Turning (Your) Back

[Tachyon 0]

“Turning (Your) Back”

Anastasia Poldara

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And so we hereby reassign you to the post of Chief Science Officer, USS Challenger, effective immediately. Report for duty the day after the Challenger’s arrival at Earth pending the conclusion of its current mission.

 

Anastasia read the message again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Cal had gone inside nearly an hour ago. The sun, once a majestic orange disc dominating the horizon, was now only streaks of brilliant gold, pink, and red light through the clouds. With its setting, the beach had started to turn chilly. She should retire as well, but she just couldn’t shift herself. She wanted to stay on this beach forever, to sink into the sand and just forget about the cares of the world--of the galaxy--beyond.

 

“Challenger,” she said, rolling the once-familiar name off her tongue, trying to gauge it after so long. It had once meant “home.” But now it was alien again.

 

For over a year, she had left that chapter of her life behind to embark once more on her true passion: cybernetic research. The director of the Daystrom Institute had personally requested her secondment. It was a dream come true, and the project had started with such promise.

 

Ashes, all of it, leaving the bitterest of tastes in Anastasia’s mouth.

 

Now here she was months later, on a beach, trying to forget with sun and alcohol and sex how things had gone wrong.

 

Maybe the worst part of it was that nothing had gone wrong. At least, not from a technical, scientific, engineering perspective. The project was a success. Her theory and the engineers’ implementations matched. They were making progress. Not enough, though, to satisfy the vulture bureaucrats who circled, harping on the expense, the waste of resources. Not enough to justify the expenditures--or so the final report had said, as if blaming Anastasia’s leadership personally.

 

The writing had been on the wall for ages. She should have seen it. It was all too easy to blame others, or blame the distractions in her life. Even now if you asked, Anastasia couldn’t begin to tell you whether the project’s failure had ended her marriage or whether her marriage ending had killed the project. They were now, in her mind, inextricably linked.

 

Now here she was, on a beach, on vacation with a man who was not--and, let’s be real here, would never be--her husband. Pretending to be happy.

 

Anastasia had fought tooth and nail for the project. Oh, how she had fought. She had called in every favour, wheedled and pleaded and even threatened right up to admirals and chairpeople of committees. None of it sufficed. In the end, it became clear that whatever she might have done wrong in the past, the ultimate decision to scrap her project was not really her doing. It was merely convenient, and by that time, no amount of apologies or blackmail could have averted this outcome.

 

But to be reassigned to Challenger after so long? On the surface it seemed like a reward, or at least, not a reprimand. Officially it meant her secondment was over, and she was merely returning to active duty. None of the fallout from the project would touch her as a matter of record; that was a civilian matter. But Anastasia’s reputation was about as intact at this point as her sense of calm or her good mood.

 

On a beach, tendrils of twilight reaching across an ocean towards her, Anastasia thought about her future.

 

There were positives to going back. She knew the people there. Counted, or had counted, some of them as friends. But there would be questions. They would be genuinely interested in her time away. They would notice Michael’s absence. She would need to make explanations.

 

Abruptly, Anastasia got to her feet. She was a little dizzy. But she steeled herself, determination fixed in the expression on her face. She was going back. So, she would be prepared. She would be … collected. This was something she had learned from her mother: no matter how defeated you felt, never let it show. Put on your face, and face them all, and challenge them to call you a liar.

 

Anastasia Poldara turned her back on the beach and the sunset and went inside to begin making up the rest of her life. She didn’t know who she was any more. She wasn’t sure who she would be. But no one else needed to know that.