Space Bound: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology

by J. E. Feldman

  “Just don’t,” she said, before I could utter a word. “I know you care and I know you mean well, but I need to digest this alone.”

  I removed my hand. As I said earlier, Cyn and I never got up in one another’s business. “Okay,” I said. “I understand. When you’re ready to talk, the coffee is on me.”

  I didn’t see her again for more than a week. Nor did anyone else. To my relief, security managed to keep the dead Skuldugg incident under wraps. Xen-bio became a drag. It was while I sat there, daydreaming about the use of colors and textures in impressionist art when I should have been listening to Professor Jones drone on about linking classifications for limbless creatures, that I realized science might not be for me. I had skipped a lecture so I could stay in my room and complete a painting when there came a knock at the door.

  I hoped it would be her, and it was. In human form.

  “How about that coffee?” she said.

  We walked down to the cafeteria in silence and I paid for both coffees. I brought them to the table Cynthia had snaffled and, before my backside touched the seat, she said, “I’m leaving Em Dub.”

  “What?” I said. “You’re dropping out?”

  “No. Well, yes, I’m dropping out. What I mean is, I’m leaving the planet. I’m going to find out where I came from.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Sorry, Cyn. It’s just a hell of a shock, that’s all. We might not be huggy, deep-and-meaningful friends, but you matter to me.”

  “You matter to me, too, Rae. And I can understand being rude after a shock, believe me. I apologized to Professor Jones this morning. He’s a gracious man. I’ll miss him too, even if I won’t miss his soporific lectures.”

  I gave her a wan smile and sipped my coffee. “When do you leave?”

  “Two days. I’ve managed to book passage on a deep-space freighter. None of the passenger ships go within ten light years of the cuckoo grub planet.”

  “Well, I’m happy for you, Cyn,” I said, surprised to discover I sort of meant it. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re supposed to find there. Yourself, I guess.”

  “My other self,” she said. “This one will always love you.”

  She came around and hugged me. Her skin had a queer rubbery feel, but it didn’t bother me. I was just glad for the contact.

  We shared one more night out. Just me, her, and some dancing. Men were there, and sometimes they looked at us, but it was just the casual interest human males have in human females. The sex pheromones Cynthia had been producing – which could also tailor themselves to accord with whatever DNA happened to be present – were now gone.

  The next morning, nursing a mild hangover, I accompanied Cynthia to the freighter terminal and watched her walk down the gangway towards the airlock. When she stepped over the threshold, she reverted to her true self – her other self – and then disappeared from view.

  That was the last time I saw my friend. Nearly a month later, I received a text communique to say she had arrived at her home planet. It has no sub-space relays, so we’re limited to faster-than-light transmissions. I sent her a reply, but I’ve heard nothing since. Perhaps she’s found herself, or even her family. I hope so. Professor Jones is eager to make contact and “expand exponentially” his knowledge of cuculidae xenomorphus and its habitat.

  I’m now majoring in fine arts and seeing a man from time to time. It’s more than casual, but less than serious. I’m not sure what it is, to tell the truth, but he lets me be who I am.

  Whatever form that takes.

  Andrew Ronzino

  Originally from Long Island, New York, Andrew Ronzino has lived in West Michigan for 16 years. He has been consistently writing since he was young and has participated in National Novel Writing Month every year since 2010.

  He has attended writing conferences, including the Writer’s Digest Conference in New York City, to learn new skills. He is also a founding member of the Grand River Writing Tribe. His preferred genres are science fiction and fantasy, but he is not afraid to branch out and try new things.

  Past publication credits include: Lethal Impact by Dragon Soul Press, Lost Love by Dragon Soul Press, and Michigan’s Emerging Writers: An Anthology of Fiction by Z Publishings. He is a fan of dry red wine and movies.

  Learn more at AndrewRonzino.com

  Whispers in the Dark

  Andrew Ronzino

  Bending Crane circled the planet in a standard research orbit. Captain Amanda Hansley looked out the window at the desolate world and silently prayed for this to be the last planet they would have to scan before this long-delayed project could begin. The faster it was over, the quicker she could get back home to her husband and children.

  She waited for the intensive scans report. The evaluation process took four days even with every science department working around the clock. The planet below looked similar to how Mars had looked only fifty years ago—dead. But so did the other thirty-two planets they explored. However, each one had something that made it unsuitable for the terraforming process.

  They had to make sure they found a correct planet in the circumstellar habitable zone and completely lifeless. Once the process began, it could not stop without destroying the terraforming node on the surface and setting the mission back twenty years, and costing the Consortium too much money to try again.

  Someone knocked on her door. “Yes?” Amanda asked before lifting a mug of coffee to her lips and sipping the steaming stimulant.

  Commander Lexie Traven walked in and closed the door, her uniform as crisp as always and a data stick in her hand. “The scans are complete, captain.”

