Chapter 1, Part 1: The Parcel

The sun hung lazily in the air, beams of light cascading through the tall window, reflecting off of motes of dust as they flit silently through the still air. One of these beams snaked its way across the face of Professor Thorne as she lay hunched over her desk, sleeping lightly, her back rising and falling in slow, smooth movements. Her arms folded in front of her, scattering pencils, and crumpling midterm papers. As she sat there, slowly the beam of light shifted until it shone directly across her still shut eyes.

The intensity of the light, as well as the warmth now permeating her eyelids roused her from slumber. Delicately she raised her head from the desk, the coolness of the wood still faintly lingering on her cheek. With one hand she readjusted the glasses precariously perched on her nose, and sat up straight, as she did so she could hear the sounds of her joints popping gently. With a yawn she spread her arms out wide and stretched, craning her neck to work the stiffness from it that had snuck in as she slept.

With her mind still clouded by the haze of her recent nap, Professor Thorne began to languidly look about her cramped office. Shelves line the wall opposite to her desk, tall and imposing. The metal tubing that comprise their frames glimmered in the sunlight. As she inspected the shelves, her eyes began to dance over the contents contained on them. On one shelf was multiple boxes, with various bobs and papers sticking out every which way from between and inside of them. On another shelf, the metal mesh that made up their surface was so overloaded with textbooks and binders that it was sagging in the middle, as if threatening at any moment to burst through and crush the contents of the shelf below.

Her gaze shifted across the shelves’ contents and her mind began to drift through memories past. This most definitely was not the office she would ever consider her favorite. It was too small and cramped, barely being big enough to fit her desk and her shelves. With a faint smile playing on her lips, she began to reminisce about her prior facilities, the personal office at DeVries University, with it’s own space dedicated for research materials, and another area dedicated for artifacts recovered in the field. She would give anything to be able to have those facilities again.

As she continued down memory lane, a sharp rap rap rap on her office door snapped Professor Thorne back to the present. Sitting up straight, she began to hurriedly tidy her desk fumbling slightly, re-arranging papers and setting things back to their proper places. As she did so she called out to the person waiting outside, a hint of startle in her voice which she tried her best to hide

“The door is unlocked, please come in.”

With a faint click, the handle of the door turned, and swung into the office. Standing framed in the door was Professor Thornes peer, Marcus Quaide, the local professor of theology. He was a broad man of fifty eight, and of a somewhat athletic build, with broad shoulders that almost spanned the width of the door, dressed in a well tailored suit. His face appeared hard and stony, the ocular implant in place of his eyes was fashioned to resemble a pair of wire frame glasses, the mechanical irises of which narrowed in the bright light of her office. For but a brief moment as he stood in her door, he appeared to her as if he was hewn from the very marble the campus was built of. As his eyes met hers however, this facade faded and a warm smile spread across his face as he stepped in.

“Hello Irene, I apologize for interrupting you. I was just dropping by to see how you were doing.” As he walked into the office, he shut the door behind him. He reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket with a gloved hand, a faint whirring could be heard as he grasped whatever was inside, before producing a thin smoking pipe. He glanced over at Irene before asking

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Professor Thorne waved gently towards the window as she responded “Just crack open a window before you light up. It’s bad enough in here with the dust.”

With a faint chuckle Marcus took a stool resting by the wall and dragged it next to the window. With some effort he lifted the heavy frame of the glass, and pushed it upwards. A click signaled to both persons that the window was now locked open. Sitting down on the stool, Marcus produced a matchbook from another inner pocket of his jacket, and lit his pipe.

As he began to slowly smoke, Professor Thorne turned her chair slightly to face him. Leaning on the armrest as she asked,

“So what else brings you by? I doubt you’ve only come for the just lovely view”

She added the second sentence with more than a hint of irony in her voice.

Leaning against the wall, Marcus slowly blew out a thin stream of smoke. The wisps trailing long, as they slowly drifted out of the window.

“You may not think so but the view really is quite lovely,” as he said this he glanced out towards the grass rippling gently in the evening wind,

“But you are right, I’m not just here for the view. A parcel arrived for you today, I saw that you had not collected it yet so I thought I would bring it over for you.”

From under his arm he took a previously unseen parcel, and passed it over to Irene.

