| Jovian APAworks | Volume 1, Number 3 | February, 2001 |
Hanging low on the western horizon, the sun swam and shimmered through the thick, hazy atmosphere over the Alaskan coast. Another few moments would see it swallowed by the Pacific, though it's warm, orange light would linger for another hour yet.
A few kilometers inland, a young woman stood at the crest of a low, rugged mountain, gazing westward at a sight she hadn't been able to enjoy for many years. It was the most beautiful sunset she'd ever seen, and it nearly brought tears to her eyes when the sun finally slipped from view.
Walking back down the trail to the pressure tent she'd put up a few hours earlier, Gizelle Louis checked the radiation badge on her wristwatch and smiled when she saw the green rating. For the most part, the northern part of North America had escaped the terrible wars and environmental disasters of the 22nd century, and it was the pristine, unblemished landscape that drew the young woman to the place.
Louis had recently returned from an IGS mission that had taken her to the farthest reaches of the solar system and back, and during the last few months of the long journey home she'd missed the Earth more than she thought possible. Inhaling deeply to capture a lungful of crisp, fresh, non-recycled air, Gizelle noted with some glee how heavy her body felt. It had been too long since she'd felt the natural weight of her limbs, her breasts -- her head. It was tiring, but it was a wonderful feeling.
Sitting down in front of the fire she'd built, the tanned blonde opened her canteen and drank deeply, enjoying the taste of the fresh mountain water she'd collected and filtered earlier in the day. There was no comparison to the stale, sterile water she'd grudgingly gotten used to aboard first the Orbitals, then the Mnemosyne.
As the sky darkened, Louis set up her cooking set over the fire, her stomach growling in anticipation of a hot meal. As skilled as Petroleum Nasby, the ship's cook, had been, the crew had subsisted primarily off of dehydrated rations, rice, and the few fresh fruits and vegetables produced by the ship's hydroponics section. Anything tasty -- meat, chocolate, cheese -- had been consumed early on in the last leg of the journey. Her allergy to re-processed foods had made matters even worse, and so it was with some amount of anticipation that Gizelle pulled a steak out of her cooler and dropped it into the skillet. Adding some spices, potatoes, mushrooms and onions when the time was right, she merrily tended the pan until her meal was ready.
The steak, glorious medium rare, melted in the woman's mouth. She sighed audibly as she chewed, savoring the flavor of the meat, knowing that this was the only meal she'd be having of this caliber. Unless she signaled using her emergency transponder, Louis was scheduled to spend a full week in the wilderness, and that meant she'd had to travel light. So after tonight, her meals were once again going to be of the pre-packaged variety -- unless she was able to catch some fish, which she fully intended on doing.
Louis had arranged the trip months in advance, when she was still in deep space en route from Jupiter. She'd had the option of going with a small group, led by an experienced guide, but part of what appealed to her about the Alaskan getaway was the solitude. She'd had great friends and lovers aboard the Mnemosyne, God love them, but having lived in such close quarters for so long had been a terrible strain in the end, especially given all that had happened on the voyage. Gizelle was dying for some elbow room, for some wide-open space, and the North American far north had that in spades.
After finishing her meal, cleaning up the campsite and taking another few minutes to soak in the night sky, Louis unzipped her tent and climbed inside. Temperatures outside were now dropping sharply, and the computer specialist quickly undressed and climbed first into her long underwear, then her thermal sleeping bag. Turning out the light, she rolled onto her side and tried to get some sleep.
Despite being exhausted from hiking all day, and from not being used to the Earth's gravity, Gizelle found herself having trouble getting to sleep. All the noises she'd grown used to -- the creaking of the ship's pipes, the faint whine of the centrifuge, the ratting air circulators, the clamoring of her crewmates -- was now replaced with something unfamiliar: silence, save the slight whistle of the wind. Lying awake in the dark, she found herself wondering what would become of her companions now that their monumental voyage was over. Some, like Carolyn, the ship's engineer, seemed to have very definite plans. Others had very uncertain futures -- Lyman in particular. The solar system had become a very dangerous place these past few years, with increasing STRIKE terrorist activity, the escalating Martian war, rising tensions between the Jovians and CEGA, and, recently, the tragic accident at Kurtzenheim. These were dangerous times.
And what was going to become of CHORUS, the artificial intelligence Louis had worked with closely for the past two years? It was her sweat, her blood and her tears that had finally gotten the damned thing to work properly, and now, after all she'd gone through, that was it. She was out of the job, CHORUS was out of her hands.
That she was out of the job was mostly her own design, of course. Louis had been too exhausted those last few weeks to even think about finding another job. Something else would probably pop-up within the IGS, but the thought of spending more time aboard a station or ship just didn't appeal to the woman at the moment.
At the moment, Gizelle Louis just wanted to rest, to lie peacefully under the stars she'd just returned from. Finally, her body's exhaustion got the better of her and the woman drifted off to sleep. Weighty question like what to do with the rest of her life would have to wait; she'd be too busy these next few days appreciating panoramic sights even few Earthers ever got to appreciate. It felt good. It felt like home.
| Jovian APAworks | Volume 1, Number 3 | February, 2001 |
Jovian Chronicles is © 2001, Dream Pod 9, Inc. All rights reserved. Jovian APAworks is not affiliated with Dream Pod 9 in any way. Submitted material remains the property of the creator.