Chapter Text
Travis blinked. “Uh?” he said.
“Just Davenport will do, thank you,” Davenport said briskly. “Or Captain. We have a lot of work ahead of us, Mr. McElroy.”
“Yeah, no, of course. Just Davenport. Or Captain.” He paused, mind reeling. “Or… Cap’n-port?”
“Absolutely not,” Davenport said stiffly.
“Yep, copy that, got it, cool,” Travis rambled. How could he possibly have not realized that Sabik’s captain friend was Davenport? He had met so many people over the last two-odd years here, he had long since stopped approaching new acquaintances with the expectation that they had-- or would-- play into the plot he held in his heart. And yet-- here was Davenport, in the diminutive flesh, and he had just met Merle mere days prior. He felt his pulse jog and skip. I must be on the right track. Is this it? Is it beginning?
Realizing he had fallen silent, Travis coughed and recovered, saying, “That’s great, though.” His voice came out too excited, so he started again, slower: “I, uh, I hope we’ll get along! If we’ll be spending that much time together, I mean.”
“Irrelevant,” Davenport sniffed. “I trust your drive and I see promise in the skill you have shown here. I should think that will be more than enough for a working relationship to flourish.”
“Hear, hear,” Sabik approved warmly. “Now, Captain, I did promise this young man I would provide him a lunch for his trouble. You are more than welcome to join us, of course.”
“No need!” Davenport interrupted, getting to his feet. “I thank you for your invitation, Sabik, and for everything you have done to bring the three of us together, to see the inception of what we will certainly come to think of as our lives’ work. For now, though, I have too many ideas to contain. I will document what I can and look forward to meeting with you both again in the near term.”
Travis stood as well to see him off, eliciting a neat bow from the Captain, but before he turned to go Travis reached out clumsily and grabbed his shoulder. “Uh, sorry,” he said, elated and anxious. Davenport glanced at Travis’ hand on his shoulder, then back to Travis’ face, auburn eyebrows shooting upward. “It’s really nice to meet you! And I just-- Are you, uh… I’m a hugger! Sorry!” and with that Travis wrapped Davenport’s small form into a bear hug, hoping his hammering heart was not detectable to the gnome.
Davenport grunted quietly in surprise, his arms pinned to his sides, and as Travis released him he straightened up and ran a hand over his hair. “Yes, well, very good,” Davenport muttered. He paused for a moment as if he was going to say something else, but instead jerked the hem of his tweed jacket and rolled his shoulders back. “Er-- thank you, Sabik. And, Travis… ah, well. See you soon, I suppose.” He bowed again, quickly, and hurried from the room with Travis’ design tucked beneath his arm.
Travis turned back to Sabik, who raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone try to hug the Captain before,” she said wryly. “But apart from that, well done. I very much hoped you would get on. He is not everyone’s cup of tea. Too many cogs moving too quickly underneath that thatch of hair. I am glad to see you have established some form of rapport with him.”
“I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself,” Travis muttered, uncertainty around his own show of affection creeping in. “I mean, I hardly even said anything. I can be, like, so much more charming than that!”
“I am sure you can,” Sabik said, a rare note of affection in her tone, “but Davenport is not impressed by charm. He is driven by competency, by grit. He deemed you worthy, and for now that will be enough.”
“Well, I’m glad I passed the test,” Travis groused, but he took the arm Sabik offered him as she came around her desk and made for the door.
“This one, anyway,” she said lightly. Before he could splutter a rebuttal, she cut in, “Tell me-- how did your steak dinner turn out?”
--
“Dinner?” Barry said, “Again? I feel like I died and went to heaven.”
“Well, you’d know,” Travis snorted, delivering half a roast chicken to Barry’s waiting plate. “There’s rice and some snowpeas over there if you want ‘em. Anyway, we’re celebrating!”
“Oh yeah?” Barry said. “What’s the occasion? Also-- beer?”
“I’m good, thanks. I spoke to Sabik today and showed her my ship designs! And! AND! Barry, guess what!”
“Uh,” Barry slid into the seat opposite Travis’ at their kitchen table. “You finally found an internet in this world like the one you always talk about from home?”
“I WISH ,” Travis said. “No, Sabik introduced me to a colleague of hers who’s a captain, a gnome fella name of Davenport. I think he’s really going to be the key to the next steps of this mission!”