She took the package from Marcus, lifting it up in front of her face to inspect it. The parcel was a large, flat, rectangle, wrapped in thick, plain brown paper. String was bound around the item, forming a cross shape across the front. In thin scratchy text she could make out the mailing address of the university. Slowly she turned it over in her hands, trying to find a return address to identify the sender. In lieu of this she found only one word written on the back, in flowing cursive.

Marcus, seeing the look of confusion passing over Irenes’ face leaned towards her and asked “Who is it from?” his fingers idly toying with his pipe as he did so.

Gently Marcus placed his gloved hand on her forearm, the feeling of the hard metal of his fingers could be felt through the leather covering it. He gave her arm a slight squeeze as he spoke, trying to reassure his friend, a look of concern on his face, “Are you alright? You’ve gone pale as a ghost.”

As Irene replied her voice came out in a thin, shaky whisper “It’s… It’s from my brother.” Slowly she extended her arm towards Marcus, her hand trembling slightly, showing the signature written on the back. In flowing cursive the word Kip was spelled out in italics.

Marcus’ prior concern was now supplanted by a look of confusion. He frowned slightly as he spoke, “I didn’t know you had a brother, and Kip. Bit of an odd name. No offense.” He raised his hand in a stopping motion.

Irene laid the parcel down on her desk, as she began to look through the drawers. As she rustled through her things she responded,

“My father was a fan of nicknames, and Brody loved his astronomy. It’s his own shortening of Kepler.” Finally sitting straight again, withdrawing a sharp looking pair of scissors from her desk as she did so, Irene snipped the string holding the package shut, and ripped open the paper.

Contained within was a dark brown leather journal, the pages were worn and crinkled at the edges, and small tabs of pink, yellow, and red jutted out seemingly at random

Carefully Irene lifted the book from its packaging. The leather creaked softly as she opened the cover, the musty scent of old paper wafting from it. She began to pore over the contents, her brow furrowing.

Marcus, leaning closer, inspected the crinkled paper the book had been wrapped in,

“Look, there’s something else,” reaching into the paper Marcus grasped an envelope that had been tucked underneath. Lifting it into the light, briefly he inspected it before handing it to Irene.

“Looks like your brother has been bumping shoulders with some important people.”

Setting the notebook in a drawer, Irene reached for the letter. The envelope was an off white, and heavier than it first appeared. Emblazoned on the front in bold text was “S.M.C – Department of Natural History, Branch: Theta 1 Orionis”. Carefully Irene tore one end of the envelope off, and removed the contents. Inside was a folded letter, machine-typed text scrawled across the paper in even rows, unfolding it she began to read the letter aloud,

“Professor Irene Thorne,

Hello. I am contacting you on behalf of the Sentara’an Mining Conglomerate, Department of Natural History of Theta 1 Orionis. My name is Mr. Wadlow, I am the chief secretary of Dr. Veronica Beckmann, the employer of your brother, Dr. Brody Thorne.

We request your presence at our head offices immediately. There are matters that we must discuss with you as soon as possible. Please be assured that you are not in any form of legal trouble. Provide this letter to one of our local branch offices, and transport – as well as paid university leave – will be arranged.

We urge you to act quickly. By the time this letter arrives, you will have forty-eight hours to schedule transportation. Please keep this matter confidential, only show this letter to an employee of the S.M.C. Your safety relies on it. We will see you soon.

Good day.

– M. Wadlow”

Beneath the signature was the official seal of the S.M.C embossed in silver, Marcus leaned back against the wall, his mechanical irises widening in surprise. “Doctor Beckmann,” he murmured, awe creeping into his voice. His hand trembled a bit as he wiped a strand of hair from his forehead, “Your brother was working for Veronica Beckmann!?”

Irene glanced at Marcus. In just a few moments, he’d shifted from concern, to confusion, to outright disbelief. Were it not for the gravity of the paper in her hands, she would have found his reaction amusing.

“I had no idea,” she said after a pause. Her voice faltered “We haven’t,...” she hesitated, the words caught in her throat, “It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

Marcus’ look softened, “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful. It’s just... shocking. The Beckmann family built this place. The original campus wouldn’t even exist without them.”

“I’m aware.” Irene replied curtly before folding the letter and setting it on the desk. Her thoughts were reeling. What was Brody up to? And why does the S.M.C want me of all people?