  “Were the deeper scans done, commander?” Amanda didn’t want another near-extinction. One of the planets they had visited a year ago looked promising, but just as they were about to start the terraforming process, they discovered—by accident—that an entire humanoid species lived in subterranean caves deeper than their standard scans detected. After that barely averted disaster, they conducted in-depth scans of every subsequence planet’s crust, which tacked on an extra day to their work.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She handed over the data stick.

  Amanda plugged it into her computer and sat down. The data loaded, and she read it over. “This looks promising.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When she finished the report, she smiled. “I think we found our planet. I’ll send word to Command and let them know. Prepare every department for Project Exo Homeland.” She never did like the name of the project, but it did remind her of the poll. “Lexie, has the crew naming poll concluded?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Traven said with a smirk. “Nichelle won.”

  Amanda chuckled. That had been Traven’s entry. “Thank you, Commander. You’re dismissed.”

  Traven saluted and exited the office.

  Amanda tapped a few buttons on her computer to establish a slipstream communique between the Bending Crane and Consortium Fleet Command. After about a minute of listening to the background static of the slipstream, the call connected.

  “Captain Hansley,” Admiral Davis said, looking like he had been happily interrupted from something tedious. “I hope you have good news for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “Planet FJ-4 in the Fron System designated ‘Nichelle,’ is looking promising for Project Exo Homeland.”

  Admiral Davis leaned forward. “Nichelle, you say? I like that. A lot of the Trekkies will too.”

  Amanda laughed. “Please, sir, aren’t you the president of the Consortium Trek club?”

  Davis laughed. “Perhaps, perhaps. So, does Nichelle check all the boxes?”

  “Yes, sir,” Amanda said. “I would like to send the data back to Command to have it double-checked. I do not want a repeat of our last mistake at Bob.”

  “I don’t know what was worse: the near-disaster or the name your crew came up with,” Davis said.

  “Hey, it won the poll,” Amanda said,
defending her crew, even though she also agreed you couldn’t name a planet “Bob.”

  “Send along the data and we’ll double-check it,” Davis said.

  “Thank you, sir.” She ended the call but kept the slipstream open to transfer the data, which didn’t take too long.

  She finished her coffee and stepped out onto the bridge of the Bending Crane. “Listen up,” she said. “Nichelle may be the winner.”

  The crew cheered, but she waved them down. “Command is going to look over our data and double-check it. If given the go-ahead, I want to begin within an hour. Make sure all departments are ready to go at a moment’s notice. Commander?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Traven said.

  “Let me know when Command contacts us.” Amanda glanced at her watch. “My shift is over. I’m going to rest while I can.”

  She walked off the bridge and through the ship until she reached her quarters. They were not big and fancy, but relatively small and cramped, and she had found ways to make a home of her tiny space. She had a small American flag on her wall--a symbol of her home country--a postcard of The Mitten for her home of Michigan, and a framed picture of her and James on the Blue Bridge of Grand Rapids. Local knickknacks and keepsakes adorned every available inch of shelf space. The memories of home comforted her.

  Amanda missed home, her husband, and their children. She had been out in space for over a year now with very little leave, and though she called her family whenever she could, it wasn’t the same. She wanted to go home.

  She put her communicator on the charger of the wall intercom terminal next to the door and laid down in her bunk. She closed her eyes for a while.

  Sometime later, Amanda jolted awake to the sound of a chime from her intercom. She stood and shook her head to get some clarity, then walked to her terminal and pressed a button. “Yes?”

  “Captain,” said one of the lieutenants, “Command is patching a slipstream through to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She opened her computer and received the connection. Admiral Davis sat on the other end, and he looked haggard. “Admiral?”

  “Captain, I have some difficult news,” his voice somber.

  “Don’t tell me that you found something we missed in the data.”

  “No, no. In fact, the data looks perfect. You have a go for Project Exo Homeland on Nichelle.”

  “Excellent! We’ll begin working on it right away. Within an hour, the process will—”

  “Amanda.”

  Amanda stopped talking. Admiral Davis never used her first name. “Yes, admiral?”

  “There was an accident,” he said. “James…well, he didn’t make it.”

  Amanda nearly fell, so she sat. She felt her mind reeling. She did not hear that correctly. “I did not copy that, admiral. Can you repeat?”

  Admiral Davis shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amanda. James passed away this afternoon. Word only reached us a few minutes ago.”

  Amanda closed her eyes and tried to control her emotions, but despite herself, tears flowed. “James is dead? How?”

  “It was an accident at his work. He fell. I have no details to give you. I’ll try to find out.”

  She covered her mouth in a futile attempt to keep her sob from escaping. “What about my children, sir?”

  “Before I called you, I sent an officer to bring your children to your sister’s when they get out of school.”

  She closed her eyes again and prayed a silent prayer of thanks for Command’s forethought with her children.

  “Captain, you might want to take some leave and come home.”