Barry set down his fork, chewing as he considered. “I know that name,” he said at last. “Davenport. He works at the Academy, yeah?”
“That’s the one!” Travis said, joyfully tearing a drumstick from his own halved bird. “She said he was a navigator, and a cartographer, and--”
“--and a bit of a criminal,” Barry cut him off. “Yeah, I know that guy. I thought the name sounded familiar. I’m pretty sure he had his captaincy revoked some years back after some shady dealings at the Port, some kind of gambling ring? Anyway, rumor says he only turned to teaching when he couldn’t sail anymore.”
“Oh.” Travis set his fork down, feeling his glow dim somewhat. “Well, I guess that’s all in the past, though, right? He seems like he’s pretty good at what he does. Sabik seems to think so, anyway.”
“I gotta meet this Sabik character sometime,” Barry said, “She single?” (Catching the wide-eyed look of surprised excitement Travis gave him, he held both hands up before anything else could be said). “Hey, I’m only joking! But I would like to meet her sometime. She seems, like-- she seems normal, right? Not nutter butter?”
“Maybe only a little nutter butter,” Travis countered reluctantly. “But she is really smart, and super hardcore. She really knows her shit. I… I trust her. I trust that Davenport is as good as she says and, crazy as it sounds-- and I know how crazy it sounds-- I trust her that this mission could really be a success.”
The kitchen was quiet for a moment as Barry scooped his peas thoughtfully and Travis planted a hand on Buttercup’s snout to stymy her attempts to crawl up on the bench next to him and share in his meal.
“You know, Trav, I do believe in you,” Barry said. There was a measured slowness to his voice that signalled to Travis he was working through something, so he didn’t interrupt.
“Listen, I know I told you this whole business was-- was better off left alone. But I gotta hand it to you, you really are seeing it through, and that’s not nothing. That’s pretty freakin’ far from nothing. I’ve seen my students drop easier theses with less opposition, over and over again, and that’s just theory-- a pretty far cry from what you’re trying to do. I really gotta give it to you-- you haven’t let it go.
“I know you have reason to want this. I know we have… certain things in common. I can’t go back in time to save my family. I think you know-- I mean, it sounds heartless, but I hope you know-- you probably can’t get back to your family, either. I just, uh, I just think it’s really, like, admirable , I guess, that you translated all that-- all that pain -- into doing something. Into making something happen.
“Anyway, I don’t mean to be such a sap. Whatever! You know? But I just want you to know, I recognize that I’ve been, well, kind of a dick. In the past. But I want to support you now. I’m not… I’m not super sure how. But like I said, bud, I believe in ya. I want to believe in what you’re doing. I want… I mean, I guess what I’m saying, is, I think I want to help.”
Travis, feeling his face twist into a variety of feelings-based contortions, reached across the table and seized Barry’s non-fork hand with both of his. Willing away the lump in his throat, he said, “Thank you, Barold. That means a lot.”
“Aw, hey, come on now,” Barry said, embarrassed. “Whatever! I mean, you know. Scientific progress and all of that.”
“ Friendship progress,” Travis countered.
“Sure,” Barry said, embarrassed, but he squeezed Travis’ hands before letting go.
“I know there’s a place for you in this process, Barold,” Travis said earnestly. He tried to keep himself from coming off as too intense, knowing full well how Barry had felt about his overtures in the past. “I know it sounds wild. I know I can be too invested. But I promise you-- even outside of any information or, or, or impressions I have from my life on earth-- I promise there’s a way for you to be involved that will open new doors of research and discovery. I promise it’s not a waste of time!”
“I know it, bud, I know it,” Barry assured him, and got up to help himself to a second plate.
--
It was a few weeks before Travis could find any kind of regularity with which he met with Sabik and Davenport. A few times, the three of them met at the Stone’s Throw Tavern, which they found too noisy; Sabik’s office proved too cramped; Barry vetoed any meetings at their house, citing the need for better work-life balance; and so, finally, Travis suggested using the courtyard of the newly-completed, still-empty building his team had been working to build on the Academy campus.
It was here where they finally fell into their routine of meeting, discussing, planning, improving; here where Travis’ sketched drafts turned into actual blueprints of a ship itself, sleek, gorgeous, almost impossible to imagine.