Taking a deep breath, she rose from her chair and grabbed the journal from her desk. She patted the pocket on her dress, only to pause and blush slightly. Turning to Marcus, she gave him a sheepish look. “Could you please call me a cab?” she asked, her tone light but hurried. “It seems I left my phone at home.”

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Chapter 1, Part 2: Cab Ride

The taxi glided smoothly along the highway, Professor Thorne could hear the low hum of the compressors. Through the thick layer of plexi-glass that divided the car in half, she could just make out the cab-man's radio. She leaned her head against the cool window, her gaze drifting over the cityscape as it passed below.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Cars and trucks of every size careened down the highway, each of them floating effortlessly above the surface. She watched as a pair of cars gently descended onto an off ramp. The first was a more modest family model, which gently sat down, its wheels already spinning. The second was a luxury sports car, gracefully it descended, the smooth, gleaming panels covering the wheels retracted, and the tires extended like clockwork mechanisms sliding into place.

She wondered at the sight, before returning her gaze to the endless stream of traffic. Her mind began to wander. Dad tried teaching me about them. Cars, that is. Something about liquid nitrogen and superconductors. Never quite understood it.

Her lips curved in a faint frown. He always was the model mechanic. And I could never bring myself to care enough to remember. She sighed softly, feeling tears welling in her eyes. Gently she dabbed at her eyes with a cloth, her focus shifting after a moment to the road ahead, disappearing into the horizon.

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Chapter 1, Part 3: Creepy Bastards

Before Professor Thorne stood the S.M.C Local branch office. A looming structure of concrete, reinforced metal, and glass. Behind the building she could see a truly gargantuan construction, a space elevator. As she craned her neck upward to see, she spotted multiple cars traveling to and fro, ascending and descending the monolithic cables at tremendous speeds. Looking higher, the structure appeared to curve impossibly into the heavens, vanishing into the clouds and leaving her with a faint sense of vertigo.

The elevator’s immense scale held her gaze for a moment longer before she shook off the feeling of discomfort, she quickly gathered her bag, and suit case and began walking towards the entrance. Ahead of her she could see two large rotating doors, a group of people in fine suits exited through one, she could faintly hear their chatter as they walked towards the parking lot. Through the other she could see a few more people rushing inside, dressed in sharp charcoal dresses, and pressed white shirts. Under their arms they carried various clipboards, and bags.

Stepping into the atrium, Irene was struck by the immensity of activity she could see. Inside was a veritable hive, people scurrying about carrying stacks of papers and folders, or pushing carts. The air was alive with the sounds of clattering footsteps, and the faint hum of conversation, and she could faintly smell coffee on the air.

A metallic steward stood motionless nearby a security checkpoint, as she approached it slowly flickered to life, raising its head, its mechanical eyes scrutinizing her carefully.

“Please provide identification,”

it said in a staticky, mechanical voice, emanating from a speaker embedded where its mouth would be. With a whir the steward raised its mechanical arm, on the end of which sat a scanning device in a large rectangular housing.

Carefully she brushed her hair aside and, presented a hexagonal chip, embedded in her neck, at the base of her skull.

She could see the faint blue light of the scanner as it read her bio-metrics. Once the scan was complete she stood straight once more. For a brief moment the steward lay dormant, as if contemplating before regarding her,

“Identification: Confirmed. Dr. Irene Thorne, Professor of Xenology, Beckmann University,” it announced.

“Please place all luggage and personal items in the bin.”

A panel on the wall slid up smoothly with a hiss, and a plastic bin slid out on a conveyor belt. Carefully she lifted her luggage into the box, and emptied her pockets. When she was done, the conveyor moved the bin smoothly into the housing of the X-ray. Again the steward spoke

“Please step through the scanner. Please keep your arms at your side at all times, unless otherwise instructed.”

Once the scanning process was done, Irene began to collect her things.

Turning in place to face her, the mechanical steward regarded her again,

“Thank you for your patience Professor Thorne. You may proceed to the front desk. You are expected.”

The tone of the machine, as well as its cold stare, sent a faint shiver down Irenes back. Turning away from the steward, she gathered her things and began walking towards the front desk. I hope to god the front desk isn’t attended by one of those creepy bastards. She thought to herself as she walked, the sound of her boots clacking against the tiled floor mixing with the cacophony around her.

