Thank you for taking the time to look over my story, the beginning will take some effort, but I will fix. But what was on those pages you mentioned as being ‘vivid’?
-Jake
Sci Fi & Fantasy / The Space Between (Working Title) Prologue and Chapter One
Space Between (Working Title)
Prologue – AFTERMATH
Prologue: It was gone, all gone; the once lush environment, the tall metal spires that reached for the heavens, the soft and welcoming sound of the ocean lapping at the bay. It was all gone. The plant life was shriveled up, dead, or dying as the murky sky passed on. Layers of dirt and chemicals turned the sky blood red during the waking hours, the clouds churned and crackled with thunder as they blocked the sun’s warming light from the surface. Life on the planet was gone, lost in the blaze and destruction of the last great war; or perished the years after under the great shadows of the clouds that encased the small planet. For some, the passing was long and suffering, cast from their homes, struggling for each breath as the clouds brought about the cold; stinging their lungs and made each step more difficult than the last. For the rest of one species, the souls was engulfed in the flames of war; The Six Year War.
The United Federation of Free Nations had flex their muscles during the first outbreak, the ringing bell for the beginning of the Six Year War came as a chemical agent, dropped into the water supply of Los Angeles by the Extremists.
More than a decade prior, the odds and ends of the world were completely different; the United Nations struggled to stay aloft as governments crumbled; in a united effort to hold together the foundations, the large powers joined and formed the United Federation of Earth. The Federation was composed of the World’s largest powers, bringing together the United States, Russia, Great Britain, Germany, China, and most of the civilized Western World. The United Federation came to power, bringing with it an iron fist as it reorganized, and brought the massive continents under the rule; at the helm of the Federation were twelve elected-for life men and women, known as “the Nobles”. The Nobles were all former rulers or subjects in different governmental parties; a deciding factor for all though, was military service. Every Nobleman at one point or another had to serve in the military to have been elected. The same rule followed for any large position in the hierarch of the Federation.
The other nations that refused to join the Federation were marked as “separatists”; composing of Middle Eastern nations and pockets inside the African continent. The United Federation quickly changed the title they imposed on the “separatists” after Fort Milad, a U.F. military instillation that sat at the mouth of the Nile River, was attacked by rockets and mortar bombardment. The attackers forcing open the Fort and slaughtered any and all military personal they could get to. The separatists were soon labeled the “Extremists”, or terrorists; retaliation was swift, aerial bombardment of weapon depots and military bases along the Jordan boarder. Thus, brought the world into The Six Year War.
The memory of the first wave of news reports of the attack on the East Coast were pushed out of Jonathon Douglas’ mind, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his focus as the LIOX suit he wore, pulled his hot breath away and brought about a cool breath of fresh air. He opened his eyes and looked through the visor, staring for a moment at what he held in his gloved hands; the book seemed to be in decent condition. The paper back was wrinkled some, he tried to flip through it, but some of the pages were stuck together. But the cover, an image of a small boat at sea, looked almost as good as it did when it was first published. He made a note of the author’s name, then twisted his body some, feeling his tired bones and muscles groan as he did, and placed the book inside of small metal box which rested at his side. Inside the book were a handful of items; a wrist watch, a pair of cracked glasses, a hairbrush, and a small collection of unused rifle rounds.
Jonathon knew the thirty-odd-six rounds when he saw them, they were a rare find when he had once lived on Earth, but they passed his sight now and again when he had worked as a gun smith. Douglas could picture the different weapons that could fire such a round, in his mind he could pull them apart, clean every piece, and assemble them back into pristine order. Before the change in career and the war, he would have considered himself an artist when he work on a firearm; pulling apart and reconstructing till it was perfect again-
-a crackle over his radio brought him back to reality; Douglas closed the small metal box and clicked the handle till it locked, then stood up and turned his gaze towards the sky. The world about him came into focus once more, fading slowly, and then became clear and crisp. He stood street level, the road once was smooth and packed daily with cars and buses, people moving about, going on with their lives. It was silent now, the street was cracked and broken, cars packed and collided, lining the buildings that once fenced the street in. New York’s once famous sky-line, was a shell of its former self; mounds of twisted metal and debris, life seeming to have been stopped in an instant.
