Haruka jammed her body forward against her harness, reaching across to the pitch control in front of Bartrand. With her arm extended as far as she could, she tapped the pitch stick as hard as she could, before her hand fell off of the control. The transport lurched slightly towards the sleeper ship, and with a groan and a shudder, came to a sudden stop.
She slouched back in her seat and stared at an abandoned transport spinning off in the distance. It was, in essence, a giant, glorified shipping container. And I just flew one full of bullets into space. Haruka shook her head to break her gaze, and surveyed the cockpit.
Marco Mancini, ghost white and closed eyes, was praying over and over. Bartrand was still frozen, staring into the great nothingness in front of him. “Captain?” she said softly. He didn’t move. She looked backward again, “Marco?” Mancini opened his eyes.
“Kimura?” he said, nearly sobbing.
“Engage docking clamps and prepare the airlock.”
“Y-Y-Yes ma’am,” and he began to punch away at his station.
“Am I dead?” Captain Bartrand was now staring at Haruka. “Are we…?”
“Dead? No. Docked? Yes.”
What the hell WAS that, Captain?
Calvin McLaughlin
Civilian
16 August 2014, 20:35
Michael
What the hell did Dad drag me into?
Countless voices echoed through the hold around Calvin. The worst were the children. Their cries rang harsh against his ears.
“Leave your belongings here. They will be collected and brought on board for you.” Cal watched one of his dad’s pawns hanging on a railing near the tunnel, struggling against the weightlessness. The man’s flight suit was stained with vomit, but Cal didn’t want to know whether it was his own or that of another so-called “passenger”.
The airman continued directing traffic into the exit corridor. “Please exit the craft in a slow and orderly manner. If you need assistance with your children, please wait and you will be helped.”
Cal rolled his eyes. God, I don’t want to be stuck here waiting for them to clear these kids out. He unbuckled his restraints and pushed awkwardly off the wall, floating towards the throng of people exiting the hold. The lanky teenager ended up with a slight forward rotation and bumped his back against a broad-shouldered man with a rough, pocked face.
“Wait your turn, kid,” the man snapped.
Cal scoffed, and grabbed the railing opposite the airman. He flattened himself against the wall as best as he could and glared into the crowd, eyeing each person as they passed. The only thing he could say for sure about them was that they had little in common with each other. And nothing with me.
He watched as a skinny guy, no older than 25 by Cal’s estimates, tried to walk his way into the tunnel one-handed, while carrying a screaming toddler in his other arm. The glacial pace at which he moved was pure torture.
C’mon, Dad, where are you? I need you to explain why you dragged me away from my friends. With his free hand he lightly pounded the wall and reflected on how he got into this situation. Kidnapped. I guess he knew I wouldn’t come otherwise.
Cal was supposed to go downtown that night, a week ago, with his friends. His friend Mike had fake IDs for all of them and they were going to tear up some bars, smoke some weed, and live it up a little. School was out, Cal had graduated, and it was time to live life. Then his father had sent some Air Force goons to get him and bring him to Wyoming. Wyoming, for Christ’s sake! What could he possibly want me in Wyoming for? And why was it so important that he had to abduct me?
At first Cal thought that he was being sent to a ranch for some character building or some other nonsense. But he was placed on a bus with a bunch of nobodies, and sent to an isolated compound outside of Laramie that was full of massive rockets. It was at that point that Cal began to worry. He hadn’t heard from his father, and from what he heard at the compound from the others that were there, they were all about to get shot into space.
Most of the officers there had no idea why Cal was there. One told him that his dad had placed him there “for his own safety”.
As it turns out, his father’s idea of sending him to Wyoming “for his own safety” made him laugh. Earlier in the day, he and the other passengers were herded into this rocket while someone was ripping machine gun fire at them.
My safety. If you had known this would happen, would you still have sent me?
Cal’s father was a Brigadier General with the Air Force. The necessity of war had taken him away from his duties at home.
