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Aug. 23rd, 2001 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alonewiththemoonAnother day closer to lift-off. Tommorrow at dawn we set sail for George's Bank, and then we fish for as long as it takes to fill the hold, Allah willing we find so many fish. We'll need them for the journey, I think. I had the Ehrengard outfitted with a flash freezer; it was expensive, but I can add to the sale price of the fish if they don't have to do the freezing up on Luna and use up their own precious resources. Plus it gives the plain old cod and bluefin that gourmet panache-- frozen right out of the ocean, the true taste of Terra! And now the frozen fish will serve to feed me and my crew until... well, until.
I am questioning my motives for taking the crew along. I feel that for myself I have no choice, that I must follow this call, but they believe they are signed on for a routine run, not a bizarre mission to who knows where guided by the voices in the captain's head that even she admits she cannot understand. I have covered my preparations well. Although the George's Bank/Lunar run generally takes no more than ten to fifteen days, I have food for months stashed around the ship, just like Ifrit. That's in addition to the fish I hope we'll net. Back in the harbor, I bought small amounts of rations from nearly every merchant, so that even if four or five of them got together to discuss profit margins, it would still seem like a reasonable amount to stock a ship with, if a bit excessive. I've always kept the Ehrengard well prepared for emergencies anyway. The crew quarters are well stocked with entertainment chips, delicacies, and the kitchen keeps an admirably complete bar. In that respect, I take after my father, not my mother. The bar also gives me a means of ensuring that I will be the only one awake when we veer away from the Luna flight path; I am the bartender, and I have laid in a stock of sleeping pills. They call that a Mickey Finn in those old chips my father loves.
That's the how of getting them in space and keeping them fed, but not the why. Why can't I go it alone? Enough of the ship is automated that I could fly her myself, literally in my sleep. But I do not want to sleep on this trip, and more to the point, I do not want to be alone. There, I've said it, that is my selfish reason. Ifrit is lovely, but I can't conceive of leaving human contact behind me. And the feeling I get out in space... I can't believe whatever it is could harm us. The feeling is too warm, too caring. I want to share it. I want them to find its source along with me, to wing our way through the stars, the asteroids, the planetary debris, and in all that, find this perfectness, and have them be glad that they did not mutiny and kill me when they first realize we are off course.
I want to know that I am not crazy, that whatever happens, there will be witnesses. Because to be honest, I cannot know that there is really anything calling me. Some older captains talk about a space sickness, an obsession with zero g that prevents one from ever landing again. Growing up in Port of Boston, we all have to read Moby Dick in high school. Will they call me another Ahab?
I am questioning my motives for taking the crew along. I feel that for myself I have no choice, that I must follow this call, but they believe they are signed on for a routine run, not a bizarre mission to who knows where guided by the voices in the captain's head that even she admits she cannot understand. I have covered my preparations well. Although the George's Bank/Lunar run generally takes no more than ten to fifteen days, I have food for months stashed around the ship, just like Ifrit. That's in addition to the fish I hope we'll net. Back in the harbor, I bought small amounts of rations from nearly every merchant, so that even if four or five of them got together to discuss profit margins, it would still seem like a reasonable amount to stock a ship with, if a bit excessive. I've always kept the Ehrengard well prepared for emergencies anyway. The crew quarters are well stocked with entertainment chips, delicacies, and the kitchen keeps an admirably complete bar. In that respect, I take after my father, not my mother. The bar also gives me a means of ensuring that I will be the only one awake when we veer away from the Luna flight path; I am the bartender, and I have laid in a stock of sleeping pills. They call that a Mickey Finn in those old chips my father loves.
That's the how of getting them in space and keeping them fed, but not the why. Why can't I go it alone? Enough of the ship is automated that I could fly her myself, literally in my sleep. But I do not want to sleep on this trip, and more to the point, I do not want to be alone. There, I've said it, that is my selfish reason. Ifrit is lovely, but I can't conceive of leaving human contact behind me. And the feeling I get out in space... I can't believe whatever it is could harm us. The feeling is too warm, too caring. I want to share it. I want them to find its source along with me, to wing our way through the stars, the asteroids, the planetary debris, and in all that, find this perfectness, and have them be glad that they did not mutiny and kill me when they first realize we are off course.
I want to know that I am not crazy, that whatever happens, there will be witnesses. Because to be honest, I cannot know that there is really anything calling me. Some older captains talk about a space sickness, an obsession with zero g that prevents one from ever landing again. Growing up in Port of Boston, we all have to read Moby Dick in high school. Will they call me another Ahab?