“This place gives me the creeps, sir.” A young voice said over the speakers built into the inside of the LIOX helmet, the com-link crackled once more, the buildings about him were scratching the transmission some. “Are you finished yet, sir?” Cole Forester was the best research assistant that anyone could ask for, the young graduate could pilot, drive, dig, and would follow Douglas just about anywhere he asked; but he always seemed to be on edge when returning to Earth.
“You cannot rush these things Cole,” Douglas replied, his body complaining as he leaned over and picked up the metal collection box from the rubble about him, “Now, did you collect from your sector?” As he spoke, he checked the street sign which stood next to a crumbling structure; he stood in the center of what once was a busy section of Old New York, lining the street where the decaying remains of a society that once was; now abandoned and dark in the murky evening.
“Yes sir, mister Douglas, I collected the pile of bones…sorry soul,”
Douglas could sense the unease in his assistance’s voice, on their previous trip, they had unearthed a yellow cab buried in the rubble inside of a street-side store; it had taken hours to uncover enough to see inside, a explosion-blasted pile of bones were strung over the passenger and driver-side seats. The body’s cartilage had long been gone and nothing held the bones together, so Douglas had given the task of collecting to Cole and another assistant while he searched another sector of the city.
“Who ever was in that cab, they were pretty close to where the first strike hit, you think that’s what did the guy in?” Douglas made his way down the block, stepping carefully upon the cracked and broken surface of what was left of the street, cars and trucks, one another pressed snugly together, doors hanging open, the scene was that of dark and panic; the “First Strike” was the first attack on North American soil. A cargo crate with a nuclear device straight from the refinery in Tehran, Iran; from port records, the crate was picked up in Normandy, cleared inspection, and was shipped to the New York harbor, detonating before the ship was fully docked.
“Not sure, when we get it back we can run a radiation test,”
“You think the Bay-chief will like something coated in radiation passing through his bay?”
Douglas reached an intersection, read the names of the streets posted, and then began walking down the street to his left.
“It shouldn’t be an issue; you sealed it in the steel container, right?”
“Yes sir, me and Stan made sure the sucker as closed completely before we brought the thing onboard.”
“Good work, so what is your status?” He asked as he came to an barricade; it was a steal-bodied city bus, sitting lengthways across the road, a small stack of cars driven into the front-right end of the bus, trash and debris all about. The bus’s paint long since gone, the windows blown out, only the debris about, suitcases, sleeping bags, and occasional toys strum about were the only signs that there was once life there. The side door facing him stood open, Douglas used cautioned as he stepped closer, switching on the helmet’s flashlight, the light forming a small, but perfect circle on the floor of the rusted bus. His footsteps, heavy with the boots, kicked up decades old dust, forming a small cloud of it as he pulled himself into the dark and twist frame of the bus, his flashlight skimming about, finding an emergency window near the back had been popped open.
“Green, we’re in Time Square, ready when you need us, sir.”
“I will need it, heading towards the west entrance of Central Park,” he said as he moved to the back of the bus, took hold of a metal support bar, and carefully stepped out of the bus on the other side, “I should be there in a few minutes.”
“Rodger that sir, see you in a few” And the com-link went silent, Douglas tightened his grip about the metal box and began walking once more, careful of the debris and abandoned cars; out of the corner of his eye, high above, he saw a large black object move over the dark-gray sky, engines burning as it passed over once, and vanished further on. He exhaled, his visor fogging up for a moment, before the suit’s systems kicked in and cooled him down; he continued on, following the street till it reached a “T” intersection, just beyond the road, in front of Douglas sat the black object he had seen before in the sky. The ship was a “Black Bird”, it was ebony in colour, looking like a bloated and tall Chinook from the twenty-first century. Instead of blades for lift, the Black Bird had two sets of wings, a small pair near the nose, and a larger pair near the tail, large jet engines placed at the tips of the wings. The back of the Black bird laid open, the back hatch split in two, the bottom half now acted as a ramp. Just beyond the Black Bird rose a dark and intimidating forest of dead trees; Douglas exhaled, taking his view from the landscape and focused on the dark craft, all of the lights on it were on, cutting through the darkness.
