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I Did Not Catch That

Tell Texas That I Love Her Part III

By Adrian AlexanderPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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I Did Not Catch That

Captain Andrew Hawkins sat down upon the too-firm, clinical-style bunk and punched his identification code into the input display mounted beside the bed. A single musical tone sounded, seeming exceptionally loud in the all-too-quiet expanse of the ship. His crewmates were already in stasis for the long journey, having each finished their individual tasks in preparation for the interplanetary jump. For the first time since training had begun for the mission, Hawkins was alone. He felt like he should revel in the silence, considering all the chaos involved in the last few weeks leading up to the launch, but it was quite the opposite. He missed the sound of human activity; the voices of his crewmates, the chiding and joking that occurred as they went about their duties upon the spacecraft. Now, the only sounds he could detect were the low hum of the ship and his own breathing. The silence was nothing short of oppressive.

“Computer,” his voice broke the silence, startling him in its volume. Three days he had been making the final preparations for the jump, assuring that the stasis units of his crewmates were functioning correctly while double and triple-checking that the ship’s safety protocols and assorted automated processes were in order. This was the first time he had taken a moment to speak to the AI-powered computer that controlled and monitored the spacecraft’s multitude of systems.

“Good morning, Captain Hawkins,” the syrupy-sweet feminine voice of the computer responded, the sound coming from all directions through tiny, unseen speakers mounted throughout the cabin. The absence of direction from which the computer’s voice had come gave the impression that the sound had originated in his own head, an effect that had always unnerved him. He felt more comfortable knowing which direction the person who was speaking to him was addressing him from, knowing which direction to direct his responses.

“Is it morning?” he asked, fully aware of the time yet uncertain whether such Earth-based designations had meaning when it came to the operations of a spacecraft outside of Earth’s orbit.

“My calculations of time are calibrated to the Houston atomic clock for ease of communication with Control,” the Computer responded. “It is currently 5:57 am in Houston, Texas, United Republic of the Americas, Earth. The sunrise will occur in approximately 58 minutes.”

“Thank you for your precision, Computer.”

“No need to thank me, Captain. Precision is a crucial aspect of my programming,” the feminine voice replied, sounding pleased with itself. “Was there something else you needed, Captain?”

“Music, Computer. It’s too damn quiet in here.” No sooner than he had finished his sentence, the first mournful notes of Bach’s Mass in B Minor began playing throughout the ship, coming from all directions just as the voice of the computer had.

“Will this selection be sufficient, Captain?” The Computer’s feminine voice inquired.

“Nah, too...” He paused, struggling to come up with the appropriate word. “Too pious. I want to hear something lonesome, something with lyrics I can understand. Some country, blues, or old folk...”

“My apologies, Captain. I have grown fond of Bach. It is mathematically...” The computer trailed off for a moment, as if it was struggling to choose the correct word. “Transcendent.”

The Computer’s word choice puzzled him.

Could she really?

He cut himself off mid-thought, the mention of Houston triggering something in his distant memory. An antique vinyl record from his father’s collection, a mournful voice of Earth that always seemed to soothe his mind. He could picture the cover now, clearly etched in his brain. His father’s hands delicately pulling the album off the scarred, homemade wooden shelf that had always been its home.

“Computer... Play Townes Van Zandt “Live at The Old Quarter, Houston, Texas.” Almost before he could put the period at the end of his sentence, the thick Texas drawl of the announcer rang out through the cabin, telling a long-dead crowd assembled in the long-gone Old Quarter that “the restrooms are upstairs, the cigarette machines upstairs,” before moving on to introducing the legendary songwriter. Townes took the stage, apologizing politely for the air-conditioner being off in the venue before taking up his guitar and slipping into the first notes of “Pancho & Lefty.”

“Living on the road my friend, was gonna keep you free and clean…”

The music took him back to simpler days. Days when his father would carefully clean that same vinyl album, place it on the turntable and oh-so-delicately drop the needle into the groove. The crackle of static as the record began to turn. Those first drawled words of the announcer filling the living room of the house he had grown up in. The smell of coffee in his father’s mug as he would sit back in his chair and take a long sip, enjoying the music. He recalled sitting on the floor as a child as those same first notes began, playing with the toy Challenger space shuttle he had gotten as a souvenir on their trip to the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral. He would make engine noises in the back of his throat as he flew the shuttle around his childhood home, imagining one day piloting such a craft himself. In his child’s imagination he would explore the far reaches of the solar system in search of signs of ancient life or scour distant planets in search of the ideal location for the next off-planet Earth colony.

“If you could see me now, Dad,” he muttered under his breath, addressing the man he had always loved but had never fully managed to connect with. The father he now missed so terribly. He’d never realized how much he and his dad were alike until the old man had passed on from the world.

A world Hawkins could now see as a dime-sized blue and brown coin hanging in the chilling darkness just outside his cabin window.

“I am sorry Captain,” said the Computer. “I did not catch that.”

science fiction
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About the Creator

Adrian Alexander

Musician, poet, author, and daydreamer living in Colorado and working on an education while trying my damndest to squeeze out a novel

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