by Samuel Best
Gavin floated in his hypergel tank, curled up in a fetal position. The gel had formed a thin crust over his skin, encasing him in a thin cocoon. Tiny cracks ran throughout the mass of gel, like a network of synapses — indications that its texture had changed. Merritt had learned that, while the gel was a thick, viscous fluid on its own, it hardened when it came into contact with human skin, forming a protective shell around the person in stasis. It took on the density of hard rubber — still pliable, but only just.
The countdown timer on the info screen next to Gavin’s tank hit zero. Merritt checked his own watch: less than an hour until the ship was officially in orbit around Galena.
The tank beeped, and the curved plexi doors swung open. A loud hiss escaped from the back of the pod, and the mass of pinkish gel within sagged noticeably. Gavin sank a few inches as the gel oozed down to the floor, dripping through the metal grate.
Merritt caught him as he rolled out of the tank, smearing his grease-stained coveralls with the pink gel. He wrapped his son in a thick green towel and held him upright as he pulled off the oxygen mask and wiped gel from his face.
Gavin’s eyes fluttered open slowly, rolling in their sockets.
Merritt rubbed his upper arms with the towel to get the blood flowing. Gavin eventually emerged from his fog and saw his father.
“Welcome back,” said Merritt. “Do you feel sick?”
The boy sniffed and wiped his nose with his forearm. He shook his head and looked down the row of tanks.
You woke me early, he signed with shaking hands.
I missed you, Merritt signed back. And I wanted you to see something.
What about them?
They’ll be out in a few hours.
Gavin looked at the woman floating in the tank next to his. Ear-length brown hair, shot through with silver, occluded her face.
I had a dream, Gavin signed.
A nightmare?
Gavin shook his head. He seemed content not to share more.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, get some food in you,” said Merritt.
After his shower, the two of them went to the galley. As each step took them closer, Gavin’s eyes sank lower, until he stared at his plodding feet, limply holding his father’s hand while mentally preparing himself for a meal that would make his stomach cramp with sharp pains.
They found themselves alone in the galley. All of the other passengers were gathered in the observation lounge or, like the crew, preparing for the upcoming exodus.
Merritt sat Gavin at one of the long metal tables, looking slightly refreshed in a clean white shirt and dark blue slacks. The boy watched him cross the room with dismay, but, instead of dispensing a bowl full of soy mush from a wall nozzle, his father opened a cabinet beneath the nozzle and pulled out five crinkling, colorful packages.
Gavin sat upright when he heard the noise, stretching his neck to see what his father carried.
Merritt dumped the noisy bags on the table in front of his son: potato chips, flavored popcorn, sunflower seeds, and bite-sized chocolate chip cookies — all of them without a trace of soy.
Gavin picked up the cookies first, gently pulling open the bag and peering inside, as if he expected the contents to evaporate at any moment.
Merritt sat opposite him, a small smile on his face, watching him eat. It had taken him nearly the entire time his son was in stasis to procure those five bags. Some were obtained more easily than others. He still owed two other farmers a reasonable portion of his second and third harvests on Galena in exchange for the popcorn and sunflower seeds, foods which could typically only be purchased by traveling to one of Earth’s few orbital hydroponic farms.
After the third cookie, the boy’s face twisted, and he started to cry.
Merritt came around to the other side of the table and rubbed his back.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
After a few heavy sobs, Gavin sniffled and ate another cookie. His eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks wet with tears. Merritt squeezed his shoulder, and Gavin nodded that he was alright.
It took him twenty minutes to empty each bag, then turn them inside-out, hunting for crumbs.
They walked to the observation lounge, passing several other workmen on the way who were hurrying to their next job. Merritt’s list of tasks grew daily the closer the ship came to Galena. It was the same for all the workmen. In the days before arrival, he was pulling ten-hour shifts with four-hour breaks in between.
