, the moment still stung at William in a different way; he wanted Haroldson to rub it in. William could have given his family something to be proud of, he could have won. Why wouldn't anyone admit that he'd failed?

While it was true that William got paid the same amount, and he could finally make the move to Earth with a home already paid for, he couldn't shake the fact that he hadn't earned this.

"I'm ready," Jamie yelled from the bedroom. He scuffed his feet against the carpet as he pulled his suitcase, a black and white wheeled box as large as Jamie himself, behind him. "When does the shuttle leave? Is it cold in Scotland? How long will the ride take?"

"Just wait, don't you want to say goodbye first?" William knelt down to his son. Their own shuttle, paid for by Jameson as a thank you gift for so many years of dedicated service, was being prepped to leave in just under an hour.

"Not really," Jamie said. "It's just a silly old ship."

William forced a smile and turned his gaze to Ellen, who followed Jamie with tears in her eyes. He expected a comment akin to: this ship has been a hellhole, or maybe causal support from Ellen. But she said nothing. He couldn't tell if she'd been laughing or crying, or both; either way, she watched their son with the eyes of a mother - eyes that soon turned to him, reminding him of the love and care they'd offered so long ago. Her arms hung at her side; her fingers tousling at the edges of her blouse nervously. They had, just like her robe, been frayed into nothing but random strands of discoloured thread. She slowly moved towards him and placed her arms around his waist.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't think you know how close I was to losing it."

"It wasn't me," William whispered. "Haroldson figured it out."

Ellen smirked. "I saw how hard you worked at it. You don’t always have to have something to show for your dedication. Sometimes the future is enough.”

"Haroldson made it enough," William interrupted.

"You made it enough," Ellen reiterated, hushing him with a glare. "Isn't that what you intended? Isn't that what you promised me? The minute you measure success by your tangible gains is the minute to forget what having a family is about."

William was silent. He stammered as he spoke, unsure of what he was saying, but positive every word sounded as demeaning as they'd felt rolling off his tongue. Language simply wasn’t enough with her anymore.

She responded by cupping his chin in her palms and kissing him. Somehow, it didn't feel genuine. The moment her lips touched his, it felt cold and lifeless. And her words rang in his ears like she had begun to recite a script that she'd memorized long ago. "I don't care about William the salesman. True change, true happiness is a slow burn. Instant gratification is a term a father shouldn’t use." She kissed him again. "Stop fighting, William."

For the first time since he saw MC-11, William smiled.