by Aaron Bunce
Jacoby felt Soraya respond–warmth blossomed. Was she embarrassed?
“It’s not natural, Poole. There is so much…pressure. It hurts.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll try to break it down so it makes sense. It’s part of the process I’m afraid. The microbials I produce are transmitted through your bodily fluids. In a way, kind of like a…” Poole said, scratching his chin and thinking for a moment. “like Soraya said, a sexually transmitted disease.”
“Sexually transmitted disease? Microbials?” Soraya asked, and for the first time, moved away from Jacoby.
“Yup,” Poole said, nodding vigorously. “Only here, there are no warts or liver damage or brain rot. The only side effects are…well, access to me and all the services I provide. You…are…welcome.”
“How do I opt out?” she spat back.
“You wish. You’re stuck with me now, peach cobbler,” Poole said with a wink. “The advanced microbials I produce connect you in a form of biological web. That means biofeedback can move between you. All super. All cool. We…I should say me, yes, I have surmised that we were biologically programmed to target specific simple or single-celled organisms. Once identify, it would infect them with these microbials. They would then provide the organism an evolutionary prod, evolving it rapidly along its progressive line. Think a cluster of cells to a leafy palm plant or influential bacterium in one percent of the normal developmental timetable.”
“So, someone or something designed it?” Jacoby asked, trying to make sense of the information.
Poole shrugged. “Probably. It has just as much information about where it came from and why as you do. But thanks to its connection with you and me, and now the others, it’s able to gather more information specifically pertaining to the what and whys behind everything it does. And hopefully, that will help us understand more. Ya know? A farmer knows they grow food. That food feeds people and keeps them alive. The farmer derives purpose from that correlation.”
Jacoby rubbed his aching groin and considered the implications for a moment.
“In a way, it woke up when it got stuck in my brain. And ever since, it has been trying to figure out the meaning of life, right? Its meaning?”
Poole smiled, a touch of his sarcastic façade slipping away. “Bingo.”
“Wow, that poses more questions than it answers. Like, where did it come from? Why was it trapped inside that chunk of rock floating out there in the belt? Was it alone in there, or one of many? Will it eventually die off? Or will I?” Jacoby asked, spitting out the questions as fast as they popped up into his head.
“All good questions, and ones we are key to find answers to. Ah, good. This has been far more productive than I feared, Jacky-Boy. I feel like we’re really growing together. Well, more fusing together, really. Let’s talk again, after you’ve had a chance to take care of that,” Poole said, absently gesturing towards his midsection, “and had something to eat. Your metabolism is burning a lot more calories than it used to. We are famished.”
“Take care of it?” Anna snorted, a rare flash of angry color flooding her cheeks. “You dance around every subject, burying it beneath a flood of superfluous words. Why does he hurt, Poole?”
“Just when I think we’ve taken our relationship to the next level, one of you goes all caveman on me again. Anna, I expected better from you. As I said, when Jacoby ogled Lana and his brain tripped into ‘breed’ mode, we automatically produced and delivered a mass of those specially designed microbials. The same micro-organisms that now reside in both of you ladies.”
Soraya’s eyes narrowed.
“Uh huh. Well, there was no payoff, so yeah, blue balls. Jacoby simply needs to find someplace or, need I say, someone to put them in, before they get bored and burrow their way out from inside his…dangly bits.”
Anna and Soraya both cringed, groaning audibly.
“Burrow?” Jacoby gasped.
“It’s just…too…easy,” Poole laughed, “but seriously, it’s pressure. Just get rid of them. I know you…uh, know how. Although I think it’s a total waste. And yes, to answer that question brewing in your head, Anna. The introduction of my microbials would effectively inoculate them against the bastardized virus that rampaged throughout Hyde. Think about that. If Jacoby had gotten busy with more people, they might still be alive. Any who, I’ll let that thought marinade in your noggins for a while. This has been fun, but I’ve got like eight million three hundred and sixty-five other things I’d rather be doing. Starting with a whole new look. I need a change. Later, gang. Mr. Poole out.”
