Hourglass

by Pauline C. Harris

  Angelica seems a bit pensive. She’s hardly smiled since the first time I met her and I get the feeling that everything is starting to sink in. She’s agreed to a job aboard a spaceship run by teenagers. Quite frankly, I’ve been eyeing all of them, waiting for at least one of them to run away screaming. My money’s on Angelica.

  Sylvia sidles up to me, and as if reading my thoughts, leans in and whispers, “How long do you think she’ll last?”

  I purse my lips together. “Two hours?”

  It’s shame, though. I sincerely hope Angelica stays because despite how timid and quiet she is, I can see her intelligence brimming to the surface. She knows what she’s talking about—if anything, her resume was humble.

  Sylvia nods and continues on down the ship’s hallway, carrying a box full of what I can only guess is medical supplies. I follow her a ways and then turn, heading into the hallway full of crew’s quarters. I pull the bag I’ve been carrying off my shoulder and rummage through for a clean blanket and pillow for each bunk. There are only six of us, so everyone gets their own room. They should be happy about that. But suddenly, as I’m folding the first blanket around the bed, it hits me what I’m doing.

  I’ve just hired a bunch of children to run a spaceship. I frown. They’re around sixteen or so. Gregory’s the youngest at fifteen. I hadn’t actually asked about family or any other obligations. Obviously, they had figured that out for themselves, but it feels so wrong. Like I’m stealing them. It’s so odd to think about any other life than the one Sylvia and I had. What would it have been like growing up on Earth, in a house, going to school, making friends? The idea, for some reason, doesn’t sound appealing.

  I finish making the beds and then check my watch. Almost time to leave. My stomach summersaults with the first feeling of pure joy I’ve felt in what seems like ages. I spin around and am ready to head to the cockpit to check everything over one more time when I nearly run into Angelica in the doorway.

  “Sorry,” she stammers, sidestepping me into the room.

  “Oh, hey,” I say.

  She glances down the corridor and peeks in a few rooms. “Are we assigned certain ones?”

  “Pick whichever one you want,” I say with a wave of my hand.

  A ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

  “Angelica?” I say quietly. “Are you sure about this?”

  Her expression softens for a moment and then she smiles the first smile I’ve seen in days. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m sure.”

  I leave her to pick out her room while I run to the cockpit one last time. Everything looks good, so I turn around, hands on my hips, surveying the room. Everything is in order. Everything is working out perfectly.

  So why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?

  I frown for a moment before shaking the thought away and going to find Sylvia. She’s in the medical wing, by the crew’s quarters, where I’ve met her countless times helping out her father or merely watching. This time she’s doing it all on her own. Glancing up from the table, I can tell she’s reading my mind. A smile creeps across her face. “Up, up and away?” she asks with a laugh.

  I shrug. “I think we’re ready.”

  “I think so, too.”

  I give Sylvia one last smile before retreating from the room. I’ve had a plan in mind ever since that irritating, old man had told me I couldn’t fly my own ship. Like he thought that would stop me. “Holden,” I say, catching his arm as he runs down the hallway past me. “We’re launching in a few minutes, is everything ready?”

  Holden nods. “Yup, everything’s good to go, Sprocket.”

  I balk for a minute, and it takes me awhile to realize he’s referring to me. “Sprocket” had always been Dad. I was always just “Jude.” But I guess I’m Captain Sprocket now. It feels...weird. I thought it would feel better, but it really doesn’t. It just feels like a hole. Like I’m trying to fill impossibly big shoes.

  I flash Holden a small smile before patting him on the back and hurrying down the hallway. I open the ramp, grab my bag and head into the hangar area. There are ships all around and although they’re usually transported to the launching pad before takeoff, I’ve thought this through a million times. Hourglass is small enough that I’m pretty certain we’ll pull this off.

