After the Lokustrum Metamorphosis, the honeymoon upgrade Khadijah and I were on got stepped up even more.
Khadijah's uncle, retired Capt. Benjamin Banneker of the professional galactic exploration fleet, had predicted the Lokustrum Metamorphosis being seen exactly as it was seen – and when that came to pass, the great minds of the galaxy who had overlooked him to age 81 suddenly could not get enough of him.
The fleet that had considered his long periods of leave and not promoted him based on the heroism that had caused him to need time off for those injuries – the fact that Capt. Banneker had not retired a commodore, to say nothing of an admiral – suddenly found itself with him as its biggest, brightest human star, brighter than even the star Loku in stellar storm. More people wanted to see Uncle Ben than wanted to see Loku!
Uncle Ben was 81. Of course the fleet's medical team was on top of everything he needed in that direction, but he was given a budget from the fleet to hire two personal assistants.
Guess who he offered the job to?
Guess who took it?
“We're being paid to explore the galaxy with Uncle Ben on our honeymoon – who would have thunk it?” Khadijah said.
Uncle Ben would be going here, there, and everywhere, and so would we – and in a galaxy like ours, that led to meeting some interesting personalities!
Case in point: the ambassador from Palantem arrived in a little box lined with velvet, resembling nothing of Earth more than a very large plum seed in green and gold.
“Greetings, Capt. Banneker, from the Council of the Wise of the Seventh Kingdom of the Palantem,” a deep masculine voice said when he opened the box. “This is Ambassador Gorwroth, in a recording. Please be so kind as to plant me an inch deep in least three gallons of good soil, and water the soil with a quart of water daily for a week, and after that, we will speak again.”
I went to the horticulture department on the ship and got five gallons of the best soil available, and Khadijah got a five-gallon pot. After that, Uncle Ben followed instructions to the letter, even using a ruler to make sure the planting of the ambassador was at the correct depth.
On the morning of the second day, the small version of what you see above appeared, and the ambassador budded larger and larger, taking up more and more of the soil of the pot, over the next five days.
On the morning of the eighth day, there was a sudden transformation – a great swirl of reorganizing energy that filled a corner of the living area in Uncle Ben's quarters –
On the morning of the eighth day, there was a sudden transformation – a great swirl of reorganizing energy that filled a corner of the living area in Uncle Ben's quarters –
– and a minute later, there stood Ambassador Gorwroth, fully reconstituted, about the size of a dwarf banana tree of about 10-12 feet tall:
“We are a carbon-based lifeform as humans are,” he explained, “but more delicate, somewhere between your tropical plants and your most delicate, lovely insects, so, it is easier to go back into seed shell form for travel and then be reconstituted by our host. We do not travel often, for it is easy enough to get lost in that form, but we knew, Capt. Banneker, that you could be trusted to remember and follow every detail, as would those under your command.”
“My niece and nephew are not exactly under my command; they serve in love,” the captain said, “but, the point is well-taken, Ambassador.”
The golden light in Ambassador Gorwroth's figure brightened.
“I have favorite seedlings too, Captain,” he said. “My compliments to you both, Capt. and Mrs. Dixon, the chosen worthy companions of this great man.”
The ambassador came with many questions from his Council of the Wise, and Khadijah and I recorded the interview and just listened, astonished by the questions and our uncle's fluid, unhesitating answers … his knowledge, and his memory, and his ability to pull up information he did not have in hand and synthesize it, were all stunning in their clarity. His body had aged, but his mind was as young and vigorous as ever.
When the official interview was done along with the recording, Ambassador Gorwroth at last asked the question I had wanted to ask for years.
“How dare your fleet leave you at captain – not even a commodore, to say nothing of an admiral? Are they so packed with minds such as yours that they did not need such a man?”
Uncle Ben smiled.
“I could have been a commodore at age 61, had I stayed a few more months before retiring. But a wise man always chooses the higher path.”
“Wait a minute,” Khadijah said. “That was the year my parents were killed in the accident!”
“And that was the week I retired as captain and took you in,” Uncle Ben said. “I chose the higher path, and have never regretted it.”
“What?” I said.
“I know you younger men at Sable Captains and Commanders have your own bones to pick with racism still lingering among humans out here in the galaxy because it is out of fashion on Earth at last,” Uncle Ben said. “But if you notice, I've always refused to waste any time encouraging you in picking those bones, and instead encouraged all of you to find the higher path. There's plenty of room out here to do that, and for me, the higher path led homeward.”
“And for me, Rufus,” Khadijah said, “the higher path instead of the fleet giving me another babysitting job as a station commander while dangling a captaincy over my head also led homeward, to being Mrs. Dixon instead.”
Ambassador Gorwroth stood quietly and listened until we all were finished with our realizations, and then commented.
“In Palantem history, there is nothing like chattel slavery, but we went through a long time of subjugation and only survived in seed shell form – giving up everything and going deep into the ground instead of trying to fight back. For us, that was the higher path, for our conquerors wasted so much time digging for us that they failed to notice the stellar cycle above them, and died, thus liberating the planet. We made use of the freedom that we had, and found a deeper path. There is always freedom, and freedom grows on freedom.”
“Exactly,” Capt. Banneker said. “In the years in which your ancestors were subjugated, our ancestors were in chains, and many times could not fight back … but there was freedom to make song, and code in the song, and follow the North Star, across the rivers, through the valleys, freedom growing on freedom. When the right day came, then the United States Colored Troops and their analogs in the Navy fought – and many others would fight over the two centuries following – but every day is not that day.”
“Right soil for the right seed,” the ambassador said.
“Right time for the right task,” Uncle Ben said.
“We understand,” he said, and reached out and gently touched Uncle Ben's hand. “You need no title, sir, to be who you are. You still should be an admiral, but you are to be admired all the more, because you do not need to be.”
Khadijah burst into tears and embraced her uncle – “THANK YOU!” – and I went on and joined the embrace, since touching one of the greatest men in the universe was not just reserved for Palantem ambassadors who end up becoming another one of the family friends in Uncle Ben's and also the Dixons' big galactic circle.
Later that night in our company, the ambassador watched his first human B-movie "based on actual events of real scientific discovery” paired with a documentary about what really happened. He made a typical remark:
“Oh, you all grow crooked,” he said, “because there is no resemblance between what sold the movie and the reality of the matter – but at least there are those among you that trim the crooked growth, from time to time! I will look for the trimmers, among humankind!”