Alan angrily wadded up the letter, and flung it into the night sky. It arced outward towards the moon until it caught in the salty night breeze, quickly veered right, finally coming to rest on the surface of the water; far, far below. Alan carefully placed the pictures back in his shirt pocket, and began climbing the railing; ready to follow the letter to the waves below.
"I can get you another copy of that letter if you want back it that bad, son," the Captain’s voice came from behind him, "I’d really rather you didn’t go in after it."
Alan paused, leaning his shins against the top of the railing. "How’d you know where to find me, sir?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Wasn’t too hard. After you stormed out of my office, you punched the hell out of that bulkhead. The trail of blood was hard to miss."
Alan looked down at his hands again. He had obviously broken a couple bones in his right hand; it was swelling up rapidly. The knuckles on his left hand continued to slowly bleed. The blood had pooled and started to clot around his wedding ring, and ran down the length of his fingers. Physical pain was the farthest thing from his mind.
"I’ve got nothing left, Sir. My parents… My wife… My sweet… little girl…" he said, the tears once again beginning to flow.
"Son, I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but what you’re getting ready to do out here right now doesn’t change anything…."
Alan moved his left foot to the top rail.
"Davis," Wallace said more sternly, "runnin’ away like this is just as cowardly as what those bastards did to your family."
Rage overtook Alan. He spun down from the railing, and shot like a bolt of lightning towards the Captain, outstretched hands reaching for his throat as he unleashed a primal scream.
Alan never ever saw Wallace’s right jab before it connected, crumpling him to the deck.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Week 12 Journal 1 : What do you want?
"Sir," Vic peeped meekly from behind him as he began to get up from his chair.
"What’s up, Vicky?" Alan replied.
"I was wondering... Commander Novikova mentioned that you used to be stationed at the shipyards."
"Vic, I really need to get some bunk time," Alan replied, rubbing at the migraine threatening to grab hold of him. Walk with me."
Vic quickly fell into step alongside the Captain as they walked off the command deck, down the hall towards the Captain’s quarters.
"Yes, Vicky. I worked in the yard itself for a few years when I first got there. My specialty was artificial gravity equipment. I worked on grav plating and hover systems in probably half of the ships in the reserve fleet right now, including the Powell."
"Oh," Vic replied, a little disappointed.
"What? Grav plating isn't exciting enough for you, Vicky?"
"N-no, sir!" Vic stammered, turning beet red. "I mean…"
Alan laughed. "Oh… Thanks Vic, I needed that. That’s the first time I've laughed all week. Novikova told me you were going to ask me about the shipyards sooner or later, once you'd plucked up the courage. You want to know about hyperdrive, right?"
"I have to know. Everyone just tells me to stop poking around. It's classified. The only people with the answers work in the shipyards. I don't think I can ever let it go."
"Even if that means a court martial, Vic? Hyperdrive is a major military secret..."
"That every space-faring nation out here already has!" Vic cried, exasperated. "What's the point in protecting a military secret that's not a secret anymore??... Sir."
Alan stopped walking, and turned to face Vic. "That is a good question, Vic. The answer is classified."
Vic tried to hide his incredulity, but was less than successful. "The reason why hyperdrive is classified... is classified. Great."
"It's even more confusing than that, Vic, I promise. Most military secrets are. Look, I've got to get some sleep. Tell you what; meet me tomorrow at 1900 on the hangar deck. I need an extra pair of hands to help me with a couple things on the Isis. I'll tell you what little I can then without clearances."
"Yes sir, Thank-you sir! G-goodnight Sir!" Vic said as he hurried down the hall to the junior officer's quarters.
Alan chuckled to himself as he walked into his quarters. Vic reminded him of himself. Many, many years ago.
"What’s up, Vicky?" Alan replied.
"I was wondering... Commander Novikova mentioned that you used to be stationed at the shipyards."
"Vic, I really need to get some bunk time," Alan replied, rubbing at the migraine threatening to grab hold of him. Walk with me."
Vic quickly fell into step alongside the Captain as they walked off the command deck, down the hall towards the Captain’s quarters.
"Yes, Vicky. I worked in the yard itself for a few years when I first got there. My specialty was artificial gravity equipment. I worked on grav plating and hover systems in probably half of the ships in the reserve fleet right now, including the Powell."