A figure stepped out of the back hatch, stepping down with care, scanned, then waved Douglas on.
“Come on sir,” Cole said, “bird is all ready for you.”
The suit they wore, LIOX, was built and manufactured for more mobility in zero-gee, but also did well for exploration in dangerous environments; though the way the suit was sculpted, gave the wearer the appearance of an athlete. Something which Douglas did not feel like as he walked up to the Black Bird, stepping into the light; Cole tapped the reflective visor on his helmet, completely masking his face.
“Good to have you back sir, I’m always worried you’ll just wander off and stay here,” his assistance’s young laughter echoed over the speakers, he then turned and made room, letting Douglas step on board first. “Alright Stan, close us up…”
Cole made a small hop on board, their heavy boots clanging with the metal floor under them, Douglas was blinded by the light for a moment, everything seemed intense…as things began to fade into focus, he could feel the bird shiver, and a deep metallic hum echoed about as the back hatch closed and locked into place. They were sealed inside. The cargo hold was originally designed to hold soldiers and supplies, but the bucket seats along the walls were long since ripped out. Only two remained, the rest was open space, or would have been if it were not cluttered with crates and steal boxes of artifacts. Beyond the hold, there was a single door which stood open, two small steps, and then there was a dark cockpit; another LIOX suit sat at the clustered controls, looking over them, finding the right one.
“Decompression and sterilization,” Stan’s voice spoke, “hold on…” The lights dimmed as a soft hissing sound surrounded them, Douglas took a hold of a frame beam and gripped it tightly as the hissing grew; then was suddenly replaced with the sound of a vacuum. “Cycle done, air is clean to breathe” He released his grip from the frame, he placed his small box and latched it to the other crates before he released the latches, and pulled the bully helmet from his head.
Douglas took in a deep breath, feeling his cheeks burn for a moment, taking several deep breathes, then eased the helmet down just as Cole follow-suit, pulling the helmet free from his head, then ran a hand over his buzzed-short brown hair.
“Damn things get a bit stuffy,” The young assistant smirked and placed his helmet on a hook neck to Douglas’, then turned to the cockpit and climbed his way into the left pilot’s seat. “Alright Stan, let’s get out of here…” Douglas exhaled, taking in a moment before he moved to one of the two bucket seats that were bolted into the wall, he sat down and pulled down a metal restraint over his chest, making sure it locked, then closed his eyes, and tried to think of the world he once knew.
The Black Bird shook softly, the engines just outside began to whine…then roared, the frame about him rattled as the four wings angled downward, the jet engines pushing the black craft off the ground, feeling to Douglas as though someone was pushing his insides downward. He opened his eyes and peered upward, watching his two assistance man the air-craft, Cole more or less the captain, telling Stan to pull back a lever, or push a certain button. Cole Forester had been a student of Douglas; Douglas himself was a professor of History at Winston University, a job he had never seen himself doing decades before, but after the Six Year War, the Lunar University needed someone who had a spark for the past. Also being an MIT graduate, his kind was few and hard to come by.
Cole angled the Black Bird upward, the body groaning as a crumpled steel tower came into view through the windshield. The crafted stayed it’s course, slowly rising as it approached the tower, Douglas could feel his fingers tighten as the tower filled the windshield…the nose of the Black Bird lifted and barely cleared the top of the ruined tower; a breath of relief left Douglas.
“Cutting it close?” He asked, feeling his heart beat at a regular beat once more.
“We had enough room,” Cole looked back and smirked, “and besides, the University could always afford another one of these tin-cans.”
“They would miss it more than they would the fools onboard,” he couldn’t help but give a small chuckle, “get us home safely.”
“Rodger that, sir, breaking the Earth’s atmosphere in five…”
Section One – Apollo Blue
Chapter One: In all the time of its existence, it was and would always remain silent; the black and vast vacuum of space was near boundless. No beginning and no ending. The cold void was not without light; millions upon billions of stars burned brightly across the heavens, skillfully crafted and painted by a creator, giving warmth and light to clusters of planets, all light-years away. Most were a mere dream, while others could be reached; the United Federation pumped billions into space colonization, working steadily to building a society on Mars, the trip to and fro took months. The Federation claimed that the Marian surface was the key to the Human race’s survival.
