(Belisma security camera: commentary added)
The man stood at the window of his office, looking out at the pure darkness of space. He liked space. It made him calm. These sorts of voyages couldn’t come often enough for him, even with the increased frequency with which he’d arranged them in the past few years. From the lights of the room behind him, he could see the silhouette of his body in the glass, long and limber. But it was just an outline to be filled with whatever was in front of him. And right now, what was in front of him was blackness, lit at pinpoints with scattered stars.
He saw, reflected, an aide come silently into the room, place a folder down onto the man’s carefully cluttered desk, and then steal a glance at the work that lay there. As if he’d leave anything truly vital laying about. The man gave an invisible smirk. “I’ve been waiting, Tristin. Is that the file?”
He watched as the man straightened and shot him a worried look. “Yes, of course, sir.”
Turning, the man sat down at his desk. He touched the folder, estimated its size, and said, “Tell me about him.”
“Well, sorry for the delay,” the aide began. “They had to print it and it took some time. Most people don’t interest themselves in paper—“
The man had raised his eyes to the aide’s, and the aide swallowed and changed tactics. “His name’s Jessyn Munashe Skye. He’s twenty-three, recent university graduate. Astrodynamic Engineering, highest marks. Every teacher registered recommendations.”
The aide went on, slower. “The psych evaluations were…a little more complicated. It doesn’t appear to be anything incongruent with the public record.” He watched the man behind the desk. “His parents.”
The man nodded. Waited.
“He has several social circles, some overlapping the highest. No vocal detractors. His brother is his best friend.”
The man leaned back in his chair, touching his fingertips together. “He sounds boring. Why are we going there?”
The aide looked at him in silence. Then he carefully leaned over the desk, opened the file, lifted the first page and handed it to the man. Who eventually took it.
He was struck by the dark skin and blue eyes, an unusual contrast. The kid seemed to be staring right up at him from the image on the page.
“His father’s side traces back nearly to the founding of the colony. Yet he’s the last of his family left on Daltia.”
Staring, with an uncanny blend of perceptiveness and hesitation.
“His senior thesis caused two of his NavCom professors to separately restructure their own work. According to his pilot record, he could probably fly this ship. But he hasn’t arranged any apprenticeships yet, at least not on Daltia.”
The page went back on the stack in the file, as gently as it had been removed.
“His two most notable pastimes are swimming in the sea, and periodically attempting to force himself to get on a shuttle flight. His school friends praised his inquisitiveness and work ethic, but when pressed they admitted—every single one of them—that they didn’t know him all that well.”
The man steepled his long fingers and rested his chin on them.
“Sir?” The aide tilted his head briefly toward the file. “This one might do.”
The two men met eyes and were momentarily equals. There wasn’t much time, and any more trips like this would cost the rest of it . The man made up his mind and waved his hand languidly in the direction of the still-distant world. “Let’s find out,” he said.