The large front desk spanned a width of fifteen feet, and stood three and a half feet high. The desk was positioned in the middle of the atrium, between two large staircases to either side of it. Behind the desk was another mechanical steward, although this model was clad in a shell to better resemble a person, as if to make it feel more approachable. Well they failed in that regard she thought bitterly to herself, a faint prickle ran up her spine, creepy bastards.

The steward focused its attention on her as she approached the counter,

“Welcome to the S.M.C Logistics office Professor Thorne,”

this steward spoke in a clear, tenor voice, unmarred by static,

“How may we assist you today?”

The steward leaned forward slightly, cocking its head to the side waiting for a response.

From her bag, Irene produced the letter, and unfurled it for the steward to see. The machine raised its right arm, and pointed a finger at the seal at the bottom of the letter.

Thin beams of blue light shot from the tip of the stewards finger, and darted rapidly across the seals surface, the sound of whirring and clicking could be heard emanating from the machine. For what felt to her like an eternity, she stood there motionless. The cold eyes of the steward staring directly at her as it processed the letter. Why couldn’t they at least make the damn thing look where it’s scanning? She thought to herself irritably They go through all the trouble to try and make them human like, and then they stare you down like a cat does a mouse. She shuddered slightly, and hoped the steward didn’t notice. If it did it made no indication.

With the scanning process complete the steward stood straight again, returning its hand to its side, and spoke,

“You have been chartered aboard the S.M.C Passenger vessel Eos, in first class bound for Theta 1 Orionis Alpha. Directives indicate that you must proceed as soon as possible. For this the S.M.C has chartered you upon a Helios Mass Ascent Pod,” The steward spoke quickly, prattling off the information,

“You will be provided a payment card, and necessary identification. Do you understand?” Again the steward leaned forward to look at her.

“Yes, I understand.” She lied, she wanted to ask more questions but time was of the essence, and she would rather ask those questions to an actual human.

“Very good. You will be escorted to your pod shortly.”

With a click, and a whirring noise, part of the counter lifted up smoothly, exposing what appeared to be an indented card slot facing her. She could now here rapid clicking coming from the machine, before a thin rectangle of translucent green plastic slid smoothly out.

“This is your S.M.C credit chip, and passport. Please take it now.”

She removed the card and inspected it. It was the size of her palm, and the front was emblazoned with an etching of her face in the plastic. Within she could see a coil spanning the inner circumference of the card, and a number of computer chips connected to it.

“Thank you for your patience Professor Thorne. You will now be escorted to your pod.”

From behind her she could hear the sound of heavy boots walking towards her. Turning around on the spot she saw two men approaching her, wearing dark gray uniforms, with black shoulder pads. On each of their chest was pinned a silver badge emblazoned with the logo of the S.M.C Security Division.

Upon reaching her, the man on her right gave a brief salute before speaking

“Hello Professor. My name is Officer Ryley,”

he spoke with a gruff, low voice, offering a pleasant smile at least

“This is Officer Jenkins.” He gestured to the other man, who only nodded to her.

“If you would please follow us Ma’am.” He gestured with a wave for her to follow, as both men turned towards the stairs and began walking.

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Chapter 1, Part 4: Speeding Ticket

This wasn’t Irene’s first time going off planet, but it was her first time doing it in a mass driver.

Officers Ryley, and Jenkins guided Irene through the facility, and to a platform outside. Along the way they tried to make pleasant conversation, but Irene was too nervous to think about responding. The view of the mass driver however silenced them both, and Irene was in awe of the construction sprawling out before her.

Stretching as far as the eye could see, past the horizon, a steel gray cylinder extended, supported by vast networks of girders and piping. As it traveled into the distance, she could see the gradual incline it took. She strained her eyes, seeing the supports fade into the distance, she thought she could see something in the distance, Was it propped on a mountain?

She had read about the massive scale of these devices but she, and rare few others outside of the S.M.C, had ever gotten a chance to lay eyes on one.

The officers guided her to the entrance to the driver, as they approached the loading bay, a heavy steel door slid smoothly aside. Inside Irene beheld a sleek, white pod, perhaps twenty feet long, on the side in bold red letters the word Helios was written. She could also see various panel lines snaking across the surface of the pod, in front and behind of the entrance.

The officers loaded her luggage carefully into the cargo bay, before officer Ryley assisted her in getting in the pod.

“Have you ever ridden in a mass driver before Ma’am?” Officer Ryley asked, his tone professional.