The War… Cal reflected on another aspect of his so-called protection. Why would he have moved me closer to the front lines if he wanted me safe? The thought was unsettling.
Calvin watched the last of the passengers scramble into the exit tunnel. He followed, his arms scrambling for traction as he pulled himself along. Peering down the tunnel he could see the cockpit door closed ahead and a bend just before where his band of shipmates slowly snaked and floated through.
In his mindlessness, Cal had come too close to the passenger in front of him. Her thick-heeled boot gave a glancing blow that hit his temple. He yelped and grabbed it in a vain attempt at soothing the pain.
The woman looked back, her ponytailed chestnut hair waving uncontrolled in the zero-G environment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she cut off when she saw Cal’s grimace.
He growled for a moment, but bit off a caustic response when he saw her bright green eyes and the apologetic frown on her face. He recognized her milky white skin from the compound. The two had shared meals together, and even worked out at the gym several times.
Alexis, he recalled her name, and drew in a breath. “My fault; got too close.”
“Did I hurt you?”
Cal withdrew the hand from his temple and said, “You’ll have to try harder.” His head throbbed, and he noticed blood stuck to the forefingers on his right hand.
“Move along.” The voice was that of the airman behind him. He glanced back and sneered, then pulled himself along, using his palm where his right hand touched so as not to transfer blood to the walls.
He watched the green-eyed woman pull her way around the wall, admiring the tightness of her jeans and the gentle curves of her body. He also noticed that she seemed to move with unusual ease, despite not being bound to the floor.
Rounding the bend, he pulled himself into the airlock beyond, and then through the gaping airlock door. The air beyond smelled different. It was not the cramped, body-odor filled air of the transport, but rather a neutral, sterile air. He noticed the name “MICHAEL” printed in neat block lettering on the walls just inside. They quickly came to a T-junction, guarded by another floating uniform, this time with a clipboard.
“Names,” she barked, her blonde bobbed hair unable to conceal her lieutenant’s rank insignia.
“Alexis Decker,” she spoke before Cal could open his mouth. Calvin measured her up and down. His eyes were entranced by her curves. She was neither slender nor overweight, but even weightless, her hips danced in a manner that hypnotized him.
The lieutenant tapped her clipboard with her pen. “Name, lover boy?”
Cal snapped his attention back to the lieutenant. He could feel himself blush. “McLaughlin. Calvin McLaughlin.” He noticed her eyes get wide for a moment, and she cleared her throat.
“Very well.” She scribbled something on the schematic on her clipboard. “Proceed to the gallery level.” She pointed upwards. “Go right when you reach the gallery, you are both in sleeper pod twelve, section delta. Alexis Decker, you are in berth delta one four.
“Mr. McLaughlin, you are in berth delta zero eight.” She looked at Cal as a nurse might look at a sick patient. “My condolences on your loss, sir.”
Calvin paused and thought hard. “My what?”
“Your father, sir.” She stopped, her jaw went slack, and she stammered, “Oh, m-m-my. No… no one… you didn’t know? Oh my God.”
“Please… I…”
“TELL ME, LIEUTENANT!” he snapped.
“Your… your father…” she gulped. “Your father was killed in action, three days ago. I am so sorry.”
Calvin floated in the hallway, unable to speak. His mouth dropped open. Alexis looked at him, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes starting to water. Bile started to rise in his throat, as did a great anger. His face turned red, and fists clenched tight. Pain began to throb in his palms where his fingers dug in, but it did little to dull the rage he felt.
“Calvin...” Alexis said in a soft tone.
“NO!” screamed Cal at the top of his lungs. He spun around violently to bang his hands on the bulkhead, but couldn’t control the spin. He put his feet to the wall, lunged at the blonde lieutenant, tore the clipboard from her hands, and sent it hurtling end over end back into the transport. He pushed the shocked officer into the wall, in turn sending himself into the opposite wall. “DAMN YOU!”
As he looked out from the wall at the two women, he saw his own tears floating away from his face, unbound by gravity. With a hard push, he navigated deeper into the ship and found the ladder up into the gallery.