  I’d located the wires and control board to the overhead doors and I head that way—to the corner of the hangar area. I stare up at the large gray ceiling, the line where the doors meet clearly visible. I smile, imagining it splitting away only minutes later. It takes me awhile to reach the wall and when I do, I spot the three-foot wide metal box attached at eye level. I fiddle with the lock, grabbing a pin from my bag, and then smiling as the lock clicks open. I throw open the small little door.

  I frown in concentration. Four little wires intertwine themselves around each other inside the box. They’re not even different colors so I follow each with my eyes to find the source. I smile.

  There’s a wire coming from the left bottom corner of the box, presumably from the main computer where, normally, a passcode would be entered and then be transmitted through.

  I pull out of a knife from my pants pocket and saw the wire in half.

  Then I see another wire coming from the right side of the box. The wire that controls the opening and closing of the doors. I saw through that one, careful to keep my fingers clear of the shady-looking interior.

  My heart is beating loudly in my chest and my hands are shaking as I reach for both of the cut wires. I clench my mechanical hand together a few times, frustrated that I can’t feel the delicate wires through the metal and plastic. But seconds later, the shaking wires connect and I nearly jump as a spark flies toward me and then, all of a sudden, a piercing siren screams through the air.

  I yelp, jumping back and looking around. The overhead lights are flashing as I grab my bag from the floor and take off sprinting through the sea of ships. I hear a grating noise above me—metal against metal and I look up to see sunlight streaking through a small slit in the ceiling. I can’t contain my smile as I hurry back toward the ship.

  I race down the hallways lined with ships, but after about thirty feet I hear a yell. I skid to a stop, my heart savagely pelting my rib cage as I turn around to see the man from earlier—I don’t even remember his name—the man who told me I couldn’t fly my ship. His mouth opens in rage when he sees me, but instead of coming my way, he storms back through a doorway and into his office.

  I glance upward. The ceiling is almost completely gone, but it won’t be for long. I take off running again, knowing full well what the man is going to do. He going to shut the doors from the main controls—the controls that should have been used instead of hotwiring it.

  I reach Hourglass, nearly tripping as I scramble up the ramp. I drop my bag in the hallway, shouting for Holden, or anyone who can hear me.

  “We’re leaving now, everybody get ready!” I race into the cockpit and begin switching on levers and controls. I press a button that pulls up the ramp and then I signal Holden on the communication line. “Are you ready? We need to leave now,” I call.

  “Yeah, sure,” Holden answers and I’m not sure how relieved I feel about his response.

  I begin typing away on the keypad on the panel and suddenly the ship hums to life, shaking and rattling.

  But just then a high-pitched screeching fills my ears and I resist the urge to hold my hands up to cover them. I yelp in surprise, glancing around and with growing horror, I realize what the sound is. The ceiling is closing up.

  I fiddle frantically with the controls, realizing that I’d never actually taken off or landed Hourglass. Sure, I’d flown her a few times. In space. Where there’s nothing to hit. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and clench my teeth together.

  It doesn’t matter. I can do this.

  My hand clasps around the lever in front of me – cool, but rattling beneath my fingertips. I take a breath, close my eyes briefly, and then I pull.

  The ship
shudders and jolts and I clench my teeth harder to keep from making any noise. Through the glass window of the cockpit, I see the ships surrounding us becoming lower to the ground, falling farther away. We’re off the ground, but we aren’t through the doors yet. With a wave of relief, I suddenly remember that Hourglass has detectors and won’t run into anything on her own. Or at least, I’d be warned about it.

  But then red lights begin to flash, as well as a blindingly startling alarm and I bite back the string of curse words that come to mind. “Come on,” I snap at the controls, realizing I have no idea how far the ceiling is still open, or if we’re in a position to make it. Panic clenches around my heart, squeezing it so tight that it squirms to keep beating. A frustrated sigh escapes me and I stare forlornly down at my hands clenched around the lever. I can’t do this. Why did I ever think I could? It was stupid, completely stupid.