“I haven’t no.” She replied, looking at his face.

Officer Ryley nodded, while she could see Officer Jenkins dialing keys on a nearby console, inputting data and performing pre-launch checks.

“Well it is effectively just a large magnetic launcher. You should only experience around five G’s of force throughout launch for a brief period of time. After which the rockets will kick on, and the automatic guidance system will take you to the dock. This is the final call, you haven’t forgotten anything, correct?” He raised an eyebrow at her

“I haven’t, I’m ready to go.” She nodded at officer Ryley

“Well not quite yet you aren’t but that handles all the questions.” Officer Ryley leaned forward and assisted Irene with buckling the pods harness securely around her, once it was locked in place he fitted Irene with a helmet and locked it onto the head rest. Worriedly Irene asked with a tinge of fear in her voice

“Why are you locking my head?”

Officer Ryley looked down at her, “While the launch is brief, you will still be experiencing a high G load, locking your helmet in place helps prevent potential spinal injuries during launch. I assure you Ma’am you have nothing to worry about. This system is highly tested.”

Officer Jenkins nodded from his console and gave the two a thumbs up, it did nothing to reassure her.

“Are you ready to go Ma’am?”

“I am” She lied through gritted teeth.

Officer Ryley closed the hatch beside her, and she could hear the outer door of the launch tube shut, and their locks engage. In front of her a screen lit up, flooding the interior of the pod with blue light. From speakers embedded in the wall she could hear Officer Ryleys’ voice,

“Loading bay doors sealed, and locked. Beginning Pod insertion to launch bay.”

With a whirring sound, she felt the pod begin to move forward slowly. As it did so, the front viewing panel slid its protective covering open.

The interior of the launch bay was lined with vast electromagnetic coils that repeated as far as she could see, with lights embedded between them. Irene was admittedly scared, but the sight presenting itself enthralled her. Behind her she could hear something large move into place, and the sound of bolts locking into it. Officer Ryleys’ voice came through again,

“Pod now in launch bay. Jenkins, Energize the coils.” She heard a large switch click through the speaker, and she could feel the hum of electricity around her through the pod, “Launch coils energized. Prepare for launch in T Minus, Five, Four,”

Irene clamped her eyes shut, and threw a prayer to whatever powers that be to keep her safe,

“Three, Two,”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, she tried to steady her breathing. Was my first time on a rocket this scary!? She couldn’t remember right now.

“One, Initiate Launch.”

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still for Irene. Her mind felt unable to process what was going on around her, and just as quickly as the feeling came, it went and she was fully aware that she was now hurtling down this tube, at what felt like truly incomprehensible speeds! Whether from the force of the launch, or out of sheer surprise, Irenes eyes flew open. As she looked out the view port she could see the lights of the interior blazing by her, as she accelerated they blurred together, forming a nearly solid line of light as she careened past.

It felt as if Irene had a bull sitting on her chest, the force of her acceleration pushing her into the seat. She was now quite glad that her helmet was restrained, as she was quite certain her neck would snap if it were not.

How long is this thing!?!? She wondered frightfully as the pod continued to gain speed as it hurtled down its track.

Just as she felt she was on the edge of consciousness the pod shot from the end of the launcher, in an instant her view was flooded with the serene blue of the open sky. Outside the view port she saw as the panel lines she noticed extended from the pod, forming wings, lifting the craft.

Deployable canards, ingenious. She thought to herself, the prior terror now replaced with a sense of wonder and awe. She felt as the pods engines turn on, and she was once again pushed into her seat with renewed force. Okay, the view might be worth that ride again She thought to herself as she stared out of the window. Ahead of her she could see the horizon beyond the pointed nose of the craft, curving away sharply to either side, below her she could just make out the ground falling away behind her.

In less than a minute from exiting the launch tube, Irene Thorne was in space. Outside her window was the inky blackness of infinity, stars dotting the heavens. As the pod stabilized itself in low orbit she could feel herself become weightless. The sensation was always intriguing.

Ahead of her she could now see the space station looming in the distance. A monolithic structure, consisting of an array of beams, with spires stretching from the end of each. The sight reminded her of a ribcage. Contained within the spires she could make out four large space craft hanging mid air within the station. Innumerable tiny space craft could be seen darting around the station, carrying items to and fro from various points. I wonder which of those ships I’ll be on? She thought to herself.