by Dave Walsh
“I’m not sure that I like where this is going, if I’m entirely honest.”
“Jonah, I don’t know if you know this.” The professor was speaking quietly. “But I’ve noticed guards around me, and I believe that they are monitoring me. I know how to cover my tracks in here,” he said as he motioned toward the holoscanner. “But I can’t do it outside of that. You need to do this.”
“What if they're monitoring me?” he asked, starting to feel like the air was growing heavy.
“Why would they? You're a good kid, you keep your nose to the ground, and you do your job.”
“But I’m associated with you!”
“Have you noticed if you’ve been followed at all? Anyone strange around?”
“Not any more than normal, no.”
“Then you have to do this; you have to be our spy.”
“Okay,” he said, not feeling sure of the decision but feeling the weight of the assignment on his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
* * *
Jonah’s mind was swimming after he left the professor’s lab, and he knew that his night wouldn’t get any more comfortable after he headed for Kara’s quarters.
It had always struck him as odd that the ship was moving at such a breakneck pace, but that inside of the ship, it never felt like they were moving at all. Even looking out of the observation decks, everything seemed to be standing still, not moving near the speed of light. Yet at that very moment when he found himself walking through the main hall of the B-Deck toward the entrance to the C-Deck, he felt like all of the gravity of the universe was pulling on him and the ship was indeed moving at the speed of light.
It was a sensation that he had never experienced before, and he began to wonder if he was possibly losing his mind. He had spent his whole life aboard the ship and never had he once felt like this, yet all of a sudden there he was, unable to even walk without feeling like he was going to fall over. His heart began to race faster and faster, and his hand jutted out to the wall to help brace him and keep him on his feet.
The door of C-Deck was twenty feet away, but it felt like it was miles away. He slowly inched his way there, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, as a feeling of dread overcame him. He felt like everything was coming to a chaotic conclusion and that he had lost control.
There were eyes on him as he clawed his way to the door, passersby all in a hurry to get where they were going who were too busy to stop but not too busy to shoot him queer looks. He not only felt his heart racing (like the ship was caving in on him, and all of a sudden, he was not on stable ground), but he felt like he was reduced to space dust by the looks that he was getting.
Jonah finally made a split-second decision and slumped over against the wall, lowering his head into his hands and doing his best to catch his breath. All of a sudden, the weight and the gravity of a world that he had never known had all came crashing down upon his shoulders. He took slow, deliberate breaths as his hands tugged at his hair, pulling it all the way back and out of his eyes.
The cold metal of the deck was staring up at him. He noted that his shoes were looking ragged, and these became the sole focus for him. Why had he let them get this bad? Sure, he had a certain affinity for them, but there was no way that he could keep wearing them for much longer; at this point, they weren’t even that comfortable anymore. The ball of his foot was where he tended to land -- he could tell by the pattern on the soles of his shoes where the rubber had all but worn away. One side even had a tiny slit in it, like the beginnings of a hole that would soon render them completely worthless. Everything in their contained culture was disposable, recycled and never used to its full intent or truly appreciated. Everything was fleeting and only used until someone deemed it unworthy to be worn on a certain deck anymore.
One thing was for certain: These shoes belonged on C-Deck, whatever that meant. Whenever he’d stop to think about what he was wearing while on the B-Deck to visit Professor Cox, he’d all of a sudden feel like everyone was looking at him with controlled disgust over his appearance. Maybe they were thinking about how he was polluting their beloved B-Deck. A part of him wondered what was frowned upon from the B-Deck on the A-Deck. What was simply too “low class” for the aristocrats of the Omega?
Finally, in the hall that he had relegated himself to at the entrance to the C-Deck, Jonah found himself laughing at the sheer absurdity of the whole thing. He knew that no one cared about his shoes.
Jonah loved those shoes and found comfort in them, even if they were worse for the wear and could be replaced. Why replace them unless he found himself uncomfortable and needed something new? It was all so ridiculous and stuffy when there was no real reason it had to be that way. They were living, like Professor Cox had said, in a giant tube moving at nearly the speed of light and were heading into the unknown. Was there really a need for the rigid uniformity that existed aboard the ship? Jonah was never one for the philosophy that the further away from civilization one is, the more that societal norms have to be upheld, as if these norms held an important, stronger and more symbolic value.
Jonah also had a plan (in his mind, at least) that when they finally reached the planet, he would go off on his own whenever he could in order to find himself a life far away from this rigid uniformity. All of that seemed like a pipe dream right now. He found himself huddled in a corner of the ship with knowledge that there were some potentially dark secrets being withheld from everyone and that most of the things that Jonah thought that he knew were just an elaborate lie -- right down to his relationship with Kara.