  Why did I think I could ever be Dad?

  I kick at the wall beside me, angry at how miserably I’ve failed. I thought I’d at least make it out of the hangar, probably out of the atmosphere, at least to some distant planet before I’d realized some mistake I’d made and need to dock somewhere to get it fixed. I frown, realizing for the first time, how hopeless this all was.

  But then I think of the others. Sylvia and her faith in me. The excitement in Holden’s eyes when I told him he had the job. Angelica’s brave expression when I’d confronted her in the hallway earlier. If Hourglass doesn’t make it out of this hangar, I’m not the only one who will face charges.

  I stare up at the rounded ceiling of the cockpit, as if I can see straight through to the doors ahead of us. And then, without letting myself think it through any longer, I pull the lever back as far as it can go. The entire ship jerks violently upward and I’m thrown from my chair, my prosthetic hand clanging loudly as I hit the floor. I gasp and am just about to get back up, when the most earsplitting shriek reverberates through the ship, making the hull hum and the controls rattle. My ears feel like they’re bleeding from the inside out, my mind on fire. The sound is nails sliding down a chalkboard, creaking and screaming, and I can feel the whole of Hourglass slowing down, the engine roaring. I scream, willing the frantic noise to stop and I’m just about to crawl up to the panel and reverse the direction back inside the hangar, back to my life on Earth, back to jail or whatever awaits me for breaking the laws I have, back to anything but this horrible screeching and wailing, when the ship bolts upward once again with one last cry, and the sound is gone.

  I gasp for air as I scramble up to my seat, frantically checking the controls and our coordinates on the lower screen. A grin streaks across my face and I laugh before I can stop myself. We’re out of the hangar. We’re nearing the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. We’re gone, we’re gone, we’re gone.

  I jump up from my chair and race out into the hallway. Sylvia meets me half way, sprinting from the other direction.

  “Jude!” she cries.

  “We made it!” I exclaim back. “Can you believe it? Oh my word, Sylvia, we just launched a spaceship from Earth!”

  Sylvia laughs, covering her mouth momentarily and I know she’s feeling just as giddy as I am. “I want to see,” she says, brushing past me.

  The sky is darkening as we enter the cockpit and as I step up to the screen displayed on the control panel, I watch our coordinates fly farther and farther away from Earth.

  One minute.

  Fifty seconds.

  Thirty seconds.

  Ten seconds.

  And we’re out. We’ve left the atmosphere; we’ve entered the void of space—the darkness, the stars, the lights, the planets, the freedom. We’ve officially left Earth.

  And I’m not going back for a long, long time.

  Chapter Five

  “We’re in freaking space, dude,” Jackson says from across the room, high-fiving Gregory from beside him. He makes a face and punches the air dramatically. We’re in the room that stores all our food and they’re standing by the container, picking out whatever they want. It’s all prepackaged and preserved so they’re taking their time in finding something that looks appetizing.

  Holden sits across the table from me, forking mouthfuls of food into his mouth while simultaneously grunting in displeasure and sticking out his tongue. At least Angelica is polite enough to discreetly dig her fork through her dried meat, trying to hide the disgusted look on her face.

  Sylvia smirks from beside me. Space food has always had a bad rap for being quite possibly the grossest thing ever, but growing up on the stuff, it’s like comfort food to Sylvia and me. It tastes like home.

  Jackson comes over to the table, Gregory in tow, and after tasting a spoonful of canned beans, proceeds to spew it out over the table, with a gagging motion. “What is that?” he cries, clawing at his throat.

  “Come on,” I snap at him. “Just eat it.”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “You know, I might have thought this job through a little more if I had known what kind of meal accommodations we’d be getting.”

  “Well, like you so eloquently put it, it’s freaking space. Not everything is going to be a bed of roses.”

  He frowns but shuts up.