The real work, though, was in the strategizing they had to do to find support from within the Academy. Sabik took it upon herself to apply to every grant she knew or heard about, no matter the mental gymnastics she had to perform to connect their mission to the stated purpose of those opportunities.
Word got out, and before long the three of them became accustomed to the sight of a few curious onlookers at their meetings, especially as the new building filled up with its tenants. The three of them were fond of their meeting space now, though, even though it was more or less open to the world, and reluctant to leave it behind.
Months passed, and week by week the gathered crowds of onlookers began to grow a little rowdy. As rumors of their project grew, there seemed to always be a nearly equal number of naysayers and supporters from across campus, and a few opinionated locals besides. Soon Barry began to invite himself to the meetings to make sure no one got out of hand, his tall, broad-shouldered form easily shoving aside anyone even hinting at intended rabble-rousing.
Of course, once Barry was sitting adjacent to their little planning committee, the fervor of their commitment became irresistible to him. As the long winter of their initial summits finally warmed, a fourth figure could be seen with the odd trio of man, dwarf, and gnome, the indigo of his stiff cotton pants contrasting with the green and yellow of a fully blooming summer.
It was fall, almost the third anniversary of Travis’ time in this plane, before one of the grants finally came through.
It wasn’t until the following Midsummer Solstice that the four of them found themselves staring up at the first-ever scale model of the ship that would someday take them beyond the firmament to the endless possibilities of the dimensions beyond.
Well, not all of us, Travis thought. He fought back a pang of unnameable regret at the thought of staying behind, but of course that was always the plan. His mission had never been to pick his old dimension-jumping habits up again. Build a ship. Unite the crew. Save the world , he reminded himself.
“It’s beautiful,” Travis breathed.
“It needs a lot of work, bud,” Barry said. Travis knew by now that this was just his way of expressing the depth of his cautious excitement.
“Indeed,” Davenport agreed, his small form disappearing behind the raw wooden beams of the ship’s hull. The model was made only to one-eighth scale, but was still big enough to walk around and examine each laboratory and berth.
“What do you think, Sabik?” Travis said, turning to where she leaned against the wall and surveyed the ship model in full. She smiled at him, which put his heart to ease; Sabik was not a woman in the business of providing comfort where she did not feel the situation warranted it. “It’s lovely,” she said softly. “You must be very proud.”
Travis grinned back at her openly. “Yeah. But I mean… this is hardly recognizable from those first designs I brought you! So much of-- this--,” he gestured broadly behind him, “is thanks to your brilliant insight on astronomical travel and Cap’nport’s knowledge of ship construction.”
“ Davenport, ” came a resigned grumble from the other side of the model.
“Yes, well,” Sabik suppressed another smile. “Certainly we wouldn’t be where we are without the invaluable contributions made by Captain Davenport.” She pronounced every syllable of his name clearly and loudly, and Travis heard an appreciative sigh behind him. “But truly, your conceptualization of the bonds engine is what all of this runs on. Figuratively and literally.”
“But that was just a pipe dream until you did all that research on metaphysical fuel conversion, and pulled in that student of yours who’s cross training from the-- what was it? Transmutation College? Evocation?”
“Both.” There was pride in Sabik’s voice that made Travis pleasantly uncomfortable-- more and more, he strove to hear that same tone in her voice when she talked with him about his ideas and contributions. It kept him going.
“Right,” he said. “And, speaking of which-- or, um, of whom-- I’ll have to meet her sometime!”
“This reminds me,” Davenport’s voice came through. “I wanted to speak with you three about something. Mr. Bluejeans, would you kindly--”
Travis glanced up to see that Davenport had climbed his way to the prow of the model ship and was speaking to them from a perch some six feet off the ground. Not such a great height, certainly, though the jump may have a left three-foot-tall gnome somewhat worse for wear.
“Captain!” Sabik exclaimed. “What are you doing up there? Is that safe?”
“Perfectly safe, Sabik,” he answered, “I simply needed to see the poop deck a little closer.” (Travis swallowed a customary giggle, which Davenport ignored). “It feels larger than it had seemed on paper and I wanted to be sure it would not compromise the aerodynamic values we’ll need for the takeoff calculations to work. One weak link could destroy the whole equation, and all of our work will be for nothing. But I digress. Mr. Bluejeans?”
