The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [134]
Geoff’s first project with Pocket Books was helping to collate the Timeline data for Voyages of Imagination. Editor Marco Palmieri graciously agreed to consider his manuscript for “Suicide Note,” despite Geoff having already submitted it to Strange New Worlds 10. Even Geoff’s most optimistic expectations were surpassed when both editors simultaneously offered to buy it.
When he isn’t writing or working as the Computer Network Manager for the Elkhart Public Library, you’ll often find Geoff researching the family genealogy, managing his fantasy football league, scorekeeping at the local Little League, or engaging the local conservatives in spirited debates about politics, religion, and the Great Pumpkin. His latest antics are usually chronicled at http://troll-bridge.livejournal.com.
THE YOUNG GIRL HANDLED THE GARDEN TROWEL WITH THE same delicate artistry of a painter taking a brush to canvas. Holding the flower in place, she swept the soil around it, causing the dirt to cascade into the small divot slowly and evenly, until the bright pink blossom was firmly set into its new home. A warm breeze blew the girl’s dark hair into her face, and she reached up to push it back, leaving a dirty smudge upon the tapered point of her ear.
She stood facing the raised stone flowerbeds like a lone sentry guarding a barricade. Yet despite her harsh demeanor, it was with warm gentleness that she padded the soil surrounding the new addition, just the way her father had taught her all those years ago.
Her clearest recollections of her father were of the two of them working in the garden; not this garden but the one at the old house—the home where they had once known happiness as a family. She was only three years old when he was lost to them, so she couldn’t always be certain about the accuracy of her memories, but she had no doubts about her father’s strong stature and his commanding presence—things that weren’t always obvious in the few holo-images that they had retained.
Then one day he was gone.
“The colors of the garden are like a mirror unto our world, Tiaru,” her father had told her prior to his departure. “Even our entire galaxy. And every hue must coexist for the mosaic to be complete.” Her friends never understood what he had meant, but she believed she did.
But something had gone wrong, and her father had died. And just days later, the men with their grim-looking uniforms and their cold, unfriendly stares started to come to the house. Her mother would always get upset when they showed up; fraught with anxiety, she would tell Tiaru to stay out of sight and say nothing. But they would always just ask a lot of questions, and then they would leave. Eventually she and her mother moved to their current house—to “get away,” her mother had said, but the men kept visiting. And her mother remained afraid. And always sad.
Taking a step back, Tiaru looked over the garden as it sprawled out before her, evaluating the new flower’s small contribution, and her dour expression softened into a smile of satisfaction. Lost within her thoughts, she was oblivious to the footsteps of the man approaching her.
“Excuse me.”
Startled, Tiaru whirled to face him, instinctively brandishing the small shovel as a weapon. But upon seeing the uniformed Starfleet officer, she relaxed slightly and cocked her head, her brow furrowed with both puzzlement and curiosity. “You’re a Terran, aren’t you?” she asked.
“That’s right,” the man replied with a gentle and disarming smile, apparently not alarmed by her aggressive stance. “My name is Jean-Luc. I am a starship captain for