"Oh," Vic replied, a little disappointed.
"What? Grav plating isn't exciting enough for you, Vicky?"
"N-no, sir!" Vic stammered, turning beet red. "I mean…"
Alan laughed. "Oh… Thanks Vic, I needed that. That’s the first time I've laughed all week. Novikova told me you were going to ask me about the shipyards sooner or later, once you'd plucked up the courage. You want to know about hyperdrive, right?"
"I have to know. Everyone just tells me to stop poking around. It's classified. The only people with the answers work in the shipyards. I don't think I can ever let it go."
"Even if that means a court martial, Vic? Hyperdrive is a major military secret..."
"That every space-faring nation out here already has!" Vic cried, exasperated. "What's the point in protecting a military secret that's not a secret anymore??... Sir."
Alan stopped walking, and turned to face Vic. "That is a good question, Vic. The answer is classified."
Vic tried to hide his incredulity, but was less than successful. "The reason why hyperdrive is classified... is classified. Great."
"It's even more confusing than that, Vic, I promise. Most military secrets are. Look, I've got to get some sleep. Tell you what; meet me tomorrow at 1900 on the hangar deck. I need an extra pair of hands to help me with a couple things on the Isis. I'll tell you what little I can then without clearances."
"Yes sir, Thank-you sir! G-goodnight Sir!" Vic said as he hurried down the hall to the junior officer's quarters.
Alan chuckled to himself as he walked into his quarters. Vic reminded him of himself. Many, many years ago.
Week 11 Journal 2 : Seven things I know about Alan Davis.
Caught Cheating
During eighth grade, Many, many students were stuffing the ballot box for the homecoming king and queen. Alan was the only student caught doing it. He was made to stand up in front of the entire student body, take responsibility for his cheating, and as a result, the election was invalidated and there would be no King or Queen that year.
Pack-Rat
Alan’s mother was always very thrifty; saving anything that could be reused, fixing clothes and toys that were not beyond repair, looking for bargains, and buying things on sale years before they would ever be needed. This was mostly out of necessity, as his family did not have much money growing up. Even after the kids were all grown and gone, Alan’s mother continued storing things in her basement for posterity, and for eventual grandchildren. Alan’s father hates having to store "all this junk".
Perfect Pitch
Alan has perfect pitch; he can tell you specifically which musical note he hears at any time. He can even tell you which musical chord is being played.
Surprise Gender
Alan’s parents had been told he was a girl in the womb. They were quite surprised when he was otherwise-equipped when he arrived. His name was supposed to be Amy.
Pent up Emotion
Alan has a very high tolerance for controlling his emotions, but if he does reach his breaking point, he becomes almost maniacal in his rage, suicidal in despair, giddy with happiness, etc.
Nickname
"Do not call me Al."
Drinking
Beer and wine both give Alan horrible headaches. His drink of choice is vodka or rum mixed with fruit juice.
During eighth grade, Many, many students were stuffing the ballot box for the homecoming king and queen. Alan was the only student caught doing it. He was made to stand up in front of the entire student body, take responsibility for his cheating, and as a result, the election was invalidated and there would be no King or Queen that year.
Pack-Rat
Alan’s mother was always very thrifty; saving anything that could be reused, fixing clothes and toys that were not beyond repair, looking for bargains, and buying things on sale years before they would ever be needed. This was mostly out of necessity, as his family did not have much money growing up. Even after the kids were all grown and gone, Alan’s mother continued storing things in her basement for posterity, and for eventual grandchildren. Alan’s father hates having to store "all this junk".
Perfect Pitch
Alan has perfect pitch; he can tell you specifically which musical note he hears at any time. He can even tell you which musical chord is being played.
Surprise Gender
Alan’s parents had been told he was a girl in the womb. They were quite surprised when he was otherwise-equipped when he arrived. His name was supposed to be Amy.
Pent up Emotion
Alan has a very high tolerance for controlling his emotions, but if he does reach his breaking point, he becomes almost maniacal in his rage, suicidal in despair, giddy with happiness, etc.
Nickname
"Do not call me Al."