“‘Course,” Barry answered, coming around the model to stand on tiptoe and grab Davenport underneath the armpits and swing him down with more dignity and grace than Travis would have thought possible.
“Anyway, Sabik, the model is pretty sturdy,” Travis assured her as Davenport straightened his clothes. “I used to climb up on the decks all the time when we were putting this bad boy together. If it holds my weight I’m sure it’s more than safe for the Captain. Or for you, if you felt so inclined!”
“No thank you,” Sabik said primly, pressing her lips into a thin line beneath the wisps of her moustache.
“What did you wanna talk about, Cap?” Barry asked him.
“Well. On the topic of Mr. McElroy’s bond engine concept. I think it’s about time to turn our attention to the less technical details of what this mission will entail. Specifically, now that we know it will be some odd months, maybe years, before we have the ship actually fully constructed and tested to ensure it’s seaworthy-- er, that is to say, spaceworthy-- I want to take advantage of the time that we have now and start discussing what our crew will look like.”
Travis shifted uncomfortably. Maybe this was going to be the most difficult part: going through the motions of recruiting and interviewing countless applicants, knowing full well precisely who was meant to take the mission-- and who was not.
Davenport continued, “If the proof of concept for the bonds engine confirms that it works even roughly in line with our estimations, our crew parameters must be stringent in the extreme.
“As I imagine it, we should aspire to a crew of roughly six-- give or take an individual, per their abilities. This will keep the cost of sustenance down, will maintain our weight limitations to allow for extra cargo, and of course simplify field missions.”
“Six is an unlucky number,” Sabik cut in. Barry and Travis each glanced at her, Barry especially looking surprised.
“Sabik, come on!” he said, “I thought you were a woman of science!”
“I am, obviously,” she retorted, “But you don’t become the universe’s foremost scholar on astronomy without running into a few ancient superstitions. We might as well not tempt fate.”
“Seven, then,” Davenport decided briskly. “Is seven lucky enough for you?” Sabik dipped her chin in an affirmative. Travis grinned around at all of them. He felt loose and goofy thinking about the crew. About how close they were.
Relatively close , a voice in his head reminded him. He glanced at Barry, at Davenport. He didn’t know how old Davenport was supposed to be when the mission started, but he remembered that Barry should be nearly forty by the time the Starblaster took flight. Barry, whose 33rd birthday they had celebrated just a few weeks before. He felt his brow furrow slightly. Maybe they weren’t as close to done as he had thought.
Travis shifted his attention back to Davenport, now passing around notes to support his thoughts on crew recruitment. “--personality sciences are dubious at best,” he was saying, “So we are as likely to end up with a perfectly compatible crew, socially speaking, by drawing names out of a hat as by selecting them on any bases of evaluation. However, I intend to design a rigorous testing program where we can address and, hopefully, eliminate any potential interpersonal friction by way of practical simulations in controlled environments--”
“You’re talking about role-playing?” Travis cut in.
Davenport sniffed. “Not to put so fine a point on it, Mr. McElroy, but yes. Effectively.”
Travis guffawed at the irony of it. “Sorry, sorry, don’t mind me. Go on.”
“As I was saying, I believe we had ought to privilege professional acumen over congeniality throughout the recruitment and initial training processes. At risk of sounding reductive, I have therefore outlined a combination of roles here that I believe will balance the potential personalities of future applicants. If you would.” He gestured to the sheets of paper he had passed out.
Dutifully, Travis dropped his gaze to the list in his hand. It read,
TEAM FOR UNIVERSAL RESEARCH & DISCOVERY
RECRUITMENT GUIDELINES
Version 1
“Okay, first off,” Travis said, “Team for Universal Research & Discovery? No way.”
“Whyever not?” Davenport said, sounding flummoxed. “It’s a perfectly fine name.”
“Not if you care about acronyms,” Travis laughed. Barry, a moment later, snorted.
“Besides,” Sabik said over the boys’ giggles, “It’s not Universal, is it? It’s somewhat more than that. What about the Specialized Extraplanar Xenology Team?”
“Maybe not ‘team,’ maybe something a little more official sounding,” Barry suggested, “I mean, we’re all still kind of hoping for the Academy to officially endorse and fund us, right? Maybe we could be, like, the Bureau of Universal Taxonomy and Transdimensional Sciences. That covers everything, right?”
