A Week's Hobby (Otherwise Untitled)
#66 of Short Stories
After a week in an abandoned depot for repairs, the Captain regards the progress of his garden.
~ The sun hung low to the horizon, as Captain DeCaro calmly regarded the inklings of green shoots rising from the carriage bucket he'd filled with dirt. If the macaw's beak could smile, he would. Satisfied with the evening's inspection, the old bird settled back into the folding chair he brought out to watch the stars appear and his garden grow. He chortled amicably at the shimmering ghost of a gryphon plodding along on four paws approaching him. "I'm glad the depot's projectors reach out this far; it'd be a shame if you were cooped up in the mechanical bay.", he greeted the machine intelligence's approach.
~ With a twinge of lag from the distance between projection and CPU core buried deep in the depot, the gryphon perked up into a dignified pose as if to salute. For the lack of any sort of digitally projected hands, no salute accompanied the customary greeting. "Good evening, Sir.", the gryphon flickering back to a more fluid posture to peer up at the fleeting sparks of a garden, "I don't believe you'll have any sort of harvest by the time you launch. The engine repairs are nearly complete, and without an Admiral's orders I'm not authorized to issue you any upgrades."
~ Captain DeCaro sighed, casting the acting depot quartermaster a sly glance, "Such adherence to regulations, from a secretary bird who walks around with its avatar hacked to be a gryphon. But you're right; even if the fleet's sunk, the regulations've remained. Any chance you've got any more gossip off the comms net? Your array is larger than our entire ship." The gryphon's posture turned more dour as it trotted over to flop out next to the Captain's folding chair. It flatly began the report, "You don't want to go near Dethas, or the Gate of Possi.", glancing up at the captain's hand and regarding the relevant biometric credentials thereof, "..and you've not the clearance for me to tell you why. Just, please don't." A stillness hung for a moment, before one of the gryphon's ears perked up, "You could stay here. You could make a proper farm, rather than a fleeting garden. I've got tractors and everything. There's even a river just right over there." The gryphon motioned with a wing.
~ The macaw sighed heavily, "No.. no. I can't live out my days hiding away on a depot; I won't be happy unless I'm out of port. Creature of habit." He motioned as if to console the gryphon with soft patting, his hand passing through the shimmering blue feathers and fur to a modest depth. The machine intelligence seemed to appreciate the gesture, tail swishing silently against the concrete as it gazed up at the twinkling starts of stars.