Removing his shirt was difficult, and the effort sent him spinning. He flung his arms out, banging one on the locker. He winced in pain, but managed to steady himself once more. Cal unzipped his jeans, and tried to carefully peel them off. He got the cuff caught at his ankle, and ended up slowly flipping head over heels. Alarmed, he jerked his pants free, and his feet flung into the door. He flailed once more, like a cat falling from a tree. This time his right hand caught on the edge of the locker, and he screamed out as the back of his hand tore open.
He managed to stop his rotation once more, and looked at his hand. Blood was starting to well up from the shallow gash. He sucked on it, tasting the acrid iron of his blood. Cal withdrew and examined his hand. Blood once more filled in the wound, and a few drops managed to escape the pool and float away.
Damn, that hurts. He winced and sucked in a deep breath.
Cal looked at his scattered clothing floating in the hallway. He sighed, collected his stained t-shirt, and maneuvered to the door jamb. He braced himself between the lockers and tore a swath from the cleanest part of his shirt, then wrapped it around his hand three times and tightly tucked it in on itself.
With the cut bandaged, he grabbed the flight suit and carefully donned it, then zipped it up. Cal flexed his arms and legs a little bit to determine the suit’s fit.
Good fit, this should do.
Cal pushed himself up and retrieved his food pouch from within the locker. He tore it open, scattering four individual pouches within into the hallway. He growled, and retrieved each package. The smallest was clear plastic, and contained a napkin, fork, spoon, and a single-serve package of breath mints. He opened this pouch with measured caution, and was relieved when none of the contents flew outward.
Good. I’d rather not die in space with a fork stuck in my eye.
He was starting to get better at opening the packages. When he opened the largest one, he saw a packed mess of pasta and meat within. Poking at it with the fork, he found it easy to break apart and control. He consumed the entrée slowly and then moved on to his vegetable package. He found these somewhat more difficult to control, and several kernels of corn eluded him and ended up in various parts of the hallway, or inside the locker.
Finally Cal turned his attention to the drink pouch. It stymied him for a minute as he tried to figure out how to drink without spraying the contents all over his face or suit. Content, Cal opened the mint package and popped them in his mouth. He collected the trash and his stained clothing, stowed them in the locker, and shut it.
Food wasn’t too bad. And mint is definitely better tasting than barf. He rolled the mints within his mouth as he pondered some more. But no one else is around. What the hell happened?
Cal bit into the mints and finished them off, then maneuvered himself back into the dimly lit gallery. He looked around and could see no signs of life. He rubbed his hair with his good hand, and thought for a moment before pushing himself to the railings on the floor. Slowly, he pulled himself back towards the end of the ship that he recalled entering from. His legs rose up as he used his hands to walk along, and he had to stop and reposition himself.
Minutes passed as he continued along the seemingly endless corridor. He had passed a gaping black hole leading to the bowels of the ship and two more corridors leading to sleeper pods on his right. His arms ached from pulling him along, his right hand stung from the sweat, and the work was making him pant for air. Cal grabbed the handle of a nearby cart, steadied himself and rested.
As he sat, waiting for his arms to give him a reprieve from fatigue, he heard a faint, almost echoing chirp. Cal looked around, but there was no change to the scenery. Again he heard a chirp. He peered over the cart and strained to listen.
Once more, the chirp came to his ear. Calvin saw another pod entrance ahead of him, and the sound seemed to come from within. He worked his way around the cart, crouched, aimed his body carefully, and shot off toward the sleeper pod. He reached the connecting hall, slowed himself down, and slowly walked his way along the walls with his hands.
The chirping was much louder now, and Cal knew he was in the right place. He paused and listened again to find out the direction of the sound. The sound came once again, and he knew that it was coming from the sleeper hall directly ahead of him. He pushed off of the wall and around the corner.
Ahead of him, a woman was floating and punching commands into a terminal built into the wall next to a bank of sleepers. Her long, gray hair was banded into a pigtail that snaked like a flag in a lazy wind.