“Too loquacious,” Davenport interjected, sounding pained. “We want to be sure it’s easy to understand for the laypeople. ‘Practical Offworld--’”
“Absolutely not,” Travis said through yet more poorly suppressed laughter.
“You got a better idea, McElroy?” Barry shot back. “Not right now, I don’t!” Travis wheezed.
“Well, fine,” Barry said, slapping Travis’ back, “Maybe let’s all just hold off on the name stuff for now, okay?”
Davenport sniffed, offended. Travis recovered himself, cast an apologetic look at Davenport, and kept reading.
An optimal crew shall consist of the following:
a SHIP’S CAPTAIN;
a CHIEF SCIENTIST;
a BIOLOGIST;
a HISTORIAN;
an ARCANIST, and
a CHIEF OF SECURITY.
“Intriguing combination, Captain,” Sabik murmured. “I am surprised to see you including arcana as a directive of this mission.”
“It would be foolish not to.” By Davenport’s tone, it sounded as though he had resigned himself to the idea. “Mr. Bluejeans speaks true; we are still riding on the hope-- possibly the assumption -- that our work will eventually be validated and co-opted by the powers that be here at the Academy. With the Colleges of Arcana being as they are such an important part of the fabric of the Academy’s culture, we would damage our own chances by excluding… magic. ”
Davenport spat the last word out as if it was the distasteful pith of an otherwise juicy fruit. Travis had heard him make comments before that suggested his distrust of the magical arts, but didn’t realize he’d felt so strongly about it.
How could anyone hate magic? He wondered. He was reminded of Barry’s early attempts to teach him principal components of spellwork and the many times he had failed to produce the simplest minor spells Barry had tried to show him. The memory made him smile, and almost unconsciously he draped his arm over the back of Barry’s chair.
“Just so. Likewise, your inclusion here of a Security officer is wise. Travis, if you recall our earliest conversations on the matter, I believe the Academy will need to be assured of the continued well-being of the crew members, or they will never allow for their best minds to be recruited-- much less offer us funding.” Sabik nodded toward Travis as she spoke and he nodded back, trying to fix his giddy brain into the serious context of their conversation.
“That’s right,” he said, “But don’t you think there should also be a doctor onboard, or something? Like, a medic?”
Davenport frowned at the list. “That seems unnecessary. Any captain worth his salt should know basic field medicine.”
Travis looked again at the list, frowning. He tried to imagine the roles of the crew he knew they needed over the roles listed on the sheet in front of him. “Alright, but what about morale? Company management, so to speak?”
Three blank looks met his question. He sighed. “Like, who will take care of the crew as people ? I think we should have someone who can monitor their overall wellbeing, make sure they’re looked after, make it feel more like a home than a lonely mission. I don’t know, maybe something specific, even if it seems small. Like a-- like a--”
Travis searched their faces, trying to think of what he was trying to say. He knew there was something missing. Barry caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.
“A chef !” Travis cried, the word finally coming to him. He wanted to slap himself, feeling at once relieved to have remembered the seventh role for the crew within the canon as he knew it and embarrassed that it took him so long to get the concept across.
“That’s a great idea!” Barry said, almost too loudly. “We wanted seven members after all, didn’t we, Sabik?”
“We do, Barry, yes,” Sabik said with a smile.
“I mean, that would probably help, right?” Travis said, “And then, like, everybody could be a little trained in medicine. Every party needs at least one healer.”
“I don’t know what kinda parties you’re used to, bud,” Barry said, “but I think we’re onto something here. And listen, I uh… I think I can help a bit with the recruiting, if the Academy will allow it.”
“Yes, I believe we will all be able to contribute,” Davenport responded. “At least, that was my hope.”
“No, yeah, for sure,” Barry blustered, and Travis caught a creeping blush rising over Barry’s collar. As if sensing Travis’ eyes on him, Barry clapped his hand to the back of his neck.
“It’s just, ah, I just found out that, um. I’ve been… promoted? To the Head of the Department of Sciences?”
There was a pause, and then the three of them burst into delighted cries of congratulations, patting Barry’s back, shaking his hand, and (in Travis’ case) landing a side-hug and a loving noogie on his messy brown curls.
