BOONE’S JOURNEY

 

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

The familiar pattern of flashing lights lulled her into the place between complacency and comfort. Talia’s lips pursed, humming in beat to the light’s pulsations as she flew through the motions, marking items systematically off her imaginary checklist. Landing gear ready – check, deceleration auto pilot – check, sensory gauge on – check, vodka – check, check. Everything seemed in place. Rebooting the computers on the Turinth Outposts had been part of her mission for the past five years, making this more of a habit than a challenge.

Preliminary reports done, Talia stretched out along her seat, resting her feet on the window above the control panel, letting the vodka seep down her throat until it burned. Her reflection stared back at her. Even in the dark, she could see why people tried to approach her. The collage of awards sewn into every shirt announced her as a prodigy. Combined with her smooth skin, fit body, and full lips, the Academy had tried to brand her as the poster child for their program. That plan failed, and continued to fail at every press conference, training session, or investor’s meeting. What her lips lured over, her sharp tongue deterred. No one wanted their kids growing up to be like her; hell, she didn’t even want to be like her. She closed her eyes against the annoying repetition of the lights and lifted her flask to her lips. The lights might offer reassurance to some, but to her, it simply reminded her that every second of her life was dictated by another person or mission.

Even with her eyes closed, the lights flashed in her mind, amplifying the headache pounding in her head. No matter how many times she had made this trip, it still wore on her. Not even the harsh drink could erase the dull pain at the base of her neck where the edges of the headrest cut in.

She had cursed the budgetary cutbacks over the years. Whoever thought a padded seat cushion amounted to luxury had certainly never ridden in a cruiser for eighteen hours straight. But as long as the cutbacks stopped at equipment, and not her paycheck or liquor, Talia didn’t mind. To her, the new bottle in her cabinet was just as impressive, if not more useful, than the new award sewn into her sleeve.

Truth be told, none of it really bothered her on this trip – the silence, the space, and the freedom outweighed any discomforts. This was the one mission free of the micromanagement plaguing the newer recruits. No video monitors gauging cost efficiency, no one watching as she stripped out of her suit, and most importantly, no one to trade stories with.

They tried that before, on a mission to set up a remote fueling station between the Capital and Lancher planets. The poor new recruit wanted to trade histories, as if some camaraderie would form between them. Talia smiled, remembering his pale face as she shared her story, how her parents had no clue how to handle their gifted yet anti-social child. The relief on their faces as they realized her preference for isolation, and dropped her off at the academy. Her future solidified at ten. Apparently her history was not the kind that motivated. When they teamed her up again, her words of wisdom were of the ‘stay out of my way and hand me the vodka’ variety, but they didn’t like that either. After that, they gave her the outlier missions. And she never complained too much.

She always made a show of volunteering, but honestly, she looked forward to this trip. Missions this easy rarely popped up, and in terms of simplicity, this one was mindless. All that it required was acceptance of isolation, knowledge of basic electronics, and familiarity with the outdated tools left at the outposts. The former she had in spades; the rest, she had learned to improvise.

Anchored to the second moon of Turin, the outposts served as the main communication buoy for their quadrant of the galaxy. Nestled between two black holes, electromagnetic disturbance wreaked havoc on their communication and visibility. The solution, hastily built outposts that connected communication between planets through a crude hardwired system and a complex arrangement of satellites and transponders. The system needed to be updated, especially now that the business and political centers of their galaxy required more energy, but justifying the cost was hard to explain when no one wanted to admit to limitations or deficits. There was a system in place, and that seemed to appease most – no matter how outdated or broken that system was. For the cost of one explorer, and a bare bone cruiser, the façade continued.

One more hour and she would be there. Beyond her feet, she saw the outposts emerge out of the darkness. Large metal beams stacked atop each other, narrowing in toward the top, making a ladder or a temple depending on the angle. The lights flashed along the edge of the beams, with a hypnotic pull, while underneath the metal a tangled web of wires hid.

She remembered her first trip here and the terror when she had climbed that metal monstrosity for the first time. A mangled mess of wires crossed and twisted around each beam. They habitually frayed, requiring habitual maintenance and welding. Working with the archaic tools, she’d managed to burn through the outer shell of her suit with the soldering iron, and barely held onto the melted wires that ran throughout the beam. If it weren’t for some quick thinking and a reserve of brass nerves, the entire communication system would have faltered. It was amazing that her heart hadn’t jumped out of her chest; it hammered more than she had on the wires.

