by Greg Remy
“Come on, come on.”
She typed away furiously. Her concentration was broken by a large red square with bold red text suddenly overlaying her work. At this, Zoe leapt out of her chair and dove towards a circular control on the left side of the cockpit. Just before her outreached arm could slam the emergency stop button, one side of the experimental module exploded. Incalculable heat and energy erupted from it; the shockwave sent Zoe to the hatchway of the cockpit. The hard landing knocked her unconscious.
All space in the vicinity had been instantly boiled by the energetic expulsion, leaving an enflamed fog from the microcosm of over-stimulated sub-particles throughout the entire region. Within the lone ship, discharges branched over the electronics and the internal power went out. Outside, as quickly as the cataclysmic event has begun, it passed, and the smoke began to wane as icy licks from the tongue of the macrocosm tasted and then proceeded to swallow all it could with insatiable entropic appetite.
A single slow beeping started up. Zoe let out a cough as self-awareness slowly came back to her. She groaned and remained lying down. Slowly, she opened her eyes and winced as she propped herself up. She looked at her arm. It was already evident a large bruise was forming from elbow to wrist. Zoe groaned again and stood up with only the light of the reddened cosmos to guide her steps. She looked about; everything around the ship was in complete disarray, more so now than when starting the experiment. She slowly walked over to her chair and eased in it, letting her muscles go completely limp. With a languid arm, she reached up and flipped a switch, disabling the alarm. She then flipped several more switches to begin the ship’s rebooting process. Zoe returned to her wilting position and stared out of the window. There was a dissipating red mist overhanging all she could see. Zoe watched it until it had nearly completely dissipated and only a few thin lines remained, though were rapidly drifting away. The dead, broken module was also slowly drifting away, taking with it, its own umbilical cord. Zoe sighed and decided to rest her eyes for the next several minutes while her ship auto-compiled its diagnostic efforts.
A soft beeping began several minutes later, signifying the internal scan was complete. Zoe stretched her neck, reviewed the results, and began the manual process of restoring the main controls. Soon after, the display was up and running and she was quietly reading through the massive report of ship errors. Included in in this list were scores of propulsion fuses which had been completely vaporized and the voltaic limiter was damaged beyond repair and would require replacement.
The mood in the spacecraft was quite somber; both Zoe and the ship continuously grumbled from aches and both were slow in their functions. Zoe was finally able to return the lighting in the ship, though the extensive damage disallowed the return of all computational and drive systems to their previous states. To her relief, the data from the experiment was not corrupt, but she was in no mood to try the experiment again anytime soon.
After several hours of programming work-arounds and error checking, Zoe plotted out a course to the nearest port which would have the components she required. With course in-laid, she began the fourteen-hour journey at idling speed, currently the maximum available from her craft. The ship huffed and puffed along, shambling on towards its repair salvation.
Chapter 4
Smooth Seas and Soothsayers
Amid the glorious white-speckled backdrop of the cosmos, an untethered buoy tranquilly bobbed along ethereal waves shaped as a bulbous ring encircling the base of an enormous tower with a white beacon atop its long thin apex. Churning deep within, a ballast the size of a mountain allowed for static positioning, yet also for a slow stable rotation around its axis of symmetry. This deep-space outpost served as a relay for the many different peoples on many different journeys, all converging hence for food, rest, supplies, and, of course, a bit of entertainment. Lights emitted from the station’s various apertures gave the overall appearance of space, as if it were indeed a natural piece of the tranquilized universe; however, just on the opposite side of this metallic facade, its interior was in full clamorous commotion.
Within the glossy white-walled hallways, tumultuous seas of people ebbed and flowed about commissaries, shops, inns, and connecting flights. The masses swelled toward the steep cliffs of gambling rooms and washed out and away from the shores of hapless peddlers. Navigation through the maze of corridors, without the sun or moon as a guide, was possible via projected signs every so often, though as was the paradoxical problem with signage of ages past—a highway’s numerical value always becomes zero when multiplied by infinity.
Zoe was among the flowing crowd, keeping up with the general pace so as to remain untrampled by apathetic waves of travelers. Whilst in this deluge, she observed the people around her, making a game unto herself by trying to deduce from where they had originated and where they might be headed. It was her especial pastime, to espy the details of one’s attire, mannerisms, and the sometimes-minute physiological changes evident from one Sector to another. She took note of a taller man directly in front of her dressed in black. From the backside of his head, topped by top-hat, she presumed he was from the Svire Sector, owing to his hairline reaching below his neckline. She had never yet met a Svirian, but it would be nearly impossible to say due to the known fact that a traveling school of fish cares little for conversation. She glanced to her left. Scrunched against her was a squabbled man with the unmistakable persona of a common salesman, even more common onboard midway space stations. Zoe took note of his relaxed gait and never-ending smile, pushed further out by the whiskers of his moustache. Strewn across his shoulders and broad belly were the goods of his trade—knock-off Etherian Necklaces, ‘wooden’ goblets, and infinity scarves with flittering projection tips like digital firecrackers. Pushed against her right side was a long-nosed woman; Zoe assumed she was probably a hoi polloi making her way to the next bus stop from a previous layover. What an eclectic mix of characters within these chambers! Zoe relished in the identities of humankind. She strode on.
The nature of the sea, however tranquil within the moment, may become discordant and unbridled in the next. Zoe was accustomed to this chaotic flow. For her it was a normal, rational fluid. She navigated far into its waters, commanding her way through the flowing masses and respecting them just the same. She came to a larger ventricle where multiple hallways converged. Shops and stalls were on both sides of her. She looked through their windows but saw nothing of particular interest. Positioned immediately outside the shops, people were braving the tides to sell their trinkets and faux goods with shouts and brazen, flailing arms.
From here, the masses dumped into a larger section of the station. Zoe’s progress slowed from to the increased crowds. She suddenly smelled something fantastic and lifted her nose. Looking ahead, she spotted an oncoming group of commissaries. One canteen stood out from the rest with a large neon sign above its entrance reading. “The Scalawag” with blinking lights surrounded its entryway. Zoe steered hard to her right in order not to over-shoot the pub. She smiled as she passed through its entrance, pleased with her sailing skills.
The pub was very casual, minimalist artwork was framed on every wall and the furniture and fixtures were very plain, all accented by only a single strip of blue. Zoe walked up to the bar and hopped up on a stool, sending it into a spin which was ceased as she planted her two hands on the counter. She ended up directly facing the bartender.
“Hey there,” Zoe said.
He lazily eyed her, revealing a longstanding boredom of his job. His voice was even more so lethargic.
“What can I get you?”
“Ah, let’s see...” she looked behind him at the wall full of drink options. “Oh, how ’bout a Carnegie Cosmo?”
He made no affirmative gesture and turned to create the concoction. Zoe tapped on the counter with her fingernails, happily anticipating her purple liquor drink. She looked over to her left, a couple was sitting next to her, absorbed in each others presence. She swiveled to her right, the
next several seats were empty, and an overweight man was sitting on the end, paying no mind to anything else in the galaxy but his glass pitcher. With an articulated ‘whoosh’ sound effect, Zoe spun back around just as the bartender set her drink on the counter.
“Yay!”
She paid for it and took a great cheek-withering swallow from the pink straw. She winced, puckered her lips and her eyes began to squint, the right one twitching with dramatic effect. The bartender noticed but did not indulge her antics and went on servicing other customers. She took another wild gulp.
“Ah, brain freeze. Brain freeze.” Zoe’s hand shook about her head, as if shooing off brain freeze gremlins. She cleared her throat and as the feeling faded she relaxed in her seat. “Ah, that’s the stuff.” She swiveled around to see what the rest of the bar’s inhabitants were up to.
The many tables and lounge seats were occupied with people conversing, some smiling, some laughing, and some involved in brow furrowing discussions. Great bay windows gave a view of space along the entire far side of the bar. The stars outside boldly flaunted their bright-sides, beckoning to be gazed at, though in vein, for the pub-goers were far too enthralled with earthly affairs.
Zoe’s gaze settled on an old man sitting alone at a table and staring at a game of Weltraumschach set up in front of him. It consisted of a triple-tiered pyramid of checkered boards, many tiles of which were set with various game pieces.
“Hmmm,” Zoe mumbled and took up her drink to join the lonesome gentleman.
“Hi there! Wanna play? Or are you waiting for someone?” The old man snapped out of his trance, and Zoe then realized he had been in a game against himself. He looked up at Zoe and then settled back down into his game. His face was stolid; free of emotion, though chained by age. The many deep wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks drooped low, giving the appearance he was melting away. “Mister?”
He coughed and then spoke stoically, “Ah the pestilence of youth—always superlative, always…” He muttered on lowly and revved back “…endemic ignorance spanning further than I care to quantize.” He shot a look at Zoe, though it lost puncture through the creases of his skin.
“Please, let’s play!”
“Miss,” he said slowly and patronizingly, “I don’t care to play you. Now, go.” The old man went back to staring at the board, fully disregarding her presence.
“Please mister! Come on.”
He looked up at her, an aggravated expression now coming through layers of skin. Zoe smiled back from ear to ear.
“You, miss, are a simpleton, a saturnine girl.”
Zoe whipped back, “Then you, sir, are most certainly jupiternine! One game. Then I won’t bother you anymore. Promise.” The old man huffed, making much the same sounds Zoe’s ship had on the way to port.
“Hmmph. Well, satisfactory. The last iota of intelligence has seeped from this lot long ago.”
“Game on!” chirped Zoe as she happily sat down across from him. She took a sip of her drink at set it on the table beside the triple tiered playing field. “Roll for reds?” she asked. “What? Hmmph. The coloration will make no alteration to the outcome.” Zoe began to place her pieces in their respective side-line positions on the bottom grid.
The old man had been ready for centuries. Zoe took another sip of her bright-purple concoction which brought about another indignant look from her competitor.
“Please, begin,” he said calmly and motioned amicably with his hand, though his eyes remained narrow.