In that moment, Travis saw them all through a soft lens of deep affection: Sabik, her tightly controlled demeanor dropped for the moment in celebration of her friend; Davenport, normally eloquent and reserved, shaking Barry’s hand excitedly and repeating, “Well done, my boy! Well done!”
And then, of course: Barry himself. Travis’ roommate, friend, and confidant for nearly four years now. The closest link he had to a past he never wanted to forget, and the only other person who knew how the two of them had gotten where they were now. Barry, with his glasses askew, blushing furiously, smiling hugely, accomplished and excited.
This was how Travis wanted to always remember him.
--
“Hey, Sabik? Can I talk to you about something?”
Sabik looked up from the papers on her desk. “Oh, Travis. Yes, of course. Come in.”
Travis waited in the familiar green velvet chair quietly, admiring the view afforded by Sabik’s office in the Astronomy tower. It had been months since they had first seen the model of what would become the Starblaster, and the four of them had been busy laying groundwork for the announcement of their recruiting efforts. Now, the leaves were changing, a riot of brilliant color beyond the dim stone walls of the tower.
Travis watched Sabik, too, quietly; her dark head bent over her work as she finished the day’s work, her neat and orderly mien evident in the well-organized (if overflowing) shelves behind her. He noticed for the first time how the dying light of the day caught in her hair where it softened to silver at her temples and collected in the fine lines around her intense blue eyes.
“Thank you for your patience,” she said at length, shuffling the sheafs of parchment paper from her desk. “I swear my students forget everything over Midwinter break. Their work now is about as good as it will be all year. You wanted to discuss something?”
Travis smiled, settling one ankle over the opposite knee. “Yeah, I did. About the crew. Or, well, about recruiting the crew.”
“Of course. Go on.”
“Well, you remember how all of this started? You and me, I mean. That first time we met.”
“Well, Herris introduced didn’t he? But I don’t recall when exactly… oh.” A cloud settled over her face and Travis laughed. “Merle’s, ah, performance. Right?”
“Eeexactly!” Travis said. “That was a fun day, wasn’t it?”
“It… was a day,” Sabik conceded.
“So I was thinking about Merle,” (Sabik cocked her head, incredulous, but he continued undeterred), “and about how that day, you said you wished he would get a real job.” She nodded shortly. “Well… this would be a real job, isn’t it? A Biologist for our crew?”
Sabik laughed, an easy monosyllabic peal. “Yes, that is a real job. But why in all the worlds would you think Merle would be the best fit? He has no formal training in science whatsoever, has never held down any manner of livelihood or discipline, has only a tenuous grasp of basic hygiene...”
“Well, yeah, I mean. I know all that!” Travis shrugged. “But we’re trying to find, like, unconventional candidates. Right? I mean, he could be a diamond in the rough.”
“He could also be a particularly dense ingot of dung,” Sabik suggested, and then-- as if to humor Travis’ idea-- added, “in the rough.”
“But we won’t know until we interview him, right? So I was wondering if you would be open to bringing him to the prospecting sessions this spring. It’s a little while away, so, you know… we can see if he would apply himself to study, if motivated. See if he has some hidden potential. Or something.”
Sabik regard him for a long, quiet moment, and then sighed almost imperceptibly. She stroked the dropping strands of her black mustache and looked away as she said, hesitantly, “Yes, alright. I suppose so. I will broach the subject with him and let you know if it turns out Merle is disinterested. The Highchurch side of the family can be capricious, I will warn you.”
“Sure,” Travis said. “Sure! Well, okay. That was it for me. I’ll see y--”
“Travis,” Sabik cut him off. “Why Merle?”
Travis, already standing, paused, then offered only a single-shoulder shrug. “I couldn’t really tell you,” he said, figuring that would be close enough to the truth, “I just... had a feeling about him.”
He knew her well enough now to know that he could sometimes slip between the cracks of her normally logical, skeptical demeanor if he appealed to the right combination of kindness and superstition. He held his breath as he waited to see if this was one of those times-- or if she would laugh him out of the room.
To his delight, her eyes turned up in the familiar shape of her smile, and she said, “Well, I’m glad. I will hope that Merle can rise to the challenge. Your hunches haven’t lead us wrong yet.”
“You are too kind,” Travis said humbly. It was a new thing he was practicing, this conscientious gratitude, and it was made easier by being constantly surrounded by brilliant people who had, unbidden, showed him compassion and respect. It was a lot to be grateful for. Well, that, and his whole second-chance-at-life thing.