That victory drink had never tasted so good.

The thing about victory drinks though, after the first one, the rest pale in comparison, leaving a hollow pang of longing. She knew that feeling too well. Another sip of Amiliba vodka coated her throat, burning a slow path.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

She watched the lights between her boots, flickering in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of her previous night on Amiliba, and smiled. The sickly-sweet drink rested on her lips, teasing her with its burn and memories.

The colonized planets in their galaxy ranged from civilized to archaic, depending on their primary focus when founded. The planets surrounding their suns housed their political leaders and scientists, while the remaining planets scattered throughout the system served a single purpose. Unfortunately, rather than develop or change plans, planets became discarded with the advancement of technology and needs.

Amiliba was a strange combination of agriculture and pharmaceuticals. From above, circular paths marked the different regions. The natural farms wound between the greenhouses and manufacturing plants. Boasting the highest ratio of pills per person, warehouses lined the streets, responsible for both growing and transforming their food into capsules. As interest waned, more abandoned buildings increased. These darker corners called to Talia, luring her in with other types of pills and promises. A refuge to the outliers of society, and a blend of outdated purposes and expectations, Amiliba quickly became an irresistible temptation before every mission.

The visions pulsed in sync with the lights and her lips parted in remembrance. Nights there flew by way too fast, and the distracting memories quickly faded with duty’s renewed claim on her focus. But with this mindless mission, she could reminisce for one more day. That’s what she wanted, one more day to remember the warmth of his embrace, his breath on her neck, and the way her body moved free of its cumbersome suit. The bottomless drinks and the thick haze of smoke helped erase any thoughts of preserving her reputation. One night was usually enough to remind her that she was still alive, that the restrictions of her suit and decorated awards hadn’t erased her yet.

The thick, pink drink snuck through her smile, catching in the back of her throat. Before she could stop her cough, vodka sputtered out, coating the dash in sticky pink.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue, red, red, red.

Crap, crap, crap. Her feet flew down in an instant, knocking over manuals, and the rest of her drink as she leaned over the instrument panel. The lights above the round dashes flickered in warning, as her drink seeped between the cracks.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” she protested. She swore loudly as she wiped down the instrument panel, watching as the liquid disappeared into the dash. Her fingers dripped with her favorite drink, a sticky mess.

Red, red, red, red.

She had no idea what to do. A knot tightened in her stomach as she watched the colored lights stutter in false patterns, no longer connected to the outpost. Her fingers found a way to her mouth, but the sweetness of the drink had soured.

“Base command, can you read me? Base command, come in. Dammit!” She slammed her fist onto the panel as the sporadic flickering slowly faded and the interior of the cruiser turned black.

“This is not happening.” She flicked the controls up, down, and sideways, bruising her palm. “Dammit!” she cursed again.

Leaning back, the lights from the outpost taunted her. Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

Tears stung, brimming at the edge of her eyes. Her chin quivered uncontrollably as her mind raced. Silent accusations hit her. How could I be so stupid? And more importantly, she thought, noticing the darkness around her as the cruiser began to drift and spin away. How long would it take for someone to find me?

Get yourself together. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness fill her senses and realign her sight. Their suits, although garish and constricting, were lined with reflective strips. When she held her arm forward, she could see a few feet in front of her. The phosphorus light emitted enough to differentiate between the color-coded wires.

Deep breaths, slow breaths, she reminded herself, slowing her heart beat to dull thumps as her basic training resurfaced. There was nothing to this – a simple, systematic approach was required. This wire to that wire, and repeat. Backup systems were programmed into the cruiser for cases like this. She would get the lights up and running, probably with just enough time to find her hidden stash before realigning with the outpost.

Clearing the seat of the fallen manuals with her forearm, she wedged herself into the floor compartment, tracing the floor until she found the small ridges outlining the tool area. The box should have all the tools she needed, and access to the main control panel.

The squeak of the door broke the silence, following by the clanking of tools as she pulled and discarded most until she found what she needed. Even in the dim light she saw the clouds of her breath, reminding her that the heating system was connected to the main computer as well.

Time was running out in more ways than one.

