James Scotson - Planets Falling

The navigation route to Nine was well established. However, this did not mean that the job was easy or without peril. Any change in space along the route like a supernova or a wandering comet may lead to a quick death or possibly a prolonged stranding. It was Melat’s responsibility to check the charts and the status of the buoys to ensure safe passage. She often imagined that she descended from the steamboat navigators of the 19th century Mississippi River on old earth. The river always changed with flood waters and droughts; it was an organic, living thing, requiring constant vigilance and commanding respect. Space-time was a similar beast and a considerable opponent. It also was a friend and companion that bred fondness and familiarity.

A raspy voice startled her. “Mel, how are you progressing?” She knew it was Fromer before he spoke — the glow in the room always betrayed his presence.

“Peachy. The Raven’s looking good and the route’s hazard free. We can begin loading cargo soon. Who all is traveling to Nine with us?”

“Grey and his uncle, Verat, Iggy, four of my crew, Gorian, you, and me.”

“Why are we bringing security? I thought the only danger on the planet was a slip on a slimy rock? Or sweating to death?”

“Never hurts to be cautious.”

“As for cargo?”

“Gorian has designed several drones to release on the surface. They will fly the planet and upload data to the satellite network. Survival gear — in case we get stranded.”

“Are you questioning my piloting skills? My ship doesn’t lose its way,” Melat half joked.

“Standard procedure, Mel. Goodness, I never expected you to be touchy. We also will be bringing the standard survey gear, probably five crates. Finally, there will be another cargo container that only I can access. I would appreciate you not asking me about it.”

“What’s in it? It’s my ship Fromer. I need to know everything. Otherwise, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Thank you for not asking, Mel. I swear you to secrecy then. Weapons.”

Melat bristled. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why on earth would you bring weapons? There’s no evidence of piracy out here. So, there’s no risk en route. What’s on that planet that requires guns and bombs?”

“I am more concerned about who might be on the ship. I have evidence that the defabrication on deck 34 was not accidental. Someone tampered with HM’s programming. I have said enough already.”

“You expect me to put us in space, shuttling from one dimension to another, with a potential killer on board? I thought you were intelligent and more importantly, wise. This blows that theory out the airlock.”

“My reasoning is sound, I promise. Nothing will happen to us. As long as I am the only one with access to the container all will be well. How long will the drop take?”

Melat engulfed Fromer in silence. She stared out her window into sparsely starred space. “Fromer, what do you want from all this?”

Fromer was puzzled. “This mission? I want the crew to be safe and gather all the necessary information to unravel the puzzle on Nine.”

“No, I mean your life here. Our life here.”

“Well, I do not want to be here, although recent events make my job more intriguing.”

“Beyond that, Fromer. You’ve spent your entire life doing the bidding of others. Have you ever considered yourself? You’re like a slave to the Institute. They made you and you follow their orders like a good soldier. You have such potential.” She paused, considering how to structure her next words. “I care about you Fromer. You and I are the same in so many ways. We have no history, no blood to tie us to the past.”

Fromer shrugged. “You are wrong Mel. You do have a family, ancestors, heritage. You have a choice whether to embrace or reject them. I have no one, no choice. I do not belong in any category — I am a piece of sophisticated machinery nothing else.”

Melat stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened, unable to respond. The only physical contact he’d experienced was by holding Darce’s hand so many years ago and later when a fist or foot contacted him during combat — a rarity. Mel held on; Fromer’s muscles finally relaxed. For the first time in his life he sobbed — a single tear glowing green in the starlit room.

She whispered in his tiny ear, “No more worries. Neither of us has to follow orders again. We’ll take the ship tonight. Imagine us, alone, in the galaxy. We can travel anywhere and enjoy our lives together.”

He considered for an eternity. “No, we cannot.”

The Raven was fully loaded. Ionized gas trickled from her thrusters. The quantum drive thrummed below the feet of the passengers. Melat sat in the green light of the command, a needle inserted in a vein on her hand, drugs coursing through her. In the mid compartment, Fromer, Grey and the remainder of the crew were seated — cramped but fairly comfortable. No one felt calm before a drop. The horror stories of chilling death were palpable and all too true.

But they took solace in Melat’s experience and confidence. They knew that her body was in the forward compartment under heavy sedation. However, they also understood that her mind was quite active, surrounding them in every technical system of the ship. The Raven was not entirely mechanical now; it had a biological presence, perhaps a soul.

A pleasant voice began counting down. “Three minutes before drop. Please be seated and remain calm. All systems nominal.” They knew that somewhere in all that circuitry it was Melat reassuring them. The quantum drive thudded loudly. Again, this was normal. As Melat reorganized space-time at the first buoy, it sounded as if the universe itself was protesting. “One minute until drop.” The cabin lights dimmed as most of the Raven’s power was diverted to the drives. The drop was beginning. At this juncture, there was no turning back. If the drives stopped, a portion of the ship would slide elsewhere, leaving twisted metal, cargo, guns, and bodies floating in space, split in half and light-years apart.

The drop executed. Dandelion seeds drifted lazily in the breeze.

The passengers felt the unsettling sensation in the dark cabin. Not the flop of the stomach one felt while suddenly dropping in a lift. Rather, their entire bodies were twisted — warm dough about to be placed in a hot oven. The feeling was normal — they all were seasoned travelers of course. As they adjusted to the stretching, a new, unusual feeling assualted them. First, it occurred to each of them that they had experienced this exact moment before — strong deja vu. Then their bodies stretched beyond what was physically possible. Dull pain emanated from the marrow of their bones and screamed at their brains to stop. A moment later, the drives stopped humming. The lights resumed. And the pain vanished.

“What happened to me? That was not normal. I feel like my spine was yanked out.” Verat fell out of his seat and splayed himself on the floor.

Fromer jumped up and ran to the command compartment.

“Fromer, you’re not supposed to enter until Melat gives the all clear,” Grey exclaimed.

“Mel has to be in distress. She needs help.” Fromer pulled open the door. Green light blinded him. Melat was on the floor curled in a ball, hands clenched, and gasping; the needle was pulled out of her hand. Blood soaked her blue cotton shirt and dripped in a puddle on the floor. Fromer looked at the forward view screen. A large gas giant planet loomed ahead, streaked in violet and yellow. Fromer glanced at the navigation screen and reviewed the log. When Melat lost control, the ship’s systems automatically located the planet and docked the vessel in a stable orbit around the giant.