He stepped forward and extended his hand, squeezing hers when she presented it. “I know I say some crazy shit,” he said. “Thanks for listening to me anyway. And-- I’ll see you at the hearing on Midwinter Day?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she told him, and he knew how much she meant it.
--
Midwinter day had come cold and clear, and though their hearing had ended just past ten bells that morning, midday found Travis, Barry, Sabik, and Davenport well on their way to toasted at their customary table in the Stone’s Throw.
“Nicely done in there today, Boss,” Sabik said.
“Aw, come on, Sabik, please don’t call me that,” Barry protested. He hadn’t stopped smiling all morning. He’d dressed for the occasion and so was looking sharper than usual in a borrowed blue-grey blazer.
“Technically, she is correct,” Davenport said, any efforts at volume modulation long forgotten, “On both counts! Excellent work, Mr. Bluejeans, excellent work.” A drop of lager trembled on the tip of his curled mustache, catching a sunbeam from the window.
Their hearing at the Academy had gone as well as any of them could have hoped-- better, even.
They had pitched their mission as a complete interdisciplinary program culminating in the opportunity for practical extraplanar expeditions and, thanks to the work they had put in behind the scenes, successfully presented on the economic and social growth the Academy could anticipate year-over-year if the heads of the council would agree to fund the venture.
Following Barry’s impassioned plea and the precise calculations Sabik had provided on the program’s wide-ranging impact, they segued from the discussion of the program at large to the specifics of the technology they would be using. Travis provided detailed sketches of the ship in its final conceptualization and Davenport spoke to what they could expect in navigating the planar system and how they planned to stay ahead of any challenges.
At the end of their time, Barry had stood and explained, in language both plain and deeply personal, how deeply he believed in the mission and how much he was willing to risk to see it through. (Most of the Council had remained stoic throughout, but it was as much as Travis could do to stifle his heartfelt sniffling through the end of Barry’s speech).
But even with so much on the line, the Academy had done them one better. The council had voted unanimously in favor to fund the project at double the budget they had asked for. More than that, they had adjourned briefly for a special session, during which the four of them had waited silently jubilant but still on edge in the conference hall-- only to come back with an offer to create a brand-new institute housing their mission within Barry’s own Department of Sciences.
And so, they had stumbled from the Hall clutching each other in excitement and disbelief, blindsided by the generosity shown to them by the Academy Council, and as Travis hugged Barry he caught the barest whiff of cinnamon still clinging to the blazer he had lent him.
Back in the tavern, Davenport raised his mug in salute. “To Travis, our fearless and fairly strange leader,” he suggested.
“Hey now!” Travis protested, “Strange, okay, I’ll give you that one. But I don’t think I’m the leader!”
“To Barry, then!” Sabik said, and raised her mug as well. “Who at the age of just twelve took over the Academy, and who will shortly take on the world as well.”
“Worlds,” Barry corrected her, “and for heaven’s sake, Sabik, I’m almost 35. And I absolutely refuse to take on the mantle of leader. If anyone, it should be you! You made every calculation and made this thing into a reality.”
“You brought us together,” Travis said, and squeezed her shoulder.
“And you saved me from a life of piracy!” Davenport added. Barry and Travis exchanged a look. Is he joking? Barry asked with his eyebrows. There’s no way to know! Travis answered with an exaggerated look of consternation that made Barry laugh.
“To Davenport, then,” Travis said. “To our captain!”
Sabik and Barry cheered, but Davenport waved his free hand modestly, mug still held aloft. “Now, now, I fully intend to go through the application process the same as any other candidate.”
“And I fully intend to fast-track you into the position regardless,” Barry said.
They had decided Barry should have final say in assembling the crew; Travis, though he didn’t say as much, knew he would be too close to the situation to be able to make any fair calls. Besides, who even knew if things would happen in real time as they had when it was just a fantasy shared between his family? The world was very wide. He had learned, through experience and through education, that there were more things in the multiverse than could be dreamt of by any armchair philosopher.
“To all of us, then,” Travis said, "And to whoever we find to complete our crew.”
“To the fact that we managed to find a name we could all agree on,” Barry joked. And as they raised their glasses together, they said in unison:
“To the Institute for Planar Research and Exploration.”