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He led her onto the bridge. They passed a few of his underlings on the way there and they snapped to attention and saluted. Alana seemed to regard him in a different light after that but she didn’t inquire about his ranking.
Campania’s bridge was a vast white room, manned with two dozen officers and specialists. Almost everyone surreptitiously stole glances in Alana’s direction, heavy with curiosity.
Commander Storm, Lieutenant Eagle, and Ambassador Grim were in deep discussion. They halted their conversation at the sight of her. Storm and Grim came to greet them.
“You’ve met Commander Storm,” Ice said, gesturing toward the Commander, “and this is Ambassador Grim Misthell.”
Alana regarded each one with a small nod. She went back and scrutinized Storm from head to toes. “I think I like you better in the other fancy suit.” Storm’s uniform was black and emblazoned with military insignias. He carried weapons and arsenals that could blow up a small army. He was downright menacing as a warrior.
Commander Storm blinked. “Is that a compliment? I’m confused.”
“You have to excuse him, we Crimean are terrible at small talk.” Ice quickly herded Alana to the private mess hall. Somehow, he didn’t like the way Alana stared too long at Storm. He wanted her only to pay attention to him.
Seconds later, he was struck at his own realization. How curious. I feel jealousy. Where does that coming from? He watched Alana moving from one viewport to another. She had the excitement of a child. So innocent.
And pure.
“I can’t believe I’m in space. Freaking space! This kind of thing is usually reserved for astronauts, you know?” She pressed her forehead against the glass, gazing at the planet Earth. “How come we aren’t floating? When we see astronauts on TV they usually float like balloons or something. There’s no gravity in space, they said.”
“This ship generates her own artificial gravity. It would be quite troublesome if everything floated.”
“Her own?”
“Do you not refer to the ship or a large vessel as she on Earth? We Crimean also do the same.”
“Right, right. Sorry, I’m nautically challenged. Supposedly, my dad owned a boat when I was little. Now that I think of it, he referred to his boat as her. Irritated the hell out of my mom.”
“Why would your mother be irritated?”
Alana shrugged. “My dad liked the boat better than my mom. It’s a man thing.”
How curious. Ice mentally jotted down the discovery via his BRI interface. He showed her a nook where their food was created. Ice tried to explain their predicament in a way that she would understand.
“My race is dying, Alana.”
She looked at him, surprised. “That’s terrible, but I don’t see how I can help you with that.”
“We think there is.” He led her to a table then he sat across from her. “We think humans love in a way we do not. You reproduce rapidly because of those emotions and attractions. You can help teach us to do the same. Afterward, if proper precautions are taken, I may be able to convince the emperor that a mission to return you to earth should be undertaken.”
She scoffed. “I told you, I do weddings. The stuff that leads to them is something I’ve never hammered down for myself, let alone an entire race of aliens.”
“That may be true, but you do participate in a part of that love and mating ritual. And we’ve no time left to find someone better qualified. You’re our only hope, Alana.”
A soft chime signaled that the food and drink were ready. He retrieved them from the nutrition panel and placed them in front of her. It smelled good, and seemed to be some kind of savory stew. A tall glass of iced water and a cup of hot, sweet-smelling tea accompanied the stew.
“I hope you find these to your liking,” he said.
Alana smelled it, and looked pleased, even if she wouldn’t admit it.
“Please eat it. You need the nourishment. The modifications to allow you to travel with us can deplete a great deal of your energy. You’ll feel much better on arrival if you eat and drink now.”
She stared him down for almost a full Earth minute before she tentatively tasted the stew. Ice could tell she liked it, but she didn’t say anything one way or another. She kept eating, but asked questions when she paused.
“So you Crimeans don’t reproduce?”
“Not in the traditional way. These days our young are engineered in growing amniotic vats, and the majority are raised in the government-funded caches. When a Crimean reaches a maturity age, he or she is expected to donate eggs or sperm to create the new generation. If they are willing to raise the child, the government will support them financially so they enjoy generous benefits such as housing, food, healthcare, education. Literally everything, so a family can focus its undivided attention on raising the children. Even then, most Crimean opt out of the childbearing and child-rearing opportunity. They donate their biological material and do little else. Our scientific studies prove that children who were raised in loving and supportive families develop better qualities, better personalities than those raised in the government caches. Trouble is, the new generations don’t have any interest in starting families and the like. If it weren’t for the government mandate for biological donations, we wouldn’t have had any children born in the last thirty years.”
Alana cringed. “No. Freakin. Way. That sounds like a bad sci-fi movie. So, nobody gets married anymore?”