Near the closing of the Six Year War, the United Federation began relocating millions of citizens to the Lunar Base, which at the time was nothing more than a single military and science outpost, and a massive retirement village. Years prior to the war, lunar property was sold and the largest Retirement Community was built, seeing hundreds of new arrivals every year. When the Federation began relocating, contractors and builders were put on the job around the clock, building and remodeling the new terrain for the citizens, making miles upon miles of apartments and other essentials for every-day life for humanity. The Reconstruction plan took years, and sections near the southern cap were still being worked upon. The apartments were at first, large enough for one family, but were stuffed with three.
Douglas exhaled, remembering his first two years living with a large family, one parent, a widow, and her six children in a small flat near a newly built train station. Crying infants during the day, and rattling walls from passing trains at night; he was relieved when the Apollo HUB was opened, making available thousands of apartments. The Federation divided the Moon into large districts, each with a centralized structure called “HUBS”; each section was appointed a name and colour. Apollo Blue was where Jonathon Douglas called home.
The Professor had long since unhooked himself after they broke the atmosphere; he floated freely, using a line of handle bars which ran the length of the hold to move with any direction in mind. Douglas opened his eyes and gave a tug on a bar, the motion propelled him gently towards the cockpit, Cole and Stan worked silently over the controls; the universe outside sparkled and shined like new.
“Beautiful,” Douglas whispered to himself, he could feel his heart pound slowly from the sight; in the distance he could see the Moon, rotating , the western hemisphere coated in white light from the sun, as the dark side burned brightly with lights from external structures and outposts. He could even make out two of the HUBs; with miles of distance between them, each HUB ran hundreds of feet down, and on the surface, they were complimented with a giant glass dome. Inside the dome were lush forests and man-made streams running through them. The tall pines and redwoods inside of the dome were also used to keep fresh oxygen moving through the Moon, there were also several tree nurseries throughout each HUB, providing life for the Lunar’s inhabitants.
Orbiting the Moon, Douglas could see four of the six platforms; the platforms looked like enlarged bridges to Twenty-first century carriers, with a ring about them that connected at various points. The rings about them were bloated, dotted with hangers and docking areas for battleships. Upon the top of the ring, there were several Havoc Cannons; the cannons were just as large as the ones on the battleships, the long barrels could be turned and angled anywhere but downward. To Douglas, the orbital platforms seemed like giant revolvers.
“How far out are we, Cole?” Douglas asked, floating just behind the pilot seats.
“About an hour, sir,” his assistant replied, his hands moving over the instruments with skill, as his eyes studied another part of the controls. “We should be getting hailed soon.” He watched a moment as Cole worked over the controls, his hands moving fluidly over the correct switches and buttons; Douglas was almost convinced his assistant could fly from Apollo to Earth and back again in his sleep. Cole was young, but was already married, living on the other end of Apollo in the Helios District. He made a thirty minute commute every morning to get to work when Douglas did.
Douglas himself made a commute, the college being a ten minute walk; he taught Earth Governmental History, and the major subject at hand, ever since the war ended, was the Twenty-Second and beginning of the Third century. Making trips to the surface of the Earth provided him with artifacts for his class, which the Federation co-founds each exploration and then acquires the items recovered later. They would pay the college for each piece, but only for a low price. The Black Bird full loads of artifacts helped kept the college afloat.
“This is docking bay: Apollo Seven,” a commanding voice crackled over the console com, “Unidentified craft please make yourself known…” Cole seemed to snap out of his trance while working the controls and gazed out the front view port, Douglas followed his gaze, seeing the Lunar surface now loomed closer to them. “Unidentified craft, make yourself known…” The voice over the com repeated, Douglas knew they could scan the Black Bird’s tail number and call it a day, but the ship would have to be much closer, and most Bay-Chiefs wanted to know who was coming in at least half an hour early.
“This is Black Bird two-thirty-seven of Winston University,” Cole spoke clearly into the com, “requesting permission to dock.” There was a long pause, Stan still quiet, checking over his side of the cockpit as Cole and Douglas stared at the Lunar surface; the Moon slowly becoming larger before them, threatening to gobble them up.