“Excuse me,” Cal said softly.
She spun around and screamed in alarm, and Cal jerked backwards, his own shocked scream escaping his lips. Cal’s back hit the wall with a thud, his head following immediately after. As she face him, Cal could see that the woman was old, her crow’s feet clearly defined and her brow wrinkled. She placed her hand over her heart, and gasped.
“Damn it, Airman. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she berated. “If you give me a heart attack, I’m sure the colonel might stuff you in a sleeper for the rest of the trip. Or maybe out the air lock, I don’t know.”
Cal stared back at her brown eyes in shock. She glared at him for a moment, then shook her head and turned back to her work.
“What do you want, Airman?” she asked.
“A-a-airman?” Cal stuttered.
“I’m sorry, did I get it wrong? Are you a lieutenant?” she questioned, continuing her work as if he wasn’t there.
He looked down at himself and it dawned on Cal what he was wearing. He let out a soft chuckle and watched her quietly for a moment. She continued work, but paused and turned after a moment.
Cal asked, “What are you doing?”
“My job. Checking on the passengers. What did you think I was doing?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm. She turned her attention to him and it seemed as if her gaze was trying to pierce him. “You’re not Air Force, are you?”
Cal shook his head.
She backed up slightly, reached towards the console, and then asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Cal was unsure of what she was going to do, but something inside him urged him to be forthright. “My name is Calvin. I guess I’m a passenger on this ship.”
The woman’s eyes widened and her hand dropped slightly away from the console. “A passenger? What is your berth number?”
“My berth?” he asked nervously.
“Do you know what pod you were assigned to? What section and berth?”
Cal strained to remember. “Pod twelve. Section delta. Berth…” he trailed off.
The woman looked over her shoulder and tapped several buttons on her console. “Berth number?”
He squinted as he tried to recall once more. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. My brain, it’s just…”
She nodded at him. “You’re probably a bit disoriented. To be honest, with how well you are moving and how much you do remember, I’d say you are doing quite well.” Once more she turned to the screen and tapped buttons. “Number eight?”
“Yes,” he replied quickly. “That’s the one.”
“Excuse me one moment, Calvin,” she said. Her finger floated over a small red button on the console. She tapped it, then spoke one more. “Doctor Taylor to bridge.”
A tinny male voice responded through the com system, “Bridge here, Lieutenant Ceretti speaking.”
“Lieutenant, please notify Colonel Dayton that I need an engineering check on one of the sleeper units,” she requested, a hint of Midwest audible in her voice.
“Yes, Doctor. Do you have more specific information to report?”
“There are no passengers in danger, if that’s what you’re asking. I think there might be a minor programming glitch on one individual berth. The engineer can meet me in pod six for more information.”
“Very well, Doctor. Bridge out.” The com system light dimmed once more.
The doctor turned to Cal and looked at him top to bottom. �
��You’re a bit beat up, I might add. These wounds don’t heal well during biostasis, I’m afraid. Come here and let me take a look at them.”
Calvin looked down at the bandage on his hand, then back at the doctor. He pushed off of the wall gently, and then braced a foot out in front of him to stop gently along the wall next to her. He offered his right hand to her. She undid the makeshift bandage and pulled it off, causing a slight amount of pain when the bandage tore part of the fresh scab from the back of his hand.
“This one is fresh,” she said, examining it closely. “Did you get this before or after your sleep?”
“After. Uh, about a half hour ago, I think,” Cal said.
“This is more of a scrape than anything. A big scrape, but it won’t need stitches. I just need to clean it and give you a better bandage. It’s probably going to sting like the blazes until it heals, though. Not much I can do about that.”
She reached for his head, and he flinched. “Hey, what are you…” he started.
She firmly grasped his skull in her hands. “Hold still, let me look at it. Was this one before or after your sleep?”
“Before. How can it still be there? It’s been five years!” he exclaimed.