Merritt hadn’t seen many starliner stewards walking the halls in the past month. They maintained a help desk where passengers could go for information about the voyage, but their interactions with quests were few and far between. Perhaps, thought Merritt, they were close enough to the end of their duties regarding the passengers that they had given up all pretenses of professionalism.
The observation lounge was lit by the glow of Galena on the wall screen, a bright orb reflecting the light of its yellow star, Phobis.
Brilliant white clouds swirled in the atmosphere over vivid blue oceans and green continents — reminiscent of Earth decades ago.
Merritt navigated through the standing passengers, who stood watching the rotating planet in awe. He dropped to one knee on the carpeted floor at the front of the group and set Gavin on his leg.
“Welcome to Galena,” said an artificial female voice over the ship’s intercom system. “Shuttle departure begins in ONE… HOUR… FIFTEEN… MINUTES. Please have your tickets ready.”
“Look there,” said Merritt, pointing at the screen. Five long fingers of land descended from a massive continent, curling upward in gentle arcs next to each other, like nested half-moons. “And there,” said Merritt, pointing elsewhere. Mountains topped by muddy brown peaks formed a vast range that divided one continent.
“The Tolbard Range,” said a man standing nearby. “Named after the explorer who correctly stated they were mountains, and not craters, as previously thought. He won an award for it, I believe.”
Gavin hopped down from his father’s knee. The man who spoke was the same height as Merritt, eyes such a deep brown they were nearly black, and a stained white beard. A band of off-white hair encircled the back of his head, having successfully retreated from the top, leaving behind a pate of sun-worn skin. He held a wide-brimmed hat in one hand, casually tapping it against his thigh.
“How does an explorer get that close?” asked Merritt.
“He bribes members of the crew for surface scans,” the man replied. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he looked down at Gavin.
“I’m Henry Tolbard,” he said, holding out his hand.
Gavin took it and shook, smiling broadly. Henry laughed with delight and wiped the corner of his eye.
“It should be such a simple thing, to see a child,” he said softly.
“You built Haven,” said Merritt, shocked to realize he was talking to the person most responsible for the existence of the moon’s second luxury city.
“Shhhh,” said Henry, waving him down. “In another life, yes. Most of that was my wife’s doing, to be honest, but she couldn’t stand the press. In this life, I’m just an explorer, going where the winds take me. So far, they’ve brought me to Galena every time humans have been allowed through the Rip.”
“You don’t use stasis?”
“Of course I do! I pop out for the Rip passage, then go right back in as soon as the gel is out of my system. Too fast and the kidneys shut down. I’ve seen that happen.” He shook his head sadly, then sighed. “My body is purging more slowly with increased use, it would seem, so I have to wait two weeks now outside the tank instead of just one. But, extending my life a few months each voyage is an added benefit of traveling to Galena.”
“I thought that wasn’t true.”
Henry smiled. “It’s working so far.” He turned his attention back to the screen. “A whole new world to explore. Just imagine.”
“So now you’re turning farmer?” asked Merritt.
“Heavens, no. My
back would never allow it.”
“But tourists aren’t allowed on the surface.”
Henry frowned.
“Neither are explorers,” Merritt quickly added.
“Well…” Henry said thoughtfully, “rules change.” He sighed wistfully as he gazed upon the wall screen. “I always come out of the tank early to see it. I take it you’re enrolled in the farming initiative.”
“That’s right.”
“We can’t see the colony site in a prograde orbit,” said Henry. “The shuttle will carry you east, over that horizon. The government chose a small continent sandwiched between two larger ones for the colony. Oceans border the north and south sides, and there are narrow seas to east and west. Lots of water,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “More than Earth, if you can believe it.”
A shudder rocked the lounge, eliciting surprised gasps from the passengers.
“They’re getting worse,” said Henry, looking up at the ceiling.
The floor shook, sending a few passengers stumbling sideways.
The screen went black, plunging the room into darkness, and a woman said, “Oh!” in surprise.
Red lights in the ceiling flicked on, casting their sickening glow upon the passengers. Merritt bent down and picked up Gavin, an uneasy feeling swelling in his gut.