Drinking
Beer and wine both give Alan horrible headaches. His drink of choice is vodka or rum mixed with fruit juice.
Week 11 Journal #1
Elena walked onto the hangar deck, squinting as she was overwhelmed by the deluge of echoing rock music and welding equipment. As the door slid shut behind her, she grabbed a set of sound-suppression earphones off the wall, and began walking to the last berth on the port-side of the hangar, passing non-descript shuttlecraft, and short-range patrol ships.
There, she found the same sight she had found every time she had made this trip. A lair of legs jutted out from an access panel to the engine bay of the Isis, intermittently accompanied by a shower of sparks from the welding going on inside. The cabin access door stood open, belching an overpowering guitar riff from the audio equipment inside.
Elena sighed, and keyed a control alongside the cabin door. It slid shut, bottling the music inside. The legs inside tensed for a moment at the unexpected silence.
"What is it, Elena?" the Captain’s voice came from inside the engine bay.
"Jerry’s been trying to reach you for fifteen minutes. We got the go-order for the rendezvous."
The welder fired up one more time, finishing off the task it was on. Alan gently wriggled out from the compartment. "Jerry got you out of bed to tell me that?" he said as he reached for the tattered old T-shirt draped over the open access panel to wipe his hands and face.
"It’s 0400, sir. You’ve been in here all night."
"Couldn’t sleep. Besides, with everything else going on, I don’t exactly get much down time anymore to work on her," he said, patting the Isis like a favorite pet.
"I still can’t believe you can afford all of this. I mean, gravity plating in there is better than anything I’ve seen on any Alliance cruiser."
Alan finishing resealing the engine compartment. He arched his back, crackling several vertebrae back into alignment.
"I made a lot of money when I was an engineer on mining ships in the field," he said, as he reached into a cooler stashed behind one of the landing pylons. He threw one bottle of water to Elena, and opened another for himself as he walked around his creation. "Mining crews get paid by the kilo; equal shares for the whole crew, except the Captain, who usually gets double. We were out on some rock in the middle of the field. We’d found a concentration of platinum."
"Platinum?" Elena questioned. "Pretty rare in the field, most of it has to come from Earth or Mars, and in pretty small quantities."
"Mm-hmm," Alan replied, "it was way above what should happen naturally. It was like someone had dropped a transport full of the stuff there eons ago. It was more than we could ever hope to haul in a single trip. The ore holds were all full, and the crews had started filling any open space they could find with as much loose ore as they could carry."
Alan paused as he took another swig of water. "I refused to let them put any ore in the engine room. I sealed the hatch to the compartment, and called up to the Captain and told him the ship would not take this amount of load. None of them would listen. All they saw were the dollar signs in their heads. Stupid…"
Alan stopped for a moment, remembering his friends among that mining crew.
"We got away from the asteroid okay, but as soon as they tried to change course for the trip back to Mars, the gravity plating failed. The whole ship went zero-gee, "he recalled painfully. "You could hear all that ore bouncing around in the halls. The emergency bulkheads couldn’t seal because of all the junk in there, tearing the ship apart from the inside out. Section after section depressurized. I managed to get a pressure suit on a couple minutes before the hatch to the engine room was compromised. By the time I was able to get the gravity plating back at minimal power, the entire ship decompressed. Out of sixteen crew members, I was the only survivor."
"Oh my god," Elena said.
"I managed to get enough power online to limp the ship back to the mining station from the engine room. I was happy to get out of there alive. My share of the profit was more than enough to quietly retire on Mars. I got contacted a month or two later by a lawyer for the miner’s union. They had sued the mining company on my behalf."
"Why?"
"The mining contract has a negligence clause… If a crew member knowingly, through action or inaction, contributed to the disaster, they lost eligibility for their share. The Union had it included in all contracts to make sure the mining company didn’t make crews take more risks than they already did. Since the entire crew was negligent, none of their shares were valid. As a result, I was entitled to the entire profit from the haul, not the mining company. After the Union took their cut of the settlement, I ended up with ten times more than I would have taken otherwise."
Elena shook her head in amazement. "Why didn’t you retire then?"
