AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m sorry Wyatt, but travelling to Krovatia is just not on the cards. Even if Melinda had put in a request for her spouse—which technically you no longer are—we would have been hard pressed to provide a safe passage there. You must surely know that we are reliant on the Venorians for travel to that part of the galaxy. We do not have the technology on our own ships to go that distance.”
“I understand, but I’m under the impression that Venorian ships now make regular journeys to and from Mars, so it would be possible surely for me to catch a ride with one of them and have them drop me off on Krovatia.”
“Wyatt, let me be honest here. As far as we are concerned, you are an ordinary private citizen with no special privileges. We cannot be making passenger requests to the Venorians on your behalf. Perhaps if Melinda were to send us a communication, specifically asking for you to join her as her spouse, then we would consider it. But until then, I’m afraid the answer is no.”
I look down at my hands, clenched tightly in my lap, and nod. “I understand. Thank you for your time.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry to be such a downer. Give it time, Wyatt. Our space program is growing exponentially year by year. There may come a time, sooner rather than later, when we are able to make such journeys. Be patient.”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Take care Wyatt.”
“Thanks again for your time.”
We end the connection and I sit back in my chair, eyes closed. Is this a sign that going to Krovatia is a really, really bad idea? A part of me welcomes the thought. I won’t have to go into space after all.
I take a few breaths in and out and try to loosen the tightness in my chest. That’s it then? The end of the road?
No!
Fuck no! I sure as shit am not giving up yet. I may have hit a road block, but I’ll find a way to join Mel in Krovatia. Maybe I should bypass the White House altogether and go through my own Venorian contacts. I could get a message to Pravol and Treylor, asking for their help. Pravol, with his Venorian mindset about mating, has never fully understood my divorce from Melinda. To him, mates are mates for life. What more natural than for this human to try to get to his mate? Maybe Pravol could use his connections to help arrange my passage there and try to obtain permission from the Krovatian authorities for my arrival. In the meantime, there’s the not so little matter of my space fright. I pick up my communicator and eye the appointment confirmation with Dwight K. Josephs. Next Monday at eleven am. I’m doing this.
???
I walk up the front steps of a red-brick townhouse in Lincoln Park and ring the bell. I wait a minute or two, then ring the bell again. I check my communicator. Yes, it definitely says Monday at eleven, and this is the address. I wait impatiently some time longer and I’m just about to turn around when I hear the door creak open. An older man, somewhere in his late sixties or early seventies, stands smiling absently at me. “Yes?” he asks.
“Mr Josephs? I’m Wyatt Garcia. I have an appointment with you today for eleven am.”
His face clears. “Of course, of course. Do come in.”
I follow him inside into a short vestibule crammed with overflowing bookshelves. He leads me towards a door that stands ajar and invites me into his office. It’s a cosy room, dominated by a large desk and more bookcases full of paperbacks. He points to a brown leather armchair. “Do take a seat Wyatt. Would you like tea or coffee, perhaps a soft drink?”
“Just water will be fine, thanks.”
He goes to a small fridge, concealed within one of his bookcases, and pulls out a bottle of water for me. Then he takes a seat across from me at his desk and clasps his hands together.
“So, Wyatt. What can I help you with today?”
“I’ve been told you would be able to help me overcome my fear of flying.”
“Fear of flying? Hmm.”
He’s quiet for several moments and I start to get antsy. Is he waiting for me to say something else? Finally, he speaks. “So, tell me Wyatt. How long have you been afraid of flying?”
“Since I was fifteen. I, erm, I was in a drone accident.”
He looks at me enquiringly, as if he’s expecting me to elaborate further.
I clear my throat. “So, yeah. After that, I developed a fear of flying.”
He frowns. “Are you saying your drone accident was the reason for your developing this fear?”
Well duh! “Yes, obviously.”
“It is not at all obvious to me.”
“I had a terrifying accident while flying in a drone. After that, I was scared of flying. I would think the connection was obvious.”