A part of him had always suppressed what he knew was true of the relationship: She was rebelling, and at some point, she would find herself back home under the welcoming umbrella of her father yet again. But for now, Jonah was the average C-Deck bad boy that rubbed her father the wrong way, and their relationship felt like Kara's way of proving her independence.
In a way, Jonah the person did not matter to her as much as Jonah the concept or the symbol. He could be a life-size cutout with a purported bad-boy attitude in any way, shape or form that she found fit to fuel her rebellion. Jonah was the rebellion. And as they got to know each other on a level much deeper than the surface, she found that this rebellion had its own thoughts, hopes and dreams that they did not align with her vision.
They had talked about running away together when they arrived planetside.
“I just can’t think that far ahead,” she had said at the time, looking flustered by his adoration of her and desire to make a life with her.
“I’m ready to start my real life now, to finally do what I want to do,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said in between tokes of her pipe, her eyes staring across the room at him cold and emotionless, finding their way through the haze. “I just haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
He laughed to himself, thinking about how a conversation with her just a few weeks later turned to her wanting to join some of her friends on an expedition. They had planned to make a documentary of the new world on the Ministry’s coin. This meant living with a certain troupe from the C-Deck, ones that fit into her mold a lot more comfortably -- and Jonah knew it, but he still held on.
“I want this to last,” he had said as he lay next to her in bed. “I’m not ready for this to just end when we get there. Are you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just know that I don’t want to be stuck here like this.”
He never bothered to ask her exactly what “this” was, but he knew that she was beginning to find a way out for herself. This rebellion was going to be short-lived, and sooner or later, this would be apparent. Her mother had warmed up to the idea of Jonah more and more, although she hadn’t met him. Even when Kara described him as being difficult, it came across as childish, and her mother told her that Jonah was good for her. If anything, that was the beginning of the end of their relationship.
“When I look ahead,” Jonah explained, rolling over to face her a
s she stared off at the ceiling. “I can see myself with you in five years. That's what I want, Kara.”
“I’m just not sure that I can think that far ahead, and I know you don’t want to join the troupe, so...”
“So this relationship has an expiration date,” Jonah stated bluntly, rolling over onto his other side and looking away from her.
“No, well.” She reached her hand up and rested it on his shoulder. “I just...”
“I get it, all right?” Jonah found himself sitting up, putting one foot at a time onto the floor before reaching over for his clothes and pulling them on. “We both knew that I was more committed all along. I’m going home.”
She hadn’t stopped him, and since then, the topic only came up when one of them let their guard down enough to bring up the elephant in the room. Jonah knew that they were diverging. He wasn’t sure how to bring them back together or if there was any way to really do that. He had always told himself that all rises must converge, but out in space, the concept of rising had little value. What is up and down when gravity only exists in the peripherals, in solar systems and on planets?
Maybe that was why he was where he was now; everything all of a sudden had an expiration date. When they arrived planetside, his relationship would no longer exist. The one person that he had chose to let inside was planning on moving on, and they both knew it. On top of that, there might not be anything friendly to greet them on that planet, or they might not even reach it. Who knew what those discoveries really meant? A part of Jonah just found himself standing at the edge of the unknown once again after being there so many times before and promising himself that he’d never be there again.
Slowly he picked himself up, feeling his body straightening out like an arrow, his arms outstretched. He could still feel the shake running through his body, but he confidently strode through the door to the C-Deck and found himself once again walking to his own quarters, understanding that there was nothing left for him in Kara’s quarters and that he and Kara might be over.
Not that it mattered.
006. Transmission
Captain O’Neil
“You’re late.” Jeanette’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard that he heard as the door whirred shut behind him.
“I know,” he said, not making eye contact with his wife. “It’s not easy being responsible for the future of the human race, after all.”
“I’m sure the weight of the world is just crushing you,” she sneered as she leaned back in her chair. She took a sip of her wine and let it sit in her mouth for a brief moment before swallowing it.
“Something like that.”
“I was thinking...”
“I just got home, Jeanette,” he said, taking a deep breath as he slumped over into a chair, massaging his temples with his thumbs. “Unless you were thinking about some way to make my life easier, I’m not sure that I need to hear it right now.”
“You never listen to me,” she growled. “You tell me that you want this marriage to work, but Peter, you give me nothing to work with. You give me nothing!”
“You don’t exactly give me a lot to work with, either.”
“I can’t talk to you anymore!” She planted her feet into the carpet, gulping down the rest of the wine and striding toward the bottle on the counter across the room.
“We both know that you’ve barely tried.”
“That’s better than you’ve done.”
O’Neil took a deep breath and sank further into the chair. She didn’t know yet. She thought that it was all still a big secret, that she could somehow keep a secret from him on his own ship. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t sure who it was with yet -- that was just a formality, a small detail in the deception. There was a sense of curiosity as to who it could have been, but there was so much going on at that moment with the ship and the mission that one woman’s indiscretions seemed like a minor issue, even if it was major for him.