“Registration clears,” the voice came back, now seeming more relaxed, “keep up your current course and slow down two knots. Docking bay door will be unlocked.” They all seemed to release their breath at once; Cole’s cheeks flushed some as he smiled, a small hint of concern about him. They all knew why ships were checked in from such a distance, the same reason it took the Deck-Chief to clear them through registration; the Extremists had made another threat.
After the war, everyone crowded in the tight spaces of the Moon, there had not even been a trace of the Extremists. After three years of peace, the United Federation declared that the war between the two fractions was officially over, coming to the conclusion that with such limited space, and everyone depending on one another for survival, the Extremists that might have escaped to the Moon had given up their fight. Four years down the road, and a small military convoy traveling through the lower districts with parts for one of the orbital platforms drove over a hidden explosive; thus sparking a small, but constant clash between the Federation and Extremists once more.
The pockets of conflict were always short lived, usually resulting in victory for the United Federation. The leaders of the Federation, the Noblemen, claimed that they would hunt down every surviving member of the Extremists who would not put down their arms and turn themselves in. Since the declaration, sightings of the Extremists over the past two years had been small, but now and again they would call in a bomb-threat or claim they hijacked a transport vessel. Which must have been the case that day, the tension in the Deck-Chief’s voice ever present; on a small monitor positioned above Cole hummed to life, the dark screen shown green, the United Federation’s logo appeared. The symbol was a phoenix set ablaze, screeching to the heavens above, encircled by twelve stars, each star representing the nations in the Federation. Now the stars stood for the HUBs. The symbol zoomed out to the bottom left corner of the screen just as white text appeared to its right, reading:
APOLLO BLUE/BAY 7
PAD A-01
The screen flashed for a moment, then froze, Douglas turned his gaze back to the view port; they now seemed to drift towards the surface. Directly before them was a dull gray, octagonal structure that looked almost like a flat-headed pimple on the Moon’s side. His eyes backed and searched the mass the dwarfed them; the white and battered surface was dotted with man similar structures; some larger than others. The one they neared was marked with blue stripes, “Blue-Bay 7” painted on in the center.
Within five miles of the structure, the top of the gray building parted, split into four equal parts and peeled away, rising clear and out of the way, reveling a stainless steel shaft that ended with another door. Cole scooted closer to the controls, his hands adjusted the engines on the as Douglas made his way back to his chair; he could feel the weight of the Moon pull him towards the nose of the craft. He made a mental note, as he crawled back to his chair and strapped himself in, to be secured long before they started their descent.
The Black Bird moved, tilting back as it suddenly grew a center of gravity, the move making his head feel light as Cole straighten them out, and lowered slowly into the shaft. Dark shadows encased them as they lowered further, Cole silent as Stan watched. Soon the craft hover, above, Douglas could hear the metallic doors they had just enter close behind them. A heartbeat later, there was a soft rumble below them, Cole waited a long moment, then eased the controls, and they lowered once more. The professor held the restraints of his seat, breathing slowly as he felt his insides slide downward with the ship. He closed his eyes and took deeper breathes, trying to stop his churning stomach. The ship lowered for what felt like thirty minutes, and finally came to a soft rest. The engines roared and then gently died.
Cole exhaled deeply as the screen above him flickered off.
“All to shore that’s going to shore,” his assistant declared, unlocking his seat and pushed back from the console, Stand said something in return, but Douglas could not hear. The professor took a moment, collecting his thoughts, and his gullet, then unhooked the restraints and pushed them off before standing. He stretched, feeling his muscles and joints ache, bones popping up and down his frame; they ached as well, but the popping brought some relief to Douglas.
Stand stayed at the controls, a digital pad in his hands, checking a list carefully then examining the console. Cole tapped his shoulder and stepped down from the cockpit, Douglas stretched his shoulders out above his head.
“Nice flying today,” he said, seeing his assistant’s face beam with a grin, “but leave the show-boating to the stunt pilots.” Cole’s grin turned to a smirk and he shook his head; Douglas lowered his arms and gazed at him sternly. “I’m serious, Cole, you’re good, but I don’t want to lose you or this ship to some failed stunt.”