And with that, he tipped his head forward, tapped his hat, and disappeared.
2108 Hours
Manis talked to the co-pilot, Sarah Bishop, first. Because she didn’t seem to want to let him near anyone else. Her voice, her face, her eyes–they all told a story, contrary to what he needed to think about. Contrary to what he needed to do.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nazzar, but while at cruising speed, all communication bandwidth is needed for navigation and collision detection systems. Any data traffic not pertaining to ship operations requires the captain’s approval.”
Manis watched her lips in order to understand her words. Because damnit, the numbers. They continued to bounce around in his skull.
–12. At the rate of climb, might be –10 now or even –9. Will rise. Growth can be slow or exponential. –10 could be –5 before I even get back to my room. 32 is terminal. Above freezing. They must stay frozen to be viable. I hate the numbers. Hate them.
“That is why I must, no, need to speak to him. Urgent. Yes. Urgent. Please.” Still, he felt drunk every time he tried to talk. Manis could see it in Bishop’s eyes that she thought something was wrong with him.
Yes wrong. But not with me. Everything we escaped was wrong. That’s why the message must be sent. The message, the numbers. She needs to understand.
He continued to breathe, even when Bishop backed away slowly, respectfully gaining distance. Was he scaring her? Was it his smell? Manis knew better than to start telling her about the specifics of his message. It was above her pay grade. There was no way he could tell her about the samples. Yet how could he convey its importance? If he told the crew he needed another freezer, a better one, they would naturally ask why. Things were always like that on a ship, limited resources always required reasoning.
If I tell them about it, they’ll try to take it. They won’t know how to handle it. They’ll take the credit. They’ll lie to…you, to the rest of the people from Hyde. Next thing you know, and they’ll purge the holds, blow all of the survivors into space, he thought, again watching Bishop’s mouth move. She had a soft voice and strong cheek bones, both characteristics he liked in women. She was smart, spoke well, and looked fit. Damn, he liked her immediately, felt an attraction growing. Lust, a tingling, fiery urges he hadn’t satisfied in quite a long while.
No! Stop it. Don’t let her distract you from the numbers. Manis shook his head, trying to break loose the bad thoughts and focus back on what was important.
“I wonder…” Sarah Bishop said, her voice trailing off. She’d been saying something about accommodations and food but stopped. Why? Had he…? Had he actually shaken his head? Was he thinking out loud?
“Sorry. I know I’m acting a little odd,” he said, snorting involuntarily, “Please, forgive me. Issues…I’ve had issues ever since. My head. I hit it during the escape from the station.” He stammered, trying and failing to talk normally. He reached up and rubbed his sore sternum where the redheaded security officer struck him back in the lab. Shit, she’d darn near broken his arm. She…the one that sided with the miner…Jacoby. His hand moved up to the wide split in his lip.
Jacoby Mason – Planitex id: 13145509, he thought. He’d checked the samples so many times, confirmed the letters and numbers written on the two petri dish’s lids. The handwriting was so neat, the blood trapped inside so dark. They were exact, infallible. Unlike the people around him.
He caught the co-
pilot’s eyes again. She was watching him, her brow wrinkled up in unmasked confusion and alarm. Was she scheming, already plotting to get into his quarters? Manis hadn’t mentioned or shown the frozen sample to anyone, but maybe they knew. Or had he mentioned them? Maybe he did…maybe he’d slipped up and told her, or the nurse.
The nurse…she knows.
“Traumatic episodes like that are hard for people to deal with. The captain is due on shift soon. Why don’t you look after yourself, and by the time you’re done, he be on the bridge and you can speak to him directly.”
Manis followed Sarah through a tight passage, walking right by a door that opened onto the bridge. Manis spotted pilot chairs, a navigator’s console, and a coms station behind them against the rear bulkhead. He focused in on the curved, transparent screens, overlapping grid lines and curved travel paths feeding from top to bottom. Data, numbers…
He’d reached out to grab her, to tell her that’s where he needed to go, but she pulled him by the door and through another compartment.