“ATTENTION,” said the ship’s artificial female voice. “This is an emergency. Please move to the nearest escape pod. Red tickets, Deck 3 forward, Deck 4 forward, Deck 6 forward. Blue tickets, Deck 2 aft. REPEAT, this is an emergency.”
Nobody moved. The passengers stood in the lounge, staring at each other while their brains struggled to process the message.
The floor began to shake, and it didn’t stop.
Someone screamed, and suddenly there was a mass of bodies rushing out the door. Merritt hugged Gavin close and stood against the wall, breathing hard.
“This is an emergency,” repeated the ship’s announcer. “Please move to the nearest escape pod.”
“Where’s your ticket?” Merritt said loudly over the rattle of glass in the lounge.
Gavin pulled his red ticket out of his back pocket.
Merritt kissed the side of his head and said, “Smart boy. Hold on tight.”
Then, with the walls of the ship shaking around him, he ran.
TULLIVER
Tulliver paused with his fork halfway to his lips, a wet chunk of soy steak dripping from its tines.
A second person had just run past the The Velvet Speakeasy.
The first — a short man with long hair — barreled past at breakneck speed, a look of wild terror on his face. Tulliver paid him no mind. He was used to chasing people himself, and for that to happen, one needed someone to chase.
Yet the second runner came far too late to be chasing after the first.
Tulliver lowered his fork and got out of the booth. Thumping dance music blared from the ceiling, synchronized with the frenetic, colorful spotlights zooming over every surface. He wiped the corners of his mouth with his stained napkin and threw the napkin on his plate.
He shouted at Ivan, the bar’s only other occupant, but Ivan didn’t hear. Tulliver banged his fist on the bar and pointed up at the ceiling speakers. Bartee cocked its head and the music cut off instantly, leaving behind a lingering echo that quickly faded.
“—an emergency,” said a computerized female voice. “Please move to the nearest escape pod.”
“What’s that about?” Tulliver asked, glaring at Bartee.
The robot shrugged.
Tulliver walked to the entrance, growing increasingly wary with each step. He entered the promenade. Red lights glowed in the high ceiling.
Someone ran past him. Tulliver’s hand shot out and grabbed the runner’s collar. The man gagged as his feet left the ground and slammed back down, his momentum suddenly neutralized.
“What’s happening?” Tulliver growled, pulling the man’s face close to his.
“Emergency!” the man squealed, pushing at Tulliver’s sweaty hands. “Gotta get to the escape pods!”
“Why?!”
The man shoved away and slipped from Tulliver’s grasp. He hit the floor hard, then scrambled to his feet and kept running.
Too fast, thought Tulliver. Happening too fast. I need more time.
He patted the many pockets of his overlarge jacket.
He didn’t have a ticket. One needed a ticket to enter an escape pod.
In his mind, he saw the corner of it sticking out from the dresser drawer in his stateroom, where it had resided now for weeks, useless to him for the remainder of the voyage.
Until now.
The promenade occupied much of Deck 5, he remembered. The Velvet Speakeasy was located halfway from midship to the nose, which meant Tulliver had quite a jog ahead of him to retrieve his ticket from his aft stateroom on Deck 2. Then it was another hike back to the red ticket pods at the front of the ship.
Yet again he was grateful for the steady stream of information that flowed through the bar. Mere days ago, he had learned from a drunken workman that the chamber containing the blue pods was flooded with radiation. One could brave the exposure to reach a pod, but the heavy dose of rads would most certainly kill them. The crew had been working on a way to flush the chamber, said the workman, but dismissed all of the current options as impossible when Tulliver pressed him for details.
Ivan stood at the bar’s entrance. Tulliver beckoned him to follow as he walked briskly down the promenade.
Within The Velvet Speakeasy, Bartee raised a lonely, mechanical hand, and waved.
Tulliver put his hand on the back of Ivan’s neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m gonna need your ticket, my friend,” he said, massaging Ivan’s neck.