The doctor paused a moment, then let his head go. “How do you know how long it’s been?”
“The clock in my berth. It’s September 22nd, 2019, isn’t it?” Cal retorted as he rubbed the scab on his head.
“I see.” The doctor examined his head wound again. “Well, it’s started healing. It probably should have had a few stitches, but nothing more I can do at this point except make sure it doesn’t get infected. You’re probably going to have a bit of a scar there once it heals. The reason it hasn’t healed is because you’ve been in biostasis. All of your body’s functions, including repair and metabolism, slow to a crawl. Five years in biostasis is equivalent to about four days outside, give or take.”
Cal raised his eyebrows, then sighed and smiled. “Thanks, Doc. Uh, what’s your name?”
“Taylor. Doctor Heidi Taylor.” She extended her hand, and Cal timidly shook it. “I’m not sure if you were ever given a formal welcome, so I will just in case.” Dr. Taylor straightened her clothes. “On behalf of the crew and Project Columbus, I bid you welcome to the sleeper ship Michael.”
Cal chuckled, “Yeah, I know a little bit about this ship.”
Dr. Taylor raised her eyebrows. “Oh, how so?”
“Family projects,” he said emphatically. “My grandpa was part of this thing from day one, from what I understand. Dad used to say he trained astronauts or something for a big government project. Later on I found out it was called Columbus, and had something to do with colonizing outer space.”
Dr. Taylor’s mouth slacked, and she was at a loss for words. Yet, her eyes showed a spark of recognition.
“What?” asked Cal.
“You’re Calvin McLaughlin, aren’t you?”
Cal was stunned. He rubbed his hand through his hair again. “How do you know me?”
“I worked with your grandfather for years. He didn’t just train astronauts; he also trained the medical staffs chosen for the space flights. Between systems training and zero-G training, it was very intense. He always demanded everything you could give, but would never over work you, and was never unfair to anyone.”
Sounds like she knew him better than I did. I guess that’s because he died when I was so young.
“Sounds like a great guy. I guess I wish I knew him better.” Cal shuffled a foot nervously along the berth wall.
“That he was. I’m sorry he is no longer with us.”
Cal shrugged. “I really don’t remember much about him. I think I was five when he passed.”
Silence crept into the room, and Calvin’s thoughts raced. Alone. All alone out here, Dad and my friends long gone. A memory flashed across his mind.
“Doctor, would it be too much to ask a favor of you?” he asked.
Dr. Taylor smiled brightly. “I suppose I can manage a favor for a McLaughlin.”
“Can you tell me the status of pod twelve, section delta, berth fourteen?”
A puzzled look crossed the aged Doctor’s face. “I suppose. Someone you know, I gather?” She punched a command into the terminal, and a set of vital signs appeared on the monitor. “Perfectly normal.”
Calvin smiled.
1st Lt Haruka Kimura
22 September 2019, 07:00
Raphael
Haruka hunched over the screen of her workstation, rubbing her temples gingerly. Her stomach was still churning from the hibernation sickness. As much as the light of the screen gave her a dull, throbbing headache, and her guts were trying to betray her, she thanked her lucky stars that she had not actually thrown up.
Marco wasn’t so lucky, she thought. Fifteen minutes ago, she had left the poor lieutenant in the crew pod as he was retching violently. She had wanted to stay and help him, but the lack of gravity assured that his vomit splattered the hallway liberally.
Although not completely silent, the propulsion control room was much more pleasant for the moment. She was alone, strapped into a seat in front of one of the three workstations in the room. The room was kept much colder than the rest of the ship, giving her goose bumps and causing her to shiver.
Propulsion maintenance was known to be scut work on the sleeper ships. The nuclear reactor was equipped with an automatic refuel system, but the generators needed to be taken offline one at a time, cleaned, and inspected. The worst part of the work, however, was inspecting the plasma drive and thrusters. Although kept offline for most of the journey, they needed to be inspected and test simulations run to assure their operation for arrival.