“You’re safe here on the Atlas, sir. We’re all Planitex family. Please use the shower, grab a clean suit. There are disposable toothbrushes and protein bars in the kiosk just through there. We’ve even got a pull-down acceleration couches in the back. They’re pretty comfortable if you’d like to lay down and close your eyes,” she said, and then was gone, closing the portal behind her. The panel flashed from green to red. The door locked.
Manis jumped to the door and tried to open it.
She locked it. She locked me in here!
He stood there for a long time, picking at his scalp, staring at the [Locked] icon. Honestly, he didn’t have the energy to move, to be angry about it. But it was the reflection staring back at him from the small window that rooted him to the spot more than anything else. He was gaunt, the skin under his eyes sagging and dark. His hair was greasy and plastered to his scalp in blotchy patches. He suddenly understood what the nurse, and Bishop saw. A crumbling, fractured shadow of a man.
“Six foot five inches tall. One hundred and ninety pounds. Twenty-nine years, six months, and fourteen days old,” he said but immediately bit his lip.
Stop. They’re just numbers. Stop…f-f-fixating on the numbers, he thought, his lip quivering. But that was easier said than done. Everything he saw or thought about broke down into them. They were the truth, the building blocks. Whilst his eyes could be tricked, those were always true.
“Clean yourself up, and then…well, then we can continue our conversation. See-see-see what happens.” He closed his eyes and focused on the simple task of drawing air into his lungs and pushing it back out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he continued to worry about the thermo-cube in his room. The samples. And the nurse, who he was sure would try to steal it. He had to hurry back before that could happen.
Manis grabbed a protein bar, tore open the wrapper, and stuffed it into his mouth. He stripped off his body suit, pulled himself into the shower, and turned on the water. There wasn’t nearly the pressure he was used to on Hyde, nor did it get as hot as he liked. But a handful of shampoo and skin cleanser helped scrub away some of the filth. The supplement bar, still hanging out of his mouth, got soggy, but he continued to chew and swallow. He shut off the water once done, thick globs of foam still running down his legs, but it didn’t matter. It was good enough.
Toweling off quickly, Manis pulled on the closest thing to a clean flight suit he could find and fastened the magnetic zipper. The pant legs rode a good six inches up his ankles and barely covered his wrists, but it smelled clean, and the crotch wasn’t crusty. Sarah Bishop, Co-Pilot, Planitex id number 12456809, was right about that.
After synching on a pair of grav-slippers, Manis snagged a few more protein bars out of the drawer by the sink and turned. The door panel was green, unlocked.
He stared at it for a long moment, waiting for the color to change. To reveal the lie, but it maintained color. Had it always been green? Were his eyes lying to him again? The door whisked open quietly with only a light tap of the open icon. His eyes immediately struggled to adjust to the passage’s dark light, but he pushed through and into the bridge.
He looked around for a clock, desperate to fixate…no, confirm the time. How much of it had passed?
Sarah Bishop sat in a chair well forward of the coms panel, just to the right of the port windscreen. She caught sight of him right away, her sudden attention catching the interest of an older man leaning over her station. His hair was shortly cropped and salt and pepper. He had a square jaw, wide flat nose, and dark eyes.
Asian islands, Slavic?
Five foot seven to nine inches tall, roughly one hundred and fifty pounds. Maybe Forty-nine, fifty years old. Waist roughly thirty-six inches, in seem…
“You must be Mr. Mazzar?” the captain asked, weaving his way deftly through the congested bridge. His voice interrupted Manis’ tumbling thoughts, his focus having once again slipped to numbers.
“Manis, sir, with an ‘M’. Nazzar with an ‘N, as in November, Alpha, Zulu, Zulu, Alpha, Romeo’. I am the directorate junior assistant on Hyde station. Planitex identification number 01051886. I have a message of great urgency that I need to send. The coms panel in my room wouldn’t send.…” His words slid out quickly despite his lack of focus, until his eyes slid down to the captain’s name tag and the letters snagged his brain.
