Capt. Benjamin Banneker, a mentor and beloved uncle by marriage, is one of the most genial men you will ever meet, now approaching a hearty and hale ninth decade of life. He gave us a little scare when he was 81, but whole ancient civilizations turned out to help save his life and fill the holes human technology had no room for – and that tells you something about Benjamin Banneker, as revered as his ancestral uncle and scientist by that same name.
Still, occasionally, people still try to treat the modern Banneker like they did the 19th century one in the United States of America, a time in which it was par for the course to treat men of African descent as inferior. Capt. Banneker had founded Sable Captains and Commanders to help officers in both the professional and commercial fleet navigate those realities, and kept before us a perfect example of how not to get caught up with the foolishness.
“Not worth my time, because I actually know who I am and what I am doing,” he often said. “Disrespect me and you disrespect my Maker, and He will see that it catch up with you in due time.”
While his niece Khadijah and I were staying close with him during his recovery from a near-heart-attack, someone got caught up over the plant you see above, in just that hue – actually, several million someones, but –.
“I've been retired almost 20 years, Admiral, and I solved this problem for you five years before that,” he said after taking the phone call of the unfortunate man who had to clean up the mess. “Worse than that, sir, is that the hydrangea solved this problem thousands of years before we were ever born. Still worse than that: you don't realize I'm 81. I don't clean up behind messes I tried to avoid.”
Capt. Banneker held the phone away from his ear for a moment as the admiral became enraged, and then picked it up after getting himself a cup of coffee.
“You really need to learn how to respect your elders,” the retired captain purred, “and isn't there a paragraph in the fleet rulebook about getting out of line with civilians? R-E-T-I-R-E-D, Admiral. I've been a civilian for almost 20 years. Now if I wanted to, I could still call my protege who outranks you and report you … oh, you forgot about full fleet admiral Vlarian Triefield there for a moment, who leapfrogged both of us in rank. Uh huh. Right. Adjust your tone and your attitude before you get prematurely retired. Your admirality pension fund isn't even fully paid up yet; you're still a rear admiral, cussing out some old man and about to blow it all.”
Niece Khadijah had to go to the other room to laugh … .
“So, let's start over, Admiral. First of all, you don't tell me what to do. I'm a civilian scientist 15 years your senior. Second of all, I took your call as a courtesy to the 55,567 people you're going to have to rescue, not as a courtesy to you. Third of all, you could have looked up my old records years ago, but you just wanted to see if I would 'step and fetch it' for you. No. I'm too old to have my fingers buck-dancing through my old records for some disrespectful youngster on some 19th century racist smack – I was too old when I was born in the late 22nd century. Change your calendar, sir, and while you are doing that, you may come far enough forward in history to discover the search function on your computer so you can put the name 'Banneker, Benjamin' in there and read my reports about the matter.”
I had to leave on that.
“I see why he doesn't get mad at these people!” I said to Khadijah. “He outclasses them so much!”
“They couldn't survive if he really got mad – nobody is ready to know Uncle Ben like that!” Khadijah said as we fell over laughing again.
Uncle Ben came in smiling at our laughter once we were thoroughly exhausted.
“I'm glad y'all enjoyed that,” he said, “because I certainly did as well!”
“Uncle Ben, that wasn't even fair!” Khadijah said.
“When you are stupid, fairness won't save you anyway,” the old captain said, and at last his dark eyes flashed with some real heat. “I literally solved this problem when you were ten years old, Khadijah, and now 55,567 people are sick and have to be rescued. I cannot abide men in authority like that admiral; he has had ten years to head this off. What I would not show him, I will show y'all.”
We followed Uncle Ben into his study, and he pulled up his files.
“The plant in question,” he said as he pulled up the picture you see above, “is called by many names, but the Snake Hydrangea is the most germane. Normally, you see it in this variety here –.”
“ – and it is much beloved in this way across the galaxy where there is suitable climate and soil.”
“It's a gorgeous plant,” Khadijah said.
“Elegant,” I said. “If you like it I'm putting it on the list for our eventual garden if they grow on Earth.”