His assistant began loosening the straps about the steel cargo containers, he knew Cole was listening, but could tell the young assistant wanted to gloat about the flight, and not be talked down to.
“We’re alive,” he muttered after a moment of silence, “and the ship is in one piece. But if it really bothers you-”
“It does, you’re not in some simulator for the Air Force, I don’t want us to go up in a ball of fire, okay?” His assistant nodded slowly, pulling back a limp strap and let it fall to the floor; Douglas bit his lip and backtracked a bit. “Look, not trying to guilt you here, you got us home safely…” He was sincere, he was thankful he was standing on solid ground once more. Cole nodded and pulled free another strap, seeming a little more at ease.
“I won’t do it again,” Small traces of distain in his voice; Stan stood silently at the entrance to the cockpit. Douglas’ gaze slipped from one assistant to the other. He decided he wouldn’t push the subject any further.
“I don’t have long, I have a meeting with the Dean, you two can handle the cargo, right?”
Cole took a deep breath and nodded, turning back to him.
“No worries, sir, me and Stand can handle it.” He smiled some. “Oh, and I was suppose to remind you of the dinner this Friday, Laura still wants you to come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he smiled back. His hand tapped a switch on the wall, the back of the cargo hold opened up, and Douglas slipped out.
He knew better than to fight, an argument with Professor Douglas was fruitless; sometimes Cole Forester knew he was right and pushed the subject, but now didn’t seem like the time. He felt he had too much on his plate, his mind cluttered with information and dates of importance.
The young assistant exhaled, his heart pounding softly as he felt a wave of emotion swell; he knew that their flight had been a safe one. They were well out of harm’s way, clearing the ruined tower in Old New York by at least ten feet. But as he turned and studied his professor’s tall face; his aged eyes told him that the discussion was over. So he dropped it.
“No worries, sir,” forcing a small smile, “me and Stan can handle it.” His mind eased some, he still had the urge to explain to Professor Douglas about how safe they were, show him the data and the distance they had to work with, but swallowed back and decided to remind him of the dinner. “Oh, and I was suppose to remind you of the dinner this Friday, Laura still wants you to come.”
In a way, Laura and him were still newlyweds, their second anniversary only a month before. Cole could still remember, almost fresh in his mind, the night he asked Laura to be his wife. The promise of getting the best job he could to support her and any little blessing they had…which was the source of some of Cole’s frustration with Professor Douglas. He had been practicing with simulators, getting in as much fly-time as is Class-C license allowed him; Cole had been taking an aviation course, bettering himself, and working towards a Class-A license. Commercial frigates and other high-end positions. He knew for a fact that the United Federation Aero Space Association (UNASA) wouldn’t accept any applications for pilots without that license in hand.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the Professor said; Cole blinked as he felt himself slip back to reality. He smiled in returned and watched the tall man exit the craft; himself blinded for a moment as bright light poured in from the open hatch. Cole took a deep breath, feeling his lungs sharply clutch shut for a brief second; the air wafting in from the open bay before them was stale and tasted artificial. He coughed once, then shook his head to clear his mind, pushing back the bad taste and the thoughts of his future aside, and stepped down the ramp out into the bay.
The bay was of decent size, it was well over four-hundred feet in both width and length, and the four heavy walls raced up hundreds of feet above them; Cole leaned back some, and in the center of the ceiling, he watched the large metallic airlock they had passed through just a few minutes before, hissed and locked firmly back into place. Four lights about the airlock blinked yellow three times, then glowed green. Against the back wall of the bay, about midway up the wall, a control room jutted from the wall, the structure was all glass on its sides, inside he could see large terminals, buttons and screens flashing as people worked them. Flight control. Before the control room, on either wall were two large, titanium-steel doors. Both could easily have a large freighter pass through them; they were dull-gray in colour, with blue stripes running diagonal on them like the airlocks above. The door to the right wall of the control room, “Blue Bay 8” was painted in the top left corner of the door. The door on the opposite wall had “Blue Bay 6” painted upon it.
