Ed woke with a start and was briefly confused as to where he was. Looking up at a pure white ceiling and turning his head to the left, he found a small shelf beside the bed. He noticed a half-empty beer bottle and a couple of pizza crusts, then with the twinges of a headache coming on, he vaguely remembered the previous evening’s events.
After the visit to the bridge, Phil had shown them where their cabins were and then taken them up to what the crew called ‘the blister’. It was a large, oval lounge room on the highest deck of the ship, with a domed glass ceiling. It probably wasn’t glass, but whatever it was made from, the magnificent view of the galaxy could not be disputed. Tony had joined them and helped entertain everyone with stories of their visits to Earth, going back centuries. All this with an unending supply of cold beer, wine and pizza, which the three guests thought was bloody marvellous.
‘Good morning, Edward. Did you sleep well?’ said somebody in a sultry female voice, giving him a start.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Ed, glancing around the room. ‘You nearly gave me a coronary. Where the hell are you and where did you come from?’
‘I’m here all the time,’ the female voice answered.
‘Where were you last night then?’ he asked.
‘You’d had a lot of beer and kept bumping into things, so I thought I’d wait until this morning to introduce myself,’ she said.
‘Yeah, that was probably a wise thing to do.’
‘You can request me to be in standby mode, if you wish,’ she said. ‘Then all you need to do is call me and I’ll be right here.’
Ed sat up, swung his legs over and placed them on the floor.
‘What do I call you?’
‘Anything you desire, Edward.’
‘Okay, I’ll call you Marilyn,’ said Ed, immediately regretting it. Better not tell the other two, I’ll never hear the end of it, he thought.
‘Marilyn it is then,’ she said. ‘Would you like a coffee? Flat white, one sugar?’
‘How did you know that?’ questioned Ed, looking around the room again. ‘I don’t even know where to look when I’m talking to you.’
A three-dimensional image of Marilyn Monroe in a bikini appeared in the middle of the room.
‘Is this the Marilyn you were thinking of, Edward?’ said Marilyn, pouting and looking at him seductively.
‘Oh – crap – err – yeah. It was, only – I err – I kind of imagined her with some clothes on,’ he stammered, his eyes on stalks.
She reappeared in her trademark billowing low-cut dress.
‘Is this more appropriate?’ she said, seemingly disappointed.
‘Yes, thank you, Marilyn, and, in answer to your question, I would like a coffee. A large one please,’ he said, gradually calming down.
‘Would you like a bacon sandwich with tomato ketchup too?’ she asked, giving him a wink.
‘I’ve just met the most perfect woman in the world.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a shame you’re just a hologram.’
‘Touch my hand,’ she said, stepping closer and offering her right hand to him.
He tentatively raised his right hand. Expecting it to sweep through the image, he was shocked to find himself shaking a very real, warm hand. He could even smell her perfume. Turning her hand over, he placed two fingers on her wrist, just under her thumb and was astounded to find a strong, regular pulse.
‘How the hell does that work?’ said Ed, letting go of her hand as if it had given him an electric shock and looked up into her eyes. ‘I saw you materialise out of thin air and you seem to be a real fully-functioning human being.’
‘Biomatter Spacial Reforming is about the closest translation I can give you,’ she said. ‘So long as we have a data record of the item, and enough stored elements available, we can create anything we need. Your coffee, bacon sandwich, last night’s dinner, even the beer and wine.’
Marilyn walked over to a recess in the wall and picked up a large mug of steaming coffee and a plate containing the best looking double-decker toasted bacon sandwich Ed had ever seen. She placed them on the bedside table next to Ed, along with a couple of tablets.
‘Something for the headache,’ she said and retreated to an armchair in the corner, signalling to him to eat. As Ed tucked into his sandwich, she continued with more information about the ship.
‘The Gabriel is a sentient ship. It’s partly organic too. It’s grown and constructed at the same time. The ship’s hull and bulkheads are made from spores that are cultured and manipulated into a kind of skin and, when formed into the right shape, can be left to harden. Just before the hardening, it’s married with a semi-organic brain core that, when woken and given its early build programming, can finish its own construction. Once finished, a crew is assigned, they name the starship and give the vessel its final personality, training and deep core programming.’
‘So, we’re flying around in a sentient living being?’ mumbled Ed, through mouthfuls of bacon sandwich.
‘Yes, we are. Although it does have defined programmed limits. It can’t fly off on a whim; it needs to have a command from one of the crew.’
‘What if the crew are asleep and the ship changes its mind, and decides to go on a trip or is attacked?’ he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
‘Good question,’ said Marilyn. ‘It’s not a scenario that’s likely as there’s always at least one crew member, core-connected at all times. But if an attack did happen, then the Gabriel would try to run first and defend last. The Gabriel is, in every sense of the word, a pacifist and could never initiate an attack on anyone or anything. But don’t get me wrong, its defence capabilities are quite purposeful and adequate. If cornered – well – let’s say, whoever it was, would most likely never do it again.’
‘Changing the subject for a moment,’ said Ed, looking around the room for his NASA ship suit. ‘What actually moves or drives the ship? I mean, you don’t use ancient, steam powered Ion drives like us, do you?’
‘No, we don’t,’ said Marilyn, giggling. ‘We have what’s called a Skotadi Chamber. The only way I can explain it in your language is that it’s similar to a nuclear power cell, only incorporating dark energy. It’s about the size of a basketball, situated in the centre of the brain core and the most heavily-shielded part of the ship.’
‘What would happen if it was damaged?’