Ivan looked up at him, at first confused, then frightened, then defiant in rapid succession. He shook his head, no.
“Now don’t be like that,” said Tulliver soothingly. “There’s another one in my room. You can get there faster than me, can’t you? Sure you can. You’re a runner. I’d just trip over myself the whole way. You’ll be just fine. But you should hurry.”
He reached for Ivan’s pocket.
Ivan pushed against Tulliver’s broad chest, but Tulliver’s grip tightened like a vice around the back of his neck. He drove his fist into Ivan’s stomach and pushed him down.
“It doesn’t have to go this way,” said Tulliver through clenched teeth.
A distant cousin to regret teased the edge of his emotion, then vanished when Ivan tried to twist away. Tulliver kicked his legs out from under him and cracked his head against the hard floor. Ivan rolled onto his back, eyes glazed over, looking up without seeing. A thin trickle of blood ran from his head, threading across the floor like a tiny river.
Tulliver knelt down and dug through his pockets. After finding the red ticket, he pushed against Ivan’s chest to stand up, eliciting a weak groan.
“ATTENTION,” said the ship’s announcer. “Situation critical. Evacuate. Evacuate.”
To drive the point home, the Halcyon lurched sideways. Tulliver stumbled, putting out his hands for support as he smacked face-first onto the floor.
Ivan was suddenly upon him, clawing at his back like a crazed animal. Tulliver got his hands beneath himself and shoved off the floor…and kept rising, up and up, as the GravGen units in the promenade failed. Ivan had been thrown off Tulliver’s back, but he never hit the floor. He let out a terrified yelp and tumbled end over end in slow motion, rising toward the high, arched ceiling.
Tulliver’s arms pinwheeled as he tried to stabilize himself in midair, to no effect. He drifted a meter above the floor…heading in the opposite direction of the red escape pods.
His jacket billowed around him like a balloon, blocking his vision. His knees gently knocked against a decorative pillar near one of the promenade’s many seating areas. Tulliver grabbed it and gave it a bear hug, pressing his quivering cheek against its cold surface.
Looking farth
er down the promenade, in the direction of the escape pods, the pathway was cluttered with floating debris. Empty planters, benches, and garbage cans bumped into each other in zero gravity, creating a shifting obstacle course.
Tulliver looked up.
The ceiling of the promenade was arched glass, supported by a grid of metal beams.
He drifted up to the top of the pillar and held on to the sharp edges of its square capital at the top, then pushed off and floated toward the ceiling.
Tulliver reached for a metal crossbeam, and missed, instead hitting the center of one of the tinted-blue glass panes. He started to drift away, but managed to grasp a metal beam and pull himself flat against the ceiling.
After stabilizing, he used the beam to pull himself forward. Tulliver’s back was to the floor, his stomach a few inches from the ceiling. His reflection in the glass before him wavered as if he were looking at himself underwater.
He craned his neck to look at the floor, and the thought of gravity returning to the ship seized his mind, and he began to shake. There were no hand-holds in the ceiling. The metal beams supporting the glass arch were perfectly smooth. If the GravGens suddenly reactivated, he would fall four stories to the hard floor.
He pushed off the next beam, gaining speed, tapping each beam as he floated past. He was soon flying faster than he could have run.
The promenade ceiling tapered down to form a large hallway which led to the forward decks. Tulliver kicked off the next beam, angled toward the hallway. He soared through the opening and hit the floor, growling in anger as he tumbled past an elevator.
Grabbing hold of a light fixture as he bounced against the wall, he pulled himself back to the elevator door. Small words backlit in red glowed next to the control panel: OUT OF SERVICE.
Tulliver’s curses would have blushed the cheeks of the Halcyon’s most hardened sailor.
Glass shattered behind him.
Tulliver maneuvered to the hallway opening and looked back at the promenade. The arched glass ceiling was cracked. Spears of broken glass tumbled and glittered in the air.
Flame belched through the cracks and Tulliver instinctively jerked back. The light fixture he clung to vibrated in his grasp.
