Member
Lunamaria Hawke
Scrawl Banditta
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
Nallore
SkyeOfStarsHuxley awoke; his mouth and eyes wide open in a desperate gasp for air. Minutes past and slowly his breathing returned to normal. There was no ash cloud bearing down on him, nor was the feeling of impending death breathing hotly down his neck. He saw only the ceiling of his little cabin, covered in snaking pipes and patches of rust. The walls were similar, shadows hid in every crevice created by wheezing ducts. The meagre scraps of empty wall were plastered with faded posters and slogans. Grasping onto a cold metal pipe, Huxley hauled himself into an upright position and looked down at the cabin that had become his little world.
The ventilation ducts squeezed the room like a Python, made worse with what little furniture there was jutting out at awkward angles. The bunk Huxley sat on was little more than a metal shelf with some threadbare covers and a pillow. Underneath was a robust chest of drawers brimming with dirty clothes. On the top of the drawers was a half-full bottle of Maw Worm Mezcal; the amber liquid seemed to glow of its own accord and a shrivelled mollusc husk floated at the bottom to add flavour. An Oculus, with it’s metal casing scratched and pockmarked, clung to the ceiling like a mechanical crustacean. multiple lenses stuck out haphazardly in all directions, compressing packets of light before sending them out to expand in the air; creating a rotatable mobile of holograms, each showing a different channel. The current primary bubble was of a news channel, reporting on a conference which was happening live. Apart from the Oculus it was dim in the cabin, with only a few fingers of light tracing the thin sliding door leading to the corridor.
The whole room shuddered violently as the ship’s ancient engines strained over a sand dune; particles of dust dislodged from the ceiling and the Oculus flickered on and off violently. Momentarily the straining stopped as they dropped down the other side, Huxley’s stomach dropped but he hardly noticed it. He exhaled deeply. Blocking out the low murmur of the television, he reached down and plucked the spirit bottle off his dresser with one hand, taking a big drink from it’s cool liquid before resting it against the temple of his head. “Oh, full of scorpions is my mind.” He growled in that special morning voice. “William Shakespeare, Macbeth. Act two, scene two, page two.” An androgynous voice softly entered the room, seeming to fill every square centimetre.
Huxley ignored it, crashing back down onto his bunk; causing granules of sand to cascade from the ceiling above him. Letting go of the bottle, he massaged his face, working his way around the prominent chin before kneading the pits of his eyes, getting rid of all the sand. He had the hands of a lawyer but his body bore the scars and muscle of a worker, a soldier. His skin was tanned a deep brown and a beard cautiously grew between the infrequent shaves. Eons past and Huxley stared alternately between looking at the ceiling, the Oculus and the Mezcal bottle. With a flick of his hand the volume raised on the main hologram, it was of a conference in Actim; a huge semi circular desk of officials took questions from voracious onlookers.
“Huxley to the bridge, Huxley to the bridge.” the same androgynous voice whispered, canceling out all sound. Huxley tried turning up the Oculus more but to no avail. “Come on, get over to the bridge.” it insisted. “You might enjoy yourself.” Huxley rolled over to face the wall. “But it’s my day off.” He moaned, taking out his earpiece. The Mind just switched to real speakers. “Cesar says its urgent.” “It’s always important.” Huxley retorted, resigning himself. He swung off the bunk, pulled some shorts on and taking one last slug of his Maw Worm Mezcal, opened the sliding door and slunk out. The Oculus’ holograms blurred and distorted as he walked through them, disturbing them like a ship does a calm sea.
The Sandship’s corridor was much like the cabin; cramped by ducts and gunmetal grey in colour. The floor was harsh to his bare feet, the inner workings of the ship just visible through the mesh flooring. Strip lighting powered by recycled halogen clung to the ceiling and lit the way to either side. Setting off, Huxley looked into some of the cabins as he went, nodding acknowledgement to the ones who saw him. Most were writing in holo-journals, convening in morning prayer or watching the Oculus; the others were asleep, fighting back bad dreams like he had. Huxley walked through the ship’s canteen where a few of the crew were already gathering, down a few more corridors and arrived at some blast doors. They opened as he arrived and the Bridge greeted him.
It was a dark, spacious, semi-circular room; the curve of which was entirely taken up by a vast array of screens. Dominating the wall space was one at least ten metres wide. It was split into four sections: a camera view of the desert in front, behind and to either side of the ship. Positioned around the main screen were smaller monitors with security camera footage from the mess hall and armouries and corridors. Other screens showed blueprints and maps of the ship’s’ interior as well as interactive holo-maps of the surrounding area. Facing the vast screen were two long banks of primitive operations equipment divided into workstations. Turrets, doors, cameras etc. One bank hugged the curved wall and one was set slightly back from it. Personal effects showed they were all used but at the moment only two technicians were on duty. At the back of the room on a raised pedestal was the Captain’s chair, and filling its comfortable leather recess was the Captain.
He rose as Huxley approached his workspace. The holo-screens arrayed around him dissolved as he stepped casually from his pedestal. “James!” He boomed with a shark-like grin, slapping Huxley on the shoulder. Huxley grimaced as the man squeezed down on his sunburnt shoulder. “Good morning Cesar.” Huxley attempted a smile back but fell short. “Is there a problem?” Cesar just laughed. “No problem my friend, just thought you needed some fresh air.” He motioned for the soldier to follow him back out the way he had come. “Megara, you have the bridge.” He shouted unnecessarily back over his shoulder. “Yes Captain.”