Along the floor of the bay were several other crafts, a few other Black Birds, one that sat in a far corner, stripped; and then sat a few more, transporters for commercial goods and supplies to the orbital platforms and other such. Cole knew for a fact that one outpost on Earth was supplied from that very hanger, but he couldn’t remember what the outpost was for. People, pilots, and technicians moved about the hanger with their own business. He shrugged it off and turned back to his own craft; Stan already was pulling out an extended dolly from the inside wall of the cargo hold and rolled it gently down into the hanger. The two worked silently, moving the heavy containers over first, loading them to a wide service lift which sat under the control room. They moved back and forth till finally Cole closed the back hatch to the Black Bird, ensured it was locked, and then joined Stan on the lift.
Stan Ferguson was a quiet person by nature; he was shorter than Cole, an unshaven face and large ears jutting from his round-ish head. The assistant hit a switch, and there was a rumble below them; they were encased suddenly by metal link mesh that rose from the sides of the lift, the mesh rising high above their heads, locking in place before the elevator below their feet began a slow descent.
The crates rattled some as the metal-grate elevator moved downward, Stan held one set steady as Cole moved to another, holding them down.
“Professor Douglas wouldn’t like to find this stuff broke,” Cole cracked, smiling at Stan; the assistant chuckled softly to himself, and seemed to zone back out into his silence. Cole’s own smile faded as he turned away; the silence of the assistant worried him at times, but he had long since given up figuring out why. The lift moved at a slow pace for several long moments, then came to a slow stop before a wide and open entranceway. The mesh sidings came down and Cole could see clearly; they now stood before a wide, white room, the ceiling was low, feeling almost claustrophobic, with long fluorescent bulbs running the length of the room along the corner where the wall met the ceiling. The room was divided into two halves by a line of thick pillars and a heavy glass divider. Cole strained for a moment, looking through the glass, but the image of the room beyond was distorted.
There were cuts in the glass divider between the evenly spaced pillars, three human-sized metal detectors hummed, the only passage through the wall. Between the metal detectors, there were two large devices, conveyer belts stretching out both ends of the devices; the item scanners sat silently, the belts still as Cole and Stan began to move their cargo off the lift.
Cole’s eyes wandered a moment, feeling a ping of worry as his eyes fell upon the soldiers standing beside the scanners; they wore black armor and fatigues; the armor was light, Kevlar vest, woven tightly. Down both arms and legs were patches of Kevlar that covered the elbows, knee joints, and other portions of the limbs. Their ebony boots shined in the artificial light, cleaned to perfection like the weapons they carried in their hands. Cole didn’t know much about firearms, but he could tell they sported assault rifles. The two soldiers, both had their hair buzzed to their scalps, wearing goggles that rested just above their eyes, watched them silently, held their rifles against their chests. Cole had been through the check-point once, standing in line on a busy day, when someone passed through the metal detector totting an unregistered and illegal firearm…the lift to the hanger froze and the exits locked as armed soldiers moved in. They struck the man before he time to react in the back of his knee, knocking him over, then they jumped him, handcuffed him, and then proceeded to check everyone at the check-point to see if there was anyone connected to him.
The soldiers watched them, standing like statues as Cole and Stan moved the crates to the conveyer belt on the left; once everything was in place the belt shuddered and sucked the crates quickly into the scanning device. Stan stepped forward and stepped into the detector, the soldiers standing on either side of it. The detector was a few feet in length, almost like stepping into a short, dark tunnel; there was a small monitor near the top of the entrance, the Federation’s logo slowly turning on a blue background, a small green circle blinked just below the logo, then flashed yellow as Stan stepped in. He passed through, a solider looked back then motioned for Cole; he took a deep breath and passed through. He could feel his organs pulsate once, a sensation as if they were being lifted as the scanner checked his clothing, bare skin, and insides for anything that could be perceived as a weapon.
On the other side stood two other soldiers, they watched as silently as the first pair as Cole and Stan worked with their crates at the end of the conveyer belt, hoisted them onto a waiting dolly, and moved on.
Security was quick and painless. Douglas had walked away from the Black Bird and took a passenger elevator down to the next level. Without anything to declare, leaving his environmental suit back at the ship for the two assistants to take care of, he passed with ease through the scanner. The checkpoint was a long room beyond the scanners; much like the cargo checkpoint in design. White walls, low ceiling, and military personal standing ready. There were differences though, along one wall there were posters, advertisement for certain products and luