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“Hey, Charlie, over here!” Professor Jane waves her hand in the air and whistles softly to get your attention.

 

You walk closer to the round table where the two families are seated.  Professor Jane points you to the seat next to the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen dressed in red.  You are surprised when she smiles politely after realising that you are gawking at her. 

 

“Nice to meet you in person Charlie.  Got to tell you kid, you’ve got some guts.  Did you check the news?  People are going crazy out there.  Some of the underdeveloped countries didn’t believe the second report.  Some civil wars will be breaking out soon, they say.”   Why Jim? Shh, let me marvel in peace, you think to yourself. If feels like someone has punched you in the gut.  What have I done? you think to yourself.  Displeased with the news you make your way to your chair.  I can smell her rose perfume, her brown hair looks so soft, her skin looks so soft too, you think to yourself as you go closer to her.

 

As you sit down she turns to you and asks, “Would you like some orange juice, Charlie?”

 

“Charlie?”  Professor Scot is sitting next to his beautiful daughter, whom you have not answered yet.  Snap out of it, you can’t change how people will react to bad news, you think to yourself.

 

“I’d love some,” you said as you turned to face her.  She is even more beautiful than you thought before.

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“I’m Amelia, thank you for saving my father’s life,” she says as she reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently with her small soft hand. 

 

In front a big blue stage has been set up.  A man dressed in a black suit walks up the stairs to speech When I first heard about FTL-travelling I was amused, even lightly intrigued.  "The teams at NASA spend decades working on a theory that would allow matter with mass to travel faster than light. I never thought it would see the light.  Though we moved forward there always were seemingly insurmountable hurdles in our way.

Then two years ago the project leader, Jacques Du Pont, came to me and said he found the answer we needed in an eighteen year old’s PhD. and that he wanted more funding.  I decided to read for myself and to go to him within a week and say no.  I did not expect to find such a clear answer to solving faster than light travelling in the PhD.  For the past two years we have been working diligently to make the dream of a FTL-ship a reality.  A dream that I did not even think of dreaming a few years ago.  As the head of space-missions here at NASA I was hesitant to send humans into space with a FTL-ship.  But, Charlie’s research provided us with the carrier particle theory, the untainted biological matter probability theory and the formulas to have the two work together.   Even though Charlie made it clear that the calculations had to be 100% accurate, and that it was impossible when you factor in human error, we decided to gather the world’s smartest mathematicians and scientists.  When we first saw the meteorite debris two years ago, we panicked.  But it wasn’t long before we had a mission and a goal ahead of us.  Yes, even a calling.

Thanks to every one of you here, yes even the families who sacrificed precious time with their loved ones, we were able to prevent the largest catastrophic event earth has ever seen.

To all of you here, who worked with us to achieve this great accomplishment, we thank you.”

 

The man stepped down and another man in a white suit walks up the stairs.  He announces that the dance floor is open and that the main course will be served within the next hour. 

 

“Would you like to dance with me?” You hold out your hand to her.  Why does she hesitate, you wonder and say to her “Don’t worry if you’re not that good I’ll help you. Dancing is almost just like maths.  Rhythms, patterns, predictions, calculations.”

Placing your juice back on the table you move two fingers on the table in perfect salsa rhythm as you hum Las Caras Mindas.

 

“Ha, you went to one too many dance lessons.  Dancing isn’t mathematics, it is art.”  She stands up and pulls you towards the dance floor passionately.

 

You spin her around drawing her closer to smell her rose perfume.  Everything she does is a surprise.  The way she laughs when you spin her around, the way she moves so unpredictably.  When was the last time I laughed this much? You ask yourself as she changes even the foxtrot into her own dance.  Her waltz is flawless, her rhythm perfect.  I’m not the only one who went to dance lessons, you think to yourself.

 

Suddenly you stop in the middle of the dance floor to hold both her hands. Looking into her eyes and laughing in joy, you push a strand of her hear back into its place with a steady hand. “Mhhm, yes.”

 

“What now?” she asks as she lifts her hand to her hair to feel for more loose strands.

 

“I’d like to marry you.” Smiling, you pull her back and start dancing again.

 

“You would?”  She laughs and lifts her arm for you to spin her around once more. 

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The main course is brought out and you return to your seats.

 

“I’m glad to see you get along well,” Says Professor Scot as he sees the two of you laughing as you approach the table.

 

“Yes, father, very well indeed.”  Amelia smiles as you pull her chair out to move it so that she can sit closer to you.

 

You take a bite of the lamb stew that was brought to your table.  I must have been crazy, but she seems so happy, you think to yourself as she looks up at you smiling brightly.  She taps her leg against yours and signals for you to look at Doctor Lee and her husband dancing the Polka.  Amelia isn’t like maths at all.  She is like art, you think to yourself.

 

The lady in blue brings the desert to your table and you feel your eyes getting heavy as you yawn. “Thank you for a lovely evening.  I think I should turn in for the night." You reach for Amelia’s hand to squeeze it lightly. “Good night my lady.”

 

“Scot, I think Penner was right after all,” says Professor Jane as she nods in approval.

 

“Don’t make my daughter blush even more, Jane.   Goodnight Charlie,” says Professor Scot as you walk away from the table.

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