I’m not sure that I’d rather do this than be put into stasis for the rest of the journey.
Haruka stared at the terminal screen. Displays indicated the fuel status, reactor temperature, and output level. All parameters were normal. She keyed in a sequence of commands and brought up the automatic refuel system’s log. Haruka checked for errors, but none were to be found.
“Good morning, ma’am,” came a woman’s voice from behind Haruka.
She looked over her shoulder, and watched Airman Nova Weyler make her way into the control room. The tall, blonde airman was a fit and solidly built girl. She was young, too, at nineteen. From what I hear, she picked up her training extremely quickly. Remarkable. Haruka noticed that Nova had not changed her flight suit, grease marks staining the chest and legs. Smart. No need to soil another suit with what we’re about to do.
“Good morning, Weyler. Anything to report?” asked Haruka.
Nova sighed. “Well, it looks like we may be a bit short staffed for a while, ma’am. Lieutenant Mancini is real sick, he’s trying to find Doctor Nelson right now.”
Haruka nodded. “Anything from the bridge?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Very well. I’m going to take generator one offline now, we’ll start there.”
Haruka turned back to the terminal in front of her and began the shutdown sequence for the first generator. The computer processed, and after a few moments acknowledged the shutdown request. The shutdown procedure would take time, as the gas feed from the reactor had to bypass the generator, which then had to cool and spin down. Haruka began to pick nervously at her finger nails as the process moved forward.
Nova Weyler moved to a storage locker and opened it. Haruka watched as she lifted a large tool box from within and effortlessly floated it to a chair. The young woman then opened the box and inventoried its contents, checking the ratcheting tools for proper operation.
Haruka rubbed her hands against her arms and shoulders to help warm up. “How are you feeling?”
Nova did not look up from her task, “Just fine. Frankly, glad to be away from Lieutenant Mancini for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against him, but I’d rather not be wearing his stomach, if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. I can’t blame you there,” Haruk
a replied with a soft smile. I don’t think Marco even wants to be around Marco right now.
Nova pulled a small bundle of screwdrivers from the tool box and loosened the strap binding them. She separated them out, making sure that there was a proper mixture of Philips and flathead drivers, as well as a socket handle for interchangeable bits.
“Ever take one of these generators apart, Weyler?” asked Haruka.
The airman nodded, “They had one of these back at Sheppard, among lots of other things I learned to work on.”
“Propulsion school?”
Nova nodded, then bundled the screwdrivers back together and gently placed them within the toolbox, using the Velcro lining within to secure them. She paused, then said, “It was odd, ma’am, now that I think back on it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I know I tested highly on the mechanics stuff. So here I am, having just finished my training at Sheppard, and I get orders to go, of all places, to Virginia. To the shipyards,” Nova closed the tool box and latched it.
“Wait, the naval shipyard? Why would they do that?” Haruka looked confused.
“I had no idea at the time, ma’am. But they wanted me to learn how to maintain a nuclear reactor. The Lincoln was down there for refueling, so I got lots of hands on work there. Just when I was starting to get used to where I was, I get reassigned again.”
Haruka nodded, “To Laramie, right?”
“I had never heard of an Air Force base out there, but I figured they had sent me to a Navy shipyard, so what the heck. So I fly out to Wyoming and get myself tossed into a crash course on sleeper ships,” Nova shook her head and shrugged. “I wonder how long they had been planning to take me out there.”
Haruka pondered for a moment, and then glanced back at the screen. The gas feed was bypassed, but the reactor was still spinning, and far too warm to work on. She continued, “I have no doubt that your talent caught the eye of those in charge of Project Columbus.”
“Like your father, ma’am?”
Haruka stopped and looked Nova straight in her deep brown eyes. She could see Nova’s right eye twitching slightly, along with the corner of her mouth. She began to get an eerie feeling in the back of her mind. She could not place it, but her skin began to crawl.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 8