"There’s not exactly a lot to do out here, you know? If you’re not mining, and not in the military, you’re pretty much just sitting around. Most retired miners blow their money on booze, drugs, and whatever else they can find on Mars. I started buying spare parts from all over the Solar system to build myself a little pleasure boat. I got audited a few times; the Alliance got a little worried with my purchasing supplied from the EU and SAC. In fact, this little ship is what got me back into the military. They put me in the shipyards to keep a closer eye on what I was up to until they were sure I wasn’t going to lead a revolution or something."
There, she found the same sight she had found every time she had made this trip. A lair of legs jutted out from an access panel to the engine bay of the Isis, intermittently accompanied by a shower of sparks from the welding going on inside. The cabin access door stood open, belching an overpowering guitar riff from the audio equipment inside.
Elena sighed, and keyed a control alongside the cabin door. It slid shut, bottling the music inside. The legs inside tensed for a moment at the unexpected silence.
"What is it, Elena?" the Captain’s voice came from inside the engine bay.
"Jerry’s been trying to reach you for fifteen minutes. We got the go-order for the rendezvous."
The welder fired up one more time, finishing off the task it was on. Alan gently wriggled out from the compartment. "Jerry got you out of bed to tell me that?" he said as he reached for the tattered old T-shirt draped over the open access panel to wipe his hands and face.
"It’s 0400, sir. You’ve been in here all night."
"Couldn’t sleep. Besides, with everything else going on, I don’t exactly get much down time anymore to work on her," he said, patting the Isis like a favorite pet.
"I still can’t believe you can afford all of this. I mean, gravity plating in there is better than anything I’ve seen on any Alliance cruiser."
Alan finishing resealing the engine compartment. He arched his back, crackling several vertebrae back into alignment.
"I made a lot of money when I was an engineer on mining ships in the field," he said, as he reached into a cooler stashed behind one of the landing pylons. He threw one bottle of water to Elena, and opened another for himself as he walked around his creation. "Mining crews get paid by the kilo; equal shares for the whole crew, except the Captain, who usually gets double. We were out on some rock in the middle of the field. We’d found a concentration of platinum."
"Platinum?" Elena questioned. "Pretty rare in the field, most of it has to come from Earth or Mars, and in pretty small quantities."
"Mm-hmm," Alan replied, "it was way above what should happen naturally. It was like someone had dropped a transport full of the stuff there eons ago. It was more than we could ever hope to haul in a single trip. The ore holds were all full, and the crews had started filling any open space they could find with as much loose ore as they could carry."
Alan paused as he took another swig of water. "I refused to let them put any ore in the engine room. I sealed the hatch to the compartment, and called up to the Captain and told him the ship would not take this amount of load. None of them would listen. All they saw were the dollar signs in their heads. Stupid…"
Alan stopped for a moment, remembering his friends among that mining crew.
"We got away from the asteroid okay, but as soon as they tried to change course for the trip back to Mars, the gravity plating failed. The whole ship went zero-gee, "he recalled painfully. "You could hear all that ore bouncing around in the halls. The emergency bulkheads couldn’t seal because of all the junk in there, tearing the ship apart from the inside out. Section after section depressurized. I managed to get a pressure suit on a couple minutes before the hatch to the engine room was compromised. By the time I was able to get the gravity plating back at minimal power, the entire ship decompressed. Out of sixteen crew members, I was the only survivor."
"Oh my god," Elena said.
"I managed to get enough power online to limp the ship back to the mining station from the engine room. I was happy to get out of there alive. My share of the profit was more than enough to quietly retire on Mars. I got contacted a month or two later by a lawyer for the miner’s union. They had sued the mining company on my behalf."
"Why?"
"The mining contract has a negligence clause… If a crew member knowingly, through action or inaction, contributed to the disaster, they lost eligibility for their share. The Union had it included in all contracts to make sure the mining company didn’t make crews take more risks than they already did. Since the entire crew was negligent, none of their shares were valid. As a result, I was entitled to the entire profit from the haul, not the mining company. After the Union took their cut of the settlement, I ended up with ten times more than I would have taken otherwise."
Elena shook her head in amazement. "Why didn’t you retire then?"