‘A Skotadi Chamber has, as yet, never been breached, but if one was, you wouldn’t want to be within a light year of that. Not unless you had ambitions to be part of a new star. But don’t let that scare you; we’ll be giving all three of you training and a full run-down on all this for your ship.’
‘You’re putting a bloody nuclear bomb in my ship?’ said Ed, looking at Marilyn aghast.
‘I wish I hadn’t used that simile,’ groaned Marilyn. ‘It’s not a bomb. Just think of it as a high-powered battery. It’s a necessity to power all your new sexy systems.’
‘New systems?’ repeated Ed, looking puzzled. ‘I thought we were getting a bit of an overhaul to bring us up to date with regulations.’
‘Well, we couldn’t really do that with the old clunker you turned up in, could we? I mean, it’s like entering Formula One with a Model T. Sorry, there I go again using annoying similes,’ she said, cringing.
‘No, I think that sums it up pretty well,’ said Ed, still trying to find his ship suit.
‘It’s in the bathroom, hanging behind the door. There’s two more in that cabinet over there,’ she said, pointing at a row of drawers built into the wall.
‘But I only have one ship suit with me,’ said Ed, looking puzzled.
‘I made you two more,’ she said. ‘Also a pair of jeans, trainers and a Pink Floyd T-shirt.’
‘What year?’ he asked, walking over to the drawers to have a look.
’1977, In the Flesh Tour. All of the boys went and raved about it.’
‘Cool,’ said Ed as he pulled the T-shirt out of the drawer and admired the pig over Battersea Power Station design. ‘I’ve never been able to find one of these, but, hang on, I thought you said there’s always one of the crew core connected at all times?’
‘They went to every show and took it in turns to man the bridge,’ she said, smiling.
‘Lucky buggers. I’d give my right arm to have witnessed just one show, and they’ve seen them all,’ said Ed, looking at the floor with a faraway expression.
‘Put a core helmet on and watch the show,’ she said. ‘We have all the tours recorded.’
‘I’ve seen all the videos a hundred times.’
‘Not like this you haven’t,’ she said and walked across the room, opened a drawer, grabbed one of the core helmets and gave it to Ed. ‘Put this on, lie back on the bed and shut your eyes.’
Ed did as he was told.
‘Madison Square Garden, second night of four,’ she said.
Ed nearly levitated off the bed.
It was the intro to ‘Sheep’. He was there in the third row; he could see and feel the crowd around him, smell the sweat and marijuana. David Gilmour was only meters away, the deep bass moving his bacon sandwich around in his stomach. He opened his eyes and sat up, grabbing the helmet off his head and stared at it, as if it was venomous.
‘How the fuck is that possible?’ he stammered, looking up at Marilyn, who was grinning from ear to ear.
‘One of the boys had a helmet on under a baseball cap at all the shows they went to, which was, as you know, an awful lot. Everything they saw was transmitted back to the core and recorded, so even the crew member back on the ship that night could watch the show from the comfort of the bridge couch.’
‘That’s – that’s – just spectacular. Can I have all these recordings on my ship?’
‘The brain core on your ship will be an exact copy of ours,’ she said. ‘Minus the crew’s personal files. You really don’t want to see some of the private things they got up to over the last three thousand years,’ she added, looking a little shamefaced. ‘Everything else will be there and – I must admit – between the four of them, they personally witnessed an awful lot of major events in Gaia’s – sorry, Earth’s – history.’
‘A small point,’ said Ed, looking at Marilyn, pensively. ‘If your programming is so more advanced than ours, then why do you keep forgetting to call our planet Earth? Surely, when you’ve been told once, you wouldn’t make that error again.’
‘Excellent point, Edward,’ she said. ‘Our programming is designed that way, to make us appear more human. Not to a point where we could make a critical error and endanger the ship or anything, but enough to make tiny faux pas occasionally to make you feel comfortable.’
‘Isn’t there anything you guys haven’t thought of?’ he said, suddenly realising he was still in his underpants and that it might be a good idea to have a shower. He stood up and wandered over to the flush-mounted drawers again.
‘Third drawer down,’ she said. ‘I took the liberty of providing underwear too.’
‘Thanks, Marilyn,’ he said, grabbing a clean pair of jockey shorts, jeans and the seventies tour shirt. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said and padded off to the bathroom.
After closing the bathroom door, he stripped and turned to check out the shower controls.
That’s odd, he thought, finding nothing that seemed remotely familiar.
Opening the bedroom door a crack, he asked Marilyn how to operate the shower. He almost jumped out of his skin when she answered from behind him. Spinning round and, immediately covering himself with his hands, he found her standing naked in the cubical.
‘I’ll show you,’ she said, putting her hands up above her head. ‘Shower please.’
A bright red light flickered over her body as she slowly turned a complete circle; it was over in about twenty seconds.
‘Before you ask, Mr Scientist,’ she said. ‘We call it an acoustic shower.’
‘Th – thank you,’ he stammered, feeling his cheeks burning. ‘I was kind of hoping you’d shout instructions through the door.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you like naked girls – are you—’
‘No – no – nothing like that. I’m definitely heterosexual – not sure I could play around that way with a computer programme and I’ve never had the need to use a sex toy,’ he said, immediately regretting saying something so unkind.
‘That may be,’ she said, looking down at his hands, ‘but I believe your body has other ideas.’
He looked down and realised a certain part of his anatomy was completely contradicting everything he’d just said. He looked up again to find her standing right in front of him. She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.
‘Anything that happens in this cabin, stays in this cabin,’ she whispered.