“Calvin!” He heard Alexis call from behind him, but he pulled himself up the ladder and into the gallery with two quick hand strokes, and pushed himself hard headlong down towards the stern of the ship, and sleeper pod twelve. He sailed over the backs of the other passengers, who were using hand rails built into the flooring to guide them along.
What the hell is this, Dad? Did you know what was going on? Why didn’t you tell me? His thoughts raced, as he tried desperately to stifle the cries that were trying to burst forth from him. Some of his thoughts were terrible. What about Mike? Rob? Brittany? Did you think about their “safety” too, Dad? Where are THEY?
He saw the corridor ahead and to his left marked “12”. Cal tried to alter his path, but with nothing to push off of, he simply flailed wildly. His awkward movement sent him into a slight spin, and he slammed sideways into a structural support, yelping in pain. He recovered, shot off of the support, and into the corridor to the sleeper pod. He pushed past another uniform, and quickly found his way to the delta section.
The immaculate sleeper section was full of men and women struggling to get into small berths, or trying to strap small children into their own berths. He looked for markings on the berths to try to find number eight. Upon doing so, he swiftly moved to pull himself in, with far more grace that his seventeen-year-old body had ever done anything before.
“Calvin!” Again he heard the voice of Alexis as she tried to catch up. He flipped onto his back and fumbled about for the harness restraint. “Calvin, wait.”
“Leave me alone,” he said, choking back more tears. Alexis peered into his berth from just outside. LEAVE ME ALONE! He screamed inside.
“No.”
“What, is it time for a pep talk now?” He pulled back out of the berth and righted himself, looking her square in the eye. He could see his own blue eyes reflecting in her tears. LEAVE ME ALONE! I don’t want to listen!
“I’m sorry. I.. I don’t know you, or your dad. But I know you’re hurting.”
He smirked and rolled his eyes. You don’t know. LEAVE ME ALONE.
Alexis continued. “Listen, I know you’re going to go all macho tough guy now, and say you’re fine…”
“I AM fine,” he interrupted.
“No you’re not. You’re a mess, and that’s ok. But don’t bottle it up.”
“Screw you, I’ve got it handled.”
Cal flinched back as her hand came up. She gently brushed his temple, where her heel had caught him in the transport. Her touch was warm and soothing, but he brushed her hand away with a gentle swipe.
“I’m scared, Calvin McLaughlin.” She said, point-blank. “I’m sitting in space, surrounded by strangers, thousands of miles from what should be my home.” She looked down, then up again, and gave a nervous laugh. “I’m talking to a guy I accidentally kicked in the head, that I’ve known just a few days, who just found out his dad is dead, and trying to tell him something that he doesn’t want to listen to.”
He felt his anger flash again. “And what is it that I don’t want to listen to?”
“That I appreciate your father’s sacrifice.” She was starting to raise her voice. “And that I think his son, who was sitting like a brooding emo kid in the cargo hold, might just be the person I need to keep sane around here.” She gestured with her hands to emphasize the insanity of the situation.
“Brooding emo kid? Hey, what the…”
“Look around you, Calvin.”
He stopped looking at her, and took in his surroundings once more. All of the people had entered their berths and were laying on their backs, a sea of anonymous silhouettes of silent flesh. The berths were being closed one at a time by the last airman he had knocked over.
“Do you know anyone here?” Alexis asked. Cal shook his head. “Yes you do. My name is Alexis Decker.”
Alexis gently extended her hand. Cal looked at it and slowly, numbly, shook it. As he shook it, Alexis hugged him with her free hand, and gently kissed his forehead.
“I’m sorry for kicking you. And I’m sorry about your dad.” She placed her hands behind him and gently pushed off, then twisted around and looked for her berth. As she pulled herself inside, she looked back at Cal. The glance of her green eyes felt as if they numbed the raging pain within him. He pulled himself back up, and with some effort strapped himself into his harness.