"There’s not exactly a lot to do out here, you know? If you’re not mining, and not in the military, you’re pretty much just sitting around. Most retired miners blow their money on booze, drugs, and whatever else they can find on Mars. I started buying spare parts from all over the Solar system to build myself a little pleasure boat. I got audited a few times; the Alliance got a little worried with my purchasing supplied from the EU and SAC. In fact, this little ship is what got me back into the military. They put me in the shipyards to keep a closer eye on what I was up to until they were sure I wasn’t going to lead a revolution or something."
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Week 10 Journal 2 : Room 101: Acrophobia
“Let’s stay in tonight and watch a movie,” Alice said as she showly unbuttoned her sweater, revealing a black silk camisole underneath. Tonight was going to be the night!
She nuzzled into my side as I sat; the warmth of her breath on my neck. She slowly flipped the channel, finally stopping on one of those Lifetime channels… I would have complained any other night.
A man and a woman walked arm in arm through a lobby, both giggling with the intoxication of each other’s company… and the drinks from the hotel bar they had just left behind.
“Your room or mine?” the woman said, as Alice unbuttoned a few buttons on my shirt.
“Mine’s the Penthouse,” he answered, nibbling at the woman’s ear.
“Sounds good to me,” the woman replied, fumbling through the alcoholic haze to find the elevator control. The elevator bell rang obediently, and the doors slid open silently to reveal the elevator car.
The glass-walled elevator car.
My heart had already quickened from Alice’s proximity, but now the beats shifted again. The couple stumbled into the elevator, and the man reached over to press “75” key, the top floor. The woman leaned back against the glass wall of the elevator, as the doors slid shut; a prison cell door slamming home in my mind.
I could feel the blood draining from my face as the elevator rocketed into the sky. The man stepped over to the woman in the elevator, pressing her up against the glass wall. She lifted her feet off the floor; wrapping them around his waist as he pulled open her blouse.
Alice slid her hand inside my open shirt to stroke my chest, unaware of the personal hell playing out in front of us. As the couple on the television disrobed, the elevator continued to climb with my blood pressure.
“Don’t get too excited now,” Alice said, noticing how hard my heart was beating. She took her eyes off the screen to look at me. “Paul, are you okay, you’re white as a ghost!”
Then, the man reached behind him to pull the elevator stop control. With a gut-wrenching thud, the elevator lurched to a stop; bouncing like a ragdoll on its cables.
The room spun. Everything went white. I was falling.
The next thing I remember, I was lying on the couch with a wet washcloth on my forehead. Alice looked down at me as if I was about to die.
She nuzzled into my side as I sat; the warmth of her breath on my neck. She slowly flipped the channel, finally stopping on one of those Lifetime channels… I would have complained any other night.
A man and a woman walked arm in arm through a lobby, both giggling with the intoxication of each other’s company… and the drinks from the hotel bar they had just left behind.
“Your room or mine?” the woman said, as Alice unbuttoned a few buttons on my shirt.
“Mine’s the Penthouse,” he answered, nibbling at the woman’s ear.
“Sounds good to me,” the woman replied, fumbling through the alcoholic haze to find the elevator control. The elevator bell rang obediently, and the doors slid open silently to reveal the elevator car.
The glass-walled elevator car.
My heart had already quickened from Alice’s proximity, but now the beats shifted again. The couple stumbled into the elevator, and the man reached over to press “75” key, the top floor. The woman leaned back against the glass wall of the elevator, as the doors slid shut; a prison cell door slamming home in my mind.
I could feel the blood draining from my face as the elevator rocketed into the sky. The man stepped over to the woman in the elevator, pressing her up against the glass wall. She lifted her feet off the floor; wrapping them around his waist as he pulled open her blouse.
Alice slid her hand inside my open shirt to stroke my chest, unaware of the personal hell playing out in front of us. As the couple on the television disrobed, the elevator continued to climb with my blood pressure.
“Don’t get too excited now,” Alice said, noticing how hard my heart was beating. She took her eyes off the screen to look at me. “Paul, are you okay, you’re white as a ghost!”
Then, the man reached behind him to pull the elevator stop control. With a gut-wrenching thud, the elevator lurched to a stop; bouncing like a ragdoll on its cables.
The room spun. Everything went white. I was falling.
The next thing I remember, I was lying on the couch with a wet washcloth on my forehead. Alice looked down at me as if I was about to die.
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