  “So, when do we get to do something?” Gregory speaks up from the end of the table, leaning hesitantly over so he can see me. I stare at him in thought for a moment. He’s referring to himself and Jackson—the salvagers. It’s their job to basically pilfer whatever abandoned objects we find—ships, ports, or just scrap metal. Of course, most of us would be helping, but for Gregory and Jackson, it’s their only job. I kind of feel bad for them. I can see them bursting at the seams for something to do.

  I shrug. “When we locate something. But don’t worry, I’ve been going through the records of lost or deserted ships and I have a pretty good idea where one of them is. We’re on course there now.”

  Gregory smiles and sends Jackson a look before going back to his food. So far, he hasn’t complained about it. Kudos for that.

  I finish eating my can of peaches and stand up from the table. The garbage chute is in the corner, an open square hole in the wall, so I aim and throw it. I easily make it into the chute—I’ve had years to practice.

  “Nice,” Holden whistles.

  I spin around and am about to head out of the room when all of a sudden colors flash through my mind, shoving me off balance. The girl. Her blue eyes bore into mine, her hand outstretched, her mouth open and screaming...something.

  I gasp as the image pulls out of my mind like a slate being wiped clean, leaving my mind spinning. I stumble forward and almost hit the ground but suddenly Gregory is beside me, catching my arm.

  “Whoa, you okay?” he asks, and I quickly move to steady myself.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. Thanks.” I brush off the top of my pants even though I know that nothing’s there and hurriedly leave the room, feeling the weight of five different stares pushing me out.

  I nearly run down the hallway, putting my real hand to my head, feeling the warmth, the pulse. What was that? I suddenly stop, leaning against a wall as I stare at the ground, breathing hard. I've never had visions about this girl. She just used to pop into my dreams from time to time. I thought she was some made up character, something I’d seen in a movie, or someone I’d met in passing. What the heck is she doing in my head?

  “Jude?” I hear a voice call and turn to see Sylvia jogging toward me from the direction of the dining room. “What happened back there?”

  I shake my head, not to brush her off, but because I truly don’t have any idea. I’ve never told her about the dreams. I’d never told anyone. They were stupid. Lots of people had recurring dreams – it didn’t mean anything. “I was just a little dizzy,” I tell her, which is in part, true.

  She nods, but frowns. “You want me to check you out?”

  I begin shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. Really. I should get back to the cockpit,” I say, before she has time to protest. I give her a small wave before headi
ng back down the hallway even though there’s really nothing that needs my immediate attention. Hourglass is on autopilot and the course has been set for hours. Everything’s doing fine.

  But I need something to do.

  I enter the cockpit and sit down in the captain’s chair. It still feels weird. I should be sitting in the chair adjacent to this one, watching Dad as he fiddles with the controls, adjusts our heading, or assesses a situation. I shouldn’t be doing this. I close my eyes. It feels like minutes ago, but at the same time it feels like years. Feeling the jerk of the ship, being thrown from my feet and rolling against a wall. We’d hit some sort of asteroid field and been pelted by something flying by. I remember wondering why we weren’t out of this yet, why we were still rocking back and forth, the ship still shuddering. I had run down the hallway to the cockpit, throwing open the door, ready to demand of Dad what he was doing, why he couldn’t get us out of here...when I’d seen him on the floor. I remember screaming and falling to my knees, surveying the blood oozing from his hair, checking his pulse. I had hoped that when Sylvia’s dad arrived he would’ve been able to feel something—some slight throb, some tiny indication that life still pounded through his veins.

  My heart had stopped beating the moment I saw his face. The shock, the confusion, the horror, the hesitation, the dread. Everything you feel in the seconds before uncertainty and an awful truth. When the world is spinning a hundred miles an hour and your mind is running through mud.

  It was such a stupid accident. So silly, so small. We’d hit something and Dad had fallen from his chair. His head had hit the ground at just the right place, with just the right force to snatch him, clawing, from his life.