Amanda
Amanda Webber returned to her and Zaliel’s apartment after three excruciatingly long days. “Come meet the baby,” they said. “It’ll be so much fun,” they said.” But all the little brat did was puke on her twice in the same sitting and pour orange juice into her suitcase. By the time all was said and done, she had to wear an oversized, “I Had a Crater Time at Moonland Park Alpha!” t-shirt while all her clothes were in the cleaner.
And that was the highlight of her trip.
All the happy couple wanted to do was sleep or take the kid out to early dinners when the crowds were thin and they only had to apologize to a few fellow patrons.
It was the best argument she had ever seen for contraception. Besides, she was a career Starfleet Officer who was slowly (slowly) crawling out of Ensign—one day, maybe. Zaliel did it after all and she wasn’t even the best in their class.
“That was a crappy thing to think, Amanda,” she said aloud. “Zaliel’s your friend.” A pause. “Maybe your only real friend.” The thought hit her at peak exhaustion, in that last desperate burst of energy as she pushed through the apartment door.
Amanda dropped her bag in the foyer and made her way across the room. She knocked on Zaliel’s door. “Hey! I’m back! I brought you a souvenir!”
There was no answer.
She knocked again. “Hey! I’m not falling for another ‘Dead Zaliel’ game. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me seven times well,” she paused. “Still shame on you for making me worry.” I never should have shown her Herald and Maude, she figured, but the damage was done.
Anyways, no response.
A glance at her watch revealed it was almost midnight. “Eh, I’ll tell you on the way to work tomorrow,” she stifled a yawn, crossed the room, punched her door code in, flopped on the bed, and promptly fell sleep in her traveling clothes.
The regular morning yell of horror was Amanda waking up and suddenly remembering she had work. She blew through her morning routine at warp speed and crashed into the apartment’s common space like a meteor screaming towards the Siberian tundra. She was halfway out the door when she realized Zaliel’s things were already gone.
“She left without me?” she was annoyed at an irritating feeling that she had been abandoned.
“Maybe she didn’t notice I was home?” But her luggage, which still smelled of orange juice, lay exactly where she had left it: piled in the foyer. Zaliel couldn’t have missed it. But, her bag was gone. Zaliel never left without it.
“You know,” Amanda realized, “she’s been really busy lately. Maybe she went in early?” Convinced that was the most likely scenario—since Zaliel’s grizzly death was never the answer—Amanda locked the door and rushed down the stairs, across the lawn, and jogged steadily to the transport hub.
The hub was a modern glass-windowed two-story building with flowing curves and a complex array of antenna on the roof. A few taxis waited around, their pilots hanging outside, chatting while they waited for a passenger. To Amanda’s memory, she never actually saw one in use and wondered if they were even pilots or just a living art exhibit; a testament to a different time. She made a promptly-forgotten mental note to ask one for a ride on the way home.
She made her way though the hub, zipping through the other commuters and tourists. California had no shortage of either. It was with a number of polite apologies that she dodged, excused, and gently pushed people out of way until she reached the queue. This, by far, was the worst part of her commute: the transporter queue. She joined the line set aside for Starfleet Officers (which happened to be longer but the regular commuters got pissy if you stood in their line) and pulled out her PADD to idly scroll through the pictures of her friends—oh, great, her friend with the kid posted an unflattering holo of her in that stupid theme park shirt. She reacted with an orange emoji; it was all she could do.
Someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned. It was Miga. As if my day couldn’t get worse. But, she couldn’t pretend to ignore her. Obviously Miga had spotted her with those weirdo eyes. Not that Miga looked unusual for a Caitian, but she had this way of staring that felt like she could see into Amanda’s soul—and that was just too weird. “Amanda,” she said with a low purr, “you were missed this past Friday.”
“Oh! Hello, Miga!” Someone kill me now! “Yes, I went off-world to see some friends; meet their kid.”
“Ah, how lovely. It was a nice trip, yes?”
Amanda did some quick mental math. On the one hand, she wanted to go into painstakingly detail as to why it had been so unpleasant. But, on the other, it was best not to divulge too much to a coworker. It was one thing to be friendly, another to be friends, especially when that person could see into my soul like an open book. “It was…fine,” Amanda settled on. It was a neutral response.
“I see, and you are sans Zaliel?” Another purr, but this one sounded like an accusation. “It is rare to see you apart; an imbalance in the universe.”
“We’re our own people, you know. We aren’t joined at the hip.”
“Yes, but by the heart? There is much talk at the office; suspicion you are a couple.”
Why the hell couldn’t Miga talk about something normal like the weather or work or her favorite brand of scratching post? Why, she asked god, why does this keep happening to me? “Miga, Zaliel and I are not an item. Never have been, never will be,” she said flatly. She hoped Miga would pick up the—oh hell she didn’t.
“No? Much speculation on this, I give it great thoughts.”
“You’re overthinking it. We’re friends. We met in the Academy and managed to stay together with our assignments. Just lucky friends doing friendly things like having lunch and complaining about our families to one another.”
“Then you are not seeing someone,” Miga asked in a way that was becoming increasingly alarming. Amanda, Miga, and a few other officers were called up to a large transporter pad so they could all go together.
“No,” Amanda said as they took their positions.
“Then perhaps,” she purred close to Amanda’s ear. “You would consider dinner with me?”
“Wh—“ she began as she dematerialized, ending with a solid, “—at?” as they now stood side by side in the Starfleet Headquarters concourse.
“I mean no offense,” Miga said with a swoosh of her tail. Amanda was pretty sure that meant Miga would take great offense.
“I mean—and by the way, none taken, I’m flattered, really—but I don’t date people I work with, you know, as a rule, but I am flattered,” she insisted and, damnit, she did appreciate the compliment. If she’s into me, she obviously has good taste. “But, if you’re into blond women I could set you up, you know?” Was she really having this conversation with Miga? Was this the reality she was forced to live?
They made their way through the checkpoint and Amanda thanked all the old gods when she was able to break away from Miga and make a bee-line to Zaliel’s office. Well, office was being gracious because it was more like a tiny alcove with no door and a too-narrow window that made the room seem incomplete.
Amanda rounded the desk, expecting Zaliel hard at work to find an empty chair and desk, the monitors off and her coffee mug left upside down; the way she always left it each night.
Worried, she tapped her combadge. “Zaliel, this is Amanda. Are you there?” She waited at least five seconds before trying again. And again. And again.
“Okay, computer: where is Lieutenant Zaliel Sel?” The computer would have the answer, wouldn’t it? She waited as the computer chirped and burbled until it finally responded that she couldn’t be located; an error common when not present on the Headquarter’s grounds. There really ought to be a, “best friend override,” because this was starting to tick her off.
“I know, I need to…find Donovan!” and she cringed, wiped her tongue with her palm, and raced off.