“Important corporate business…Cordyczk. First name Basil. Captain, freight division, identification…ugh.” Manis bit his lip hard.
“Are you well, sir?”
Manis ran his hands through his wet hair, pulling it back from his face. Okay? No. How could he be? He’d narrowly survived an almost completely fatal outbreak, could barely think straight, and looked like hell. But he was still here. Still “in the game” as the company always said.
He dropped his hands, rubbed his face, and took a deep, calming breath. One hundred things went through his mind then as he met the captain’s gray-eyed stare–his options, and the words that comprised them, then the man’s likely responses. They were all rejections, dismissals, and Manis realized almost instantly that his credentials wouldn’t get him what he needed alone. He needed to extend an olive branch, win some trust. Sacrifices would have to be made.
Captain Cordyczk took a breath to speak, but Manis started in first, desperate to avoid disaster.
“I’m sorry, sir. I suffer from a particularly distracting combination of obsessive-compulsive disorder and arithmomania. As a child I counted everything, assigned number values to the letters in people’s names, and so on. I was…well, unfortunately, we were forced to evacuate the station without my medication. I assure you, I am fine. After food and sleep, I will be much better. A-A-And once I am allowed to send a message to the corporate directorate, I will be able to rest. Once rested, much will improve. It is imperative that I communicate my report of…what happened to my superiors. As soon as possible. S-S-So many lives were lost and i-i-if we cannot get an appropriate response initiated, m-m-more will follow. Imperative.”
Despite the bridge’s chilly air, Manis felt flushed, and not just from the shower. Droplets of sweat, or it might have been water from his sodden hair, ran down his neck and between his shoulder blades.
One, two, three, he counted the droplets quietly in his head. Stop counting. Stop!
The captain watched him talk, the crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. Just like co-pilot Bishop before him, the older man seemed incredibly observant.
Captain Cordyczk’s mouth tightened, the almost periwinkle color of his lips fading to gray in the dim light. Manis formulated a dozen arguments to counter whatever rejection the man would throw his way.
12. But lost track of all of them in a heartbeat as his brain switched over to count the seconds since he’d finished speaking instead. A fire blossomed in his chest, an irrational anger building towards a violent eruption. He’d scream at the man, threaten him, until he got his way. That’s what he did back on Hyde when pissan
ts refused to understand the importance of their unimportant jobs.
“A message…” the captain started to say, and Manis’ gaze locked onto his mouth. He tried to focus in on anything other than his teeth, his brain already driving him to count them from top to bottom. He squeezed his fist into a palm and managed to hold the anger back.
“I apologize mister Nazzar.” The captain emphasized the “N” with an almost inaudible click of his tongue. “It was brought to my attention just after our departure that a company executive was onboard, but I hope you can forgive me for not seeking you out to speak with you personally. I hope you understand, the Atlas was not due to depart Hyde for another week and a half. Our ship was not provisioned fully, nor were we able to locate all our crew. Luckily, we had already been fueled. The early departure, plus the fact that we took on refugees instead of ore, has my crew a little overwhelmed–where we put people, how we’ll feed them. You understand. We lockout all non-essential communications while underway, so please, feel free to use our coms station here on the bridge to send whatever messages you might need. As always, this is a corporate vessel, and Planitex business takes precedence. I’ll have C.S. Grady set you up here. Please, let my crew know if there is anything else you might need.” The captain spoke quickly and quietly, gesturing towards the communications station. A young man, previously hidden by the bulky equipment, popped into sight.
“Sir, right over here.”
The captain lightly patted his arm but was already walking away, the silence of his departure hitting Manus like a closed fist. He’d been so close to a screaming tirade, to swinging his fists, and then none of it was needed. The captain just gave him exactly what he needed…wanted. The anger swept back into the vacuum of his mind.
Manis took a shaky step towards the young coms officer but froze. He peeled open his shaking hands, both palms bleeding where his fingernails had cut into his pale flesh.