  Amanda just needed to keep it together long enough to finish the call. “Yes, sir. I think that would be wise. Request permission to take a leave of absence.”

  “Can Commander Traven take over the mission while you’re gone?”

  “I have complete faith in her, admiral. She trained for this mission before joining my crew. She will do just fine.”

  “If you’re confident, then so I am. Permission granted. After I’ve finished talking with you, I will give Commander Traven temporary command of the Bending Crane. She will oversee the project while you are away. When you return, you can pick up the mission. Captain, you’re hereby on leave.”

  Amanda nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “I will arrange for the Nova to swing by the Fron System to pick you up and bring you home. It will be there in about a day.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m sorry, Amanda. Once you’re back on Earth, take all the time you need. Understand? You have plenty of leave saved up. This project will go on. You take care of yourself, and if there is anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Davis out.”

  As soon as the connection closed, her head dropped into her hands, and she sobbed. She lost all track of time. She had no idea how long she cried or how long she cursed the heavens for taking James away from her. But when she calmed down a little, she was on her bed clutching an old love letter in her hand.

  Someone knocked on her door.

  She ignored it.

  “Captain?” It was Traven’s voice.

  She ignored her.

  “Admiral Davis said you were on leave of duty and that I’m the acting captain, but he didn’t say why. Is everything alright?”

  “Do your duty, commander,” Amanda called out to her. “Leave me be.”

  A small hesitation. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She opened the love letter and reread her husband’s words. They were neither beautiful nor poetic. James was not a man of words, which made his letters to her so much more special; they were rare and rough, like diamonds in stone. But his words, as simple and as ridged as they were, comforted her in the depths of space. They were uplifting expressions of love and joy. He had written the letter she held when she was promoted to captain and given command of the Bending Crane seven years prior. They were words she read any time she missed home too much.

  She reread her favorite line in the letter over and over again. “I eagerly await for your voice in the static of the slipstream, like whispers in the dark.” She had always teased him for the cheesy attempt at sounding poetic.

  Now, she would give anything to read more of his words, but she only had a few of his letters onboard. So she sat and watched digital videos of their life together on her computer.

  She hadn’t seen him in six months, and she would never see him again; what she wouldn’t give to hear his voice in the static of the slipstream right now. She kissed the paper and cried. She cried until she fell asleep.

  She woke up many hours later, looked at her watch, and stood. She walked to her bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror; she was a mess. She felt like she had recovered from the initial shock of the news and had become numb. She had cried out all her tears and wasn’t sure if her body even had more inside.

  After a quick shower, she put on fresh civilian clothing, stepped out of her room, and walked through the ship’s corridors to the mess hall. She grabbed some food and coffee and saw Traven sitting alone and staring at the files all over her table while she ate.

  Amanda walked over and joined her. “Thank you for taking command, Lexie,” she said.

  Traven cleared a space for her. “Captain? Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m really not. My husband died in an accident.”

  “Oh my God, captain,” Traven said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Amanda held up her hand and shook her head. “Thank you. Look, I don’t want people blubbering over me right now, so don’t tell the crew. Just tell them I had a family emergency. I’m on leave so I can go home for a while. Admiral Davis is sending a ship to pick me up. Can you please let me know when it arrives? I believe he said it was the Nova.”

  “Of course, captain,” Traven said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “You could tell me what’s going on with Exo Homeland. Help me take m
y mind off of things for a while.”

  “It’s promising,” Traven said. “We started a little less than an hour after Admiral Davis told us that Nichelle was a go, and he put me in charge. That was seven hours ago now. The process has begun, and it’s going well. No issues, and no hiccups. It’s been smooth.”

  Traven went into detail about various aspects of the mission and how everything was going, from the secondary and tertiary scans as the process commenced. The planet had begun to develop an atmosphere, as the terraforming node they placed on the surface released underground gasses and converted them into breathable air. Once the atmosphere was set to near-Earth levels, they would begin the process of producing water and converting it into freshwater.

  If all went well, which it was on route to do so, then within a year, Nichelle would be a planet ready for human colonization. They were looking at having humanity’s first terraformed planet outside Earth’s solar system very soon.

  Amanda listened and only asked a few questions. By the time Traven had to return to duty, Amanda had found that it took her mind off her troubles for a short time, which she appreciated.

  She returned to her quarters and spent the next few hours going through a photo album of her family. Some of the pictures of them on various planets made her cry again, and others made her smile and laugh. Some of the places were vacation spots, and others were from missions where James’s job allowed him to work remotely and join her. Her quarters were crowded when he was with her, but she often didn’t care because they got to visit exotic places together. In fact, their youngest son had been conceived in her quarters.

  James had always been fascinated by the different alien species they had met along the way. To him, space was still a thing of science fiction of old, so every time he was in space, he acted like an excited child. It was cute.

  She took the time to pack, then slept some more, waking to have another good cry and another nap interrupted by horrible dreams.