He just needed someone to talk to, someone to make life a bit easier to understand. Being responsible for everyone aboard the ship had always weighed heavily upon his shoulders, but right then, it just all felt like too much for him. O’Neil picked himself up and headed back toward the door. It slid open for him as Jeanette looked on.
“Just like that, you're walking out on this conversation?”
“What conversation?”
Some nights, it felt like he had spent more time in his garden than in his quarters -- some of the largest aboard the entire ship. It was a small room off of his office, but that small room was more “Peter O’Neil” than any other room aboard the entire ship, and only a select few knew of its existence.
He turned the knob on the sink, cutting off the water that began to overflow out of the watering can that he was filling. Water splashed out of the opening and streamed down the side of the can. He lifted it out of the sink and walked over to the plants carefully, doing his best not to spill a drop. He slowly poured equal amounts of water onto each plant, each set of tiny streams arcing out and spilling into the soil with care.
Omega was growing with each passing day. It was a sphere outside of the window that began as a dot and was becoming clearer and clearer as they approached. It was just two weeks away at that -- two weeks until they finally touched down on the planet’s surface and fulfilled their duties. The idea of a crew with updated jump engines meeting them after they arrived made O’Neil laugh to himself. There had been no incoming communications for the entirety of his life now, with no signs of that ever changing.
He wiped his hands with a towel before sitting down in his office chair and tossing the towel against the wall with a sigh. There was no saving his marriage at that point. He understood that now. Jeanette wasn’t about to admit what she’d done anytime soon -- and even if she were to admit it, there was no way that he could forgive her. She knew what their relationship was going to be like, and she chose him anyway. Love was always supposed to be enough to get them through everything, but in the end, there just wasn’t enough love to make it last.
“Computer,” he called out into the darkness, turning to look out of his observation window. “Call Dr. Susan Brandis.” It made a confirmation beep before a few brief moments of silence.
“Pete.” Her voice came through, confused. “What’s wrong? It’s late.”
“I know,” he said as he intertwined his fingers and nodded. “I’m just looking at Omega and realizing how close we are right now.”
“I’m looking at it right now as well, but that doesn’t seem like a reason to disturb me this late.”
“No, I guess not,” he said, unsure of why he was reaching out to her. He knew why, but the reasons still felt flimsy to him. “I guess I just wanted to hear your voice, as odd as that sounds.”
“Ah, so you're in your garden.”
“How’d you know?” he said.
“It’s late, Pete. It’s late, and you are pondering. Where else would you be?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He laughed at how predictable he was to her, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s just nice to know that someone understands my moods better than I do.”
“So what's really on your mind then?”
“I really don’t know.” He felt naked and had to force himself to be honest. “I’m contemplating my life after the mission.”
“While it would be interesting to see Peter O’Neil thinking about something other than the mission, somehow I’m doubtful that's what's happening right now.”
“I’m not sure that I care anymore,” he admitted. When he heard the words out loud for the first time, his thoughts became tangible. “There is so much that I’m supposed to do and say -- but right now, I just want to disappear into my garden and retire.”
“But you won’t, will you?”
“No,” he said as he let out a loud sigh and shook his head. “I suppose that I won’t give up anytime soon, as much as I’d love to.”
“The people need a leader, even at the cost of that leader�
�s soul.”
“Soul,” he repeated. He sat forward in the chair, shaking his head again. “That isn’t a word that I’d use out here, not considering this mission and what we’ve seen on it -- nothing. There is nothing out here, just us and the stars.”
* * *
The Ministry meeting table was a relic of the past, a reminder of where they all came from and where they were heading. There was a wooden top with cold steel legs to support it, surrounded by each Minister from their different branches. These meetings tended to last for hours on end, featured petty squabbling and usually resulted in nothing of note being accomplished, if there was even anything to accomplish.
With two weeks until the ship reached Omega, there were endless amounts of logistics that needed to be worked out to ensure that everything would go smoothly. Most of the Ministry were under the impression that Omega was a fresh, untouched planet that they would settle on, divide up and begin immediately harvesting and shaping for their own purposes, with only O’Neil and his closest advisers knowing that there might be more to the story.
“Do we have an idea of what the surface looks like?” The Minister of Agriculture balled his fist up on the table as his other hand twirled his oversized mustache between his fingers.
“We have preliminary scans, yes,” O’Neil nodded, intentionally staring down at his holoscanner. “As we draw closer, we are getting better and better images.”
“I’ve seen those, and they aren’t good enough. We're going to need detailed scans of where the soil will be most fertile for us to immediately begin our grow operations on the planet.”
“We have enough food aboard the ship to last a while, don’t we, Minister Soren?”
“Well, yes, but...”
He paused, cleared his throat and shook his head. “Unless we begin our operations on the surface immediately, we might encounter some shortages and...”