You win, Alexis. The berth door shut, and he surrendered himself to grief.
1st Lt Darius Owens
USAF
16 August 2014, 23:45
Gabriel
“Doctor Kimura, just letting you know that your initial passenger checks will start in fifteen minutes,” Lieutenant Darius Owens said; his deep southern accent gave a slight lilt to his words. The glowing red orb on his computer terminal indicated that the com system was linked and active.
“Thank you, Darius. I am preparing for them now.”
Dr. Tadashi Kimura’s accent, on the other hand, was always a curious one for Darius. He knew the now eldest scientist from Project Columbus was Japanese, but the man had spent so long in the States that it had become muddled.
Darius tapped the orb on his screen, which dropped to a dark hue that indicated the system had closed the link. Next he keyed a few commands and locked his terminal, one of three ops stations on the bridge of Gabriel. Roger Miller, another lieutenant at ops, gave Darius a quick glance before he started a system check on the environmental controls.
Gabriel was a massive ship. Darius knew it would take him some time to reach the doctor’s terminal within sleeper pod four. Gabriel had twelve pods, arranged in matched pairs on opposite sides of the gallery backbone. Darius was on the bridge which was joined to the front of the gallery by an airlock, and situated above the thirteenth sleeper pod. All areas forward of that airlock were designated for crew use only.
He unbuckled his restraint harness and gently kicked off of the console’s casing. He did a graceful half roll to face the three stairs up to the command chair, grabbed the railing, and then pulled himself past the empty command chair to the end of the bridge. From there he made his way down the stairs and through the gaping airlock.
His eyes were met with only periodic dim strips of light from fixtures integrated to the ceiling. Darius clung to the edge of the airlock and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once he was comfortable that no structural supports would ambush him from the black, he pushed hard off of the wall and aimed down the hallway as he tucked himself as straight as an arrow. Darius knew that he would probably need to find a hand or foot hold to regain momentum once the air slowed him down. Including the reactor, bridge, primary support, and propulsion systems, Gabriel was over half a kilomet
er long. His journey would be just shy of two hundred meters, a mere speck of the journey that he and the passengers had already taken. Yet the longest portion of their voyage had not begun.
And the price in blood has been high so far, he thought.
As Darius continued his aftward flight, his mind drifted to the most prominent casualty of the day.
Dr. David Benedict was the head of Project Columbus and the lead astrophysicist on the research team. His vision guided the project to launch readiness and his brilliance helped achieve breakthroughs in many systems on the sleeper ships from navigation to propulsion. It confused Darius why such an active and resourceful man would stay behind to face certain torture and slaughter at the hands of the Chinese. Far more puzzling was why the fifty-eight year old scientist would do so when the Marines were there with a specific assignment to cover the escape of the transports.
Either he was suicidal, or knew something that I don’t.
Darius reached the airlock separating pod four from the starboard side of the gallery. He maneuvered through the airlock and took a left at the T intersection and around another bend, past the door to the ESAARC cockpit at the front of the sleeper pod. One more turn brought him to the hatch that led to berth section bravo, one of four in the pod. He used the hand ladder built into the ceiling to pull his weight one more time and he emerged into a brightly lit hallway.
Immaculate white sleeper berths stacked two high from floor to ceiling, and ten from wall to wall, on both sides of the hall.
Or is it two from wall to wall, and ten from floor to ceiling? Having no gravity certainly makes absolute directions more difficult, he thought.
Darius spotted Dr. Kimura, weightless and tending to a computer terminal built at the foot of the sleepers near the far end of the hall. His jet black hair was marred with streaks of silver. The years showed their toll in the lines on his face, but kindness showed in his smile.
He always seems to smile no matter what.
“Dr. Kimura, bridge reports all operational and navigational functions are in the green. Reactor temperature normal, cooling systems functional, no radiation leaks detected. Positive radio contact confirmed with Michael and Raphael.” Darius paused for a moment. “Sir, Dr. Benedict…”
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 2