As Zoe looked at the game boards in deep thought with a look of uncertainty swelling across her face. The old man’s eyes continued to become little beads. She slowly picked up a piece, formed like a cone intertwined by several circlets and an iron cap, and moved it several spaces forward on the first checkered level.
“Amateur! Hmmph. There’s no rational purpose to that position. You, you are wasting my time. Do you even…”
She cut him off, “Your turn mister.” He looked over at her, his face sharpening into a sterner expression, though suddenly turned to surprise once met with the giant smile Zoe was boring down on him. He focused back on the board, moving a white piece from his side near the center of the top tier. Zoe cocked her head to the side and picked up her next piece, placing it next to the first cone.
“What is this!” the old man lashed out. In response, Zoe took a large gulp of her drink, leaving bright purple all over her lips, annoying the old man further. “Hmmph.” He moved his second piece to the center stage of the middle level.
The two went back and forth, setting their pieces in starting positions—the man in a strategic and fortified array around the board, Zoe in a chaotic mix all on the bottom tier. The wrinkles on the old man’s brow had eased; he had no doubt concluded this game would be over soon and he would teach a lesson to the “wasted youth.”
“That’s what I said, everything went dead for a moment before going buck wild. The baro-sensors, the motor relays, the—”
“But not the air locks, or the door seals, or anything that would actually hurt you, eh Erik?”
“Bah. I’m tellin’ you how it was. Ya, all essential systems were fine. Ya, I’m fine, thank you very much.”
“Ah. I don’t care you loaf, just would have been pissed if you hadn’t made it for a drink.” There was the sound of glass pitchers clinking. “I bet the boss wasn’t too happy.”
“Ah screw him! Look George, it wasn’t right—,” Erik interrupted himself with a large burp, “—it was a haul of Kapteyn and hex-plutonium generators. Meaning-”
“Meaning you were wrapped up from the generators, nothing in, nothing out. I’ve done a couple loads. Just admit it, you buzzed off for a day to get a cut-rate lap dance. Or maybe it was to see Caroline? Eh?”
“Oh no. Don’t you mention her. Argh. I get goosebumps thinking about that gal.”
“Everyone wants to blame them sensor ghosts. But I know. So, come on Erik, tell me.”
“Bah. They are all full of shit.” There was another loud burp. “Sensor ghosts! George, you son of a gun. I shoulda written that in my report.” There was another clink of glasses.
“Begin,” said the old man as the last piece took its proper place. Zoe snapped back to reality, having been distracted by the conversation going on somewhere behind her.
“Yes sir!” she said enthusiastically and moved a small cylindrical piece with a gear on top from the bottom to middle level, replacing one of his pieces and now centered in a sea of white enemies.
“Bold,” he said smugly, “but you’re vulnerable under a multiplicity of conditions.”
He moved a midsection piece down to the base where it assumed the place of one of her pawns. Zoe quickly moved her lone red invader to an empty spot on the top level and sat back satisfied in her chair. The old man moved two pieces down, creating a triangular system, a move Zoe recognized was to protect his exposed pieces and at the same time allow them to retain offensive capabilities. She took her time and moved a single piece from the bottom to the outer edge on top. Over the course of the next several turns, the old man moved his pieces about, creating complex defensive positions with interwoven attack positions, capable of removing Zoe’s pieces from a variety of vantage points. He exercised this capability and proceeded to work his way through her pieces, while chasing around the board that relentless pirate of Zoe’s—her iron-capped king.
Fifteen minutes into the game came the first announcement of “check,” but it did not come from the old man. To his unmistakable astonishment, Zoe had executed a quadruple vault by a three-level multifaceted coordination from separated groups of her pieces, slipping past his defensive efforts and coming within striking distance of his king. The wrinkles upon his brow furled foreword greater than the hurricanes of Arcanis.
“Argh!” He coughed and cooled himself. “Hmmph.” He moved his king to a new fortified position and redoubled his defensives. Zoe tingled with an excited anxiousness at the thought that the old man may just pop, and con
fetti would come showering out. Now that would be something.
The game continued. The old man’s graveyard was now quickly filling up while Zoe suffered minimal losses. Another “check” soon came from Zoe. Her opponent was turning quite sour. He was forced into further defensive positions, suffering substantial losses over the next several rounds. He waived down a waitress and ordered a stiff drink.
“You. Hmmph. Do you know how long I have been playing this game little lady?”
“Long enough to get your butt kicked?” she smiled and winked.
His face turned a bitter shade and he puffed up his withered chest. “I have been playing Weltraumschach for over 75 years now, since I was a little lad. Never have I…” He seemed to be at a loss for words and Zoe did not respond, she simply moved a piece up one level and over by several tiles.
“Checkmate, mister.”
“Argh!” The old man suddenly seemed to have lost all interest in the game. “Leave.” He waived her off and finished his drink in one large gulp. Zoe shook her shoulders and got up with her drink. She wanted to smirk and gloat with the few smart rejoinders she had prepped, but the blow to the old man’s ego was a bit more than she had anticipated. Perhaps confetti in a pub was not for the best. Instead, she turned toward the two voices she had overheard earlier and spotted the two men talking near the window. With drink in hand, she decided joined them.