“They do not thrive at this latitude except in greenhouses – too cold here, although they are hardy enough to probably struggle through the average mild San Francisco winter,” Uncle Ben said.
“That looks so different that the green and gold variety,” I said.
“There is an 'intermediate variety' as well,” Uncle Ben said, and pulled up that picture.
“Lighter with more yellow in it, yes,” Khadijah said. “Just lovely also.”
“They are, and if that could be all there is to it, it would be wonderful,” Uncle Ben said, “but, whenever a new system opens up, you can't get these in the garden stores anywhere in near-Earth. They all are bought up, by the millions.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because one colony planted them and got that green and gold color, and found a large gold deposit underneath,” Uncle Ben said.
“Oh, no – it's a gold rush combo with tulip madness,” I said.
“People want to live in the past, so bad,” Khadijah said as she put her head in her palm.
“And in wanting to live there, they miss the most important lessons, every time,” Uncle Ben said. “The plant is best called Snake Hydrangea – can you think of why? It does not resemble a hydrangea in any obvious way.”
Khadijah and I thought about it, and then both of us facepalmed.
“No, Uncle,” Khadijah said. “Please, no.”
“Yes,” Uncle Ben said. “The problem has been solved ever since hydrangeas were discovered on Earth, and they gave pink, lavender, or blue blooms depending on the alkalinity, neutrality, or acidity of the soil.”
“And gold is a transition metal, so that wasn't the reason for the bloom color of gold and green in the Snake Hydrangeas,” I said.
“Snake Hydrangeas are of course thought to be more golden as the amount of gold in the area increases, but actually, they absolutely love naturally occurring acid rain,” Uncle Ben said.
“Sillium 5,” Khadijah said. “You would get such a gorgeous bloom in the springtime on Sillium 5.”
“Exactly,” Uncle Ben said. “That is where those 55,567 colonists are, sick and getting sicker, but most of them are holding out, splashing around in the acid mud, looking for their pot of gold at the end of Sillium 5's red rainbows. By the time the fleet gets to them and convinces the colonists to leave, goodly numbers of them may well be dead.”
“And this could have been prevented 25 or 2,500 years ago – or more,” I said.
“And they are splashing around for gold,” Uncle Ben said, “while nobody is thinking about the abundant other resources there available to produce that acid rain. Had Sillium 5 been permitted correctly, the same people could have gotten rich anyway – but this is where the admiral dropped the ball, thinking he couldn't learn anything from me until now it is too late. I did the work 25 years ago. All he had to do was pull it up and forward it to the appropriate decision makers.”
“You still need to report him, Uncle,” Khadijah said.
“Oh, I will,” Uncle Ben said. “I'm just waiting for the situation to develop, and it will. Meanwhile, I'm going to get some more of this coffee you brewed, Rufus – this is really good – are you mixing the Zatavian roast with the Ghulirian pine nuts again?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“You can keep that going, nephew – a triumph of coffee-making engineering.”
Uncle Ben sat and enjoyed his coffee all week as the situation developed – an admiral of stronger will and intelligence actually jumped in and saved the day on Sillium 5, although he hated every minute of it.
“I hate this kind of job,” my business partner's famous Cousin J.T. said, “but at least they let me back on my flagship again for a little while. You were right to retire, Ben. I never should have let them make an admiral out of me, but, I'm here now.”
“You are doing a fine job, James,” Uncle Ben said gently. “In the right place at the right time as usual, even as an admiral.”
“Thank you, Ben. I'm very glad you are feeling better; I thought I might have to have Scotty beam you to sickbay.”
“When you get back, James, call me for that story. Meanwhile, rejoice: the admiralty pension fund is going to be bigger this month for bonuses, now that a certain individual has retired before fully funding his admiralty pension.”
“That man paid heavily for the pension pool to be bigger and was probably glad to escape with his life, Ben. Anybody who has messed up big enough to have Madame Admiral Vlarian Triefield come off leave at 74 years old would be.”
“I told the man he needed to learn how to respect his elders, James.”
“He wishes he had listened, Ben. You can take that to the bank and cash it much faster than you can the non-existent gold from Sillium 5.”