The screwdriver slipped beneath her grasp, clattering as it fell to the floor. Her fingers froze from the stress and falling temperatures. Her mind conjured up repair processes her body could not carry out. Her second attempt to operate the screwdriver worked better, although the tip jumped out of its designated groove. Even in the panic-inducing darkness, she would not admit her ineptitude to be due to her trembling from fear. A ruse needed to be a ruse, even to herself.

And lying to herself had become like breathing. Especially when fear wrenched up the one memory that continued to paralyze her. She remembered the tears, the weak quivering voice as her mom tried to explain their reasons, the way her father closed the door behind them without looking back. They didn’t even look back. Not that it mattered, Talia hid her tears. Every day, she denied their release, until they stopped. Isolated in her own body, she trained with abandon, relishing the solitude of the chambers, and the echoing silence. Isolation made her, gave her an identity. She assimilated easily, she didn’t have another choice.

She learned long ago in her trainings within the dark tunnels, and isolation chamber, that fear was not tolerated. Precise, calculated, fearless. Those were the qualities the Academy wanted. Wearing her suit, that is what she had learned to be. Her suit enabled her to disassociate herself from any predicament long enough to resolve the problem, sometimes longer. Maybe that was why she had volunteered so readily for this mission, and shed her suit so quickly on Amiliba.

She licked her fingers, waiting for the familiar burn to come. It didn’t.

Sweat dripped down her cheeks, despite the cold temperature of the ship. She read the red line on the temperature gauge: forty-five degrees, and dropping. If she didn’t get the power on soon, she would need to get in her full suit, and there would be no room to maneuver in that. She needed the control panel open, and now.

With concentrated effort, she turned the screwdrivers until a faint click sounded. Anticipation flooded her as she gripped the loosened edges. Prying open the door, she jumped back as a mess of wires fell into her lap.

 

Her head hit the seat in frustration. The pit in her stomach widened as she pulled out each frayed wire. Her last string of hope diminished as the silver and copper frayed tips scratched her fingers. She threw the tangled mess against the wall.

Now what am I going to do? She shuddered, and pulled the cuff over her hands for warmth.

She reached forward in desperation, hoping something would hold, feeling her resolve crack as sobs slowly burst forth, shaking her to the core. She snatched recklessly, yelling as shorn wire after shorn wire fell limp to the floor beside her.

Her cries changed to delirium as her hand held still. Something was still connected.

Into the tool box past her elbows, her face hung close to the ground, she smelled the sickly sweet drink that had spilled. The pull was stronger than her disgust, and despite being tangled in the wires, her tongue found a way to the ground. Despite the slightly altered taste, the familiar burn returned.

Hanging upside down, sticky pink on her cheek, she probably would have laughed, had the circumstances been different. Resisting another taste, she dove further into the cramped space, cringing as the metal edges dug into her arms.

The silence broke with an alarm. A shrill buzzer filled the quiet, followed by her scream. She jerked her arm back feeling something burn her forearm. The rancid stench of burning skin quickly mixed with the ammonia stench of the coolant.

One quick look showed her mistake. In her clumsy attempts, her grabbers had slipped into the coolant capsule, breaking the protective seal. She watched in horror as the coolant sprayed out of the compartment. A pang of disappointment hit her, as the bottom disappeared under a layer of purple syrup. Before she could pull herself up, it had coated her shoes, the discarded wires, and the palms of her hands. The acid stung as it burned the outer layer and worked its way up her nose. The pain, although awful was tolerable. The smell was not. She pulled herself out of the tight compartment, and stared at the dark dash, praying that something would illuminate the darkness.

She could no longer hold back the tears. Banging her head back against the seat, she rocked back and forth, cursing her bad luck.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

She wanted to scream at the lights outside. Those infuriating lights laughed at her with each pulse. This was supposed to be simple. Her teeth began chattering, a drumming accompaniment to the new buzzing from the coolant alarm. This was going from bad to worse, fast. Taking off her boot, she lugged it at the dash, regretting her action immediately as it landed with a splash below.

“No!” she yelled, watching sparks fall from the one active wire into the purple coolant. A new whirling siren blared in her ears. Before she could register what she had done, the cruiser burst into alarm as sparks flew around her.

She winced as she pounded on the buttons, and flicked switches, hearing her voice crack as she called out into radio silence.

“Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup at the Turinth Outposts. Can anyone hear me?”

She held her breath, waiting for something, any form of acknowledgment.

“Come on,” she yelled. “Answer me, dammit. Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts.”

Nothing, not even static responded.

“Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts.” Her words jumbled together as she repeated her call.

“Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts. Save me, I’m not ready to die.” Her chin quivered.

A flash of light blinded her as her instruments burst into flame. Terror punched her in the gut. Smoke filled the lower chamber and worked its way up quickly, choking her breath.

“Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, fire onboard, abandoning ship,” she said through a cough as she grabbed her helmet and gloves.

Silence answered. The communicator was out, the computer down, and she had no locator for tracking. Without that bleep, she was adrift, lost in the wide sea of stars. Forgotten, or presumed dead. No more than thirty minutes of air.

“I can’t die,” she whispered into the fizzing background. “Not like this.”

She looked around the dark cabin, searching the corners for anything that would put the fire out, or start the engine.

Her chest heaved as smoke filled her, burning her throat and lungs. Each second she delayed her escape, amplified the misery. Swinging her hands to clear the smoke, she felt her gloves slide over something. A soft undulating light flickered at her as the light from her suit highlighted a chain.

The emergency chain. How could I have forgotten about that?

Taking her gloves off, she gripped the frozen metal in her hand and pulled. It didn’t budge. She tried again, nothing happened. The emergency program had frozen with the computer.

She threw her gloves back on and sealed the helmet around her neck, not wasting time on futile emotions. The smoke, although no longer choking her, blinded her vision. The fire no longer idly crawled across the floor. Red flames ate at the broken seat and above on the instrument dash, encroaching on the small personal space she had retreated to behind her seat.

She only had one more chance, if she could reach it.

Hidden behind a wall of black smoke and flames, the escape hatch became her sole focus. Thrusting through the wall of smoke and flames, she felt her skin melt beneath the thick suit. She fumbled in the darkness, feeling for the latch that would release the window. She had kicked it so many times resting back on the seat, but now, it eluded her.

Tears stung as they slid down her cheek, and sobs echoed in her helmet. This can’t be it, not like this. Her fingers slid against the wall. “Not like this,” she yelled out aloud as her hands grasped the rigid handle.

She pulled. The fire froze. Immediately all sound silenced.

Her skin hurt.

Turning her wrist over, she looked at the flashing red numbers, automatically started when the suit sealed, a descending and rhythmic countdown. Somehow that computer still managed to function, she fumed. With thirty minutes of oxygen, she’d only put off the inevitable.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

Beyond her shoulder, the pale outline of her yellow cruiser had already disappeared to nothing. Her gasps increased as the warning beeps sounded around her. Her chest tightened as she struggled to find the right emotion. A chuckle shook her body, exaggerating the hysterics consuming her. Drifting away, she watched the familiar lights disappear under the brighter cosmos as she melted into the dark void of space, joining the distant stars.

Her mind raced trying to find something, someone who would miss her. Trying to find something she had left behind. Finally, she understood why they trained her for isolation. It wasn’t to strengthen her. It was to strengthen the program, a necessity to separate the explorers from everyone else. No one would notice she was gone. No one would care. No one had cared since that day when they dropped her off. In the harsh light of despair, the worthiness of her cause dematerialized. Painful sobs racked her body until the tears ran dry and all that was left was a numb shell of emotion.

The steady rhythm of red light pulsing on her shoulder grabbed her attention. Under the red beam, highlighted like a fresh wound, her mission patches seemed to bleed. Not even her name, Talia Boone stayed pristine. She lost count of her awards, feeling no consolation in their honor.

She had explored the galaxy, but now, on her final journey, she regretted how little she had actually travelled. In the last moments, only the regrets stood out.

With her eyes closed, she wished her heart would slow. The erratic beats slowly fell into line, a soft bump under the soft hum of the monitoring system. Letting go of the fight, she let her mind numb, allowed her consciousness to blend into the electronic noise, and embraced the emptiness.

Struggling to breathe, each breath constricted against her chest. An invisible enemy seemed to tighten its grasp with every intake of air.

Hollowness filled her. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting the darkness to swallow her whole. Instead the myriad of stars blended together in a haze of interconnected lights, rhythms, and pattern. One color streamed into another, emblazing the dark sky. New tears stung, refusing to fully disappear or release, waiting instead in a flood on the edge.

Time stretched and more star clusters and patterns appeared. Squinting at the stars, she wondered when she became blind to the beauty around her. At some point, she had forgotten to see them as more than a map.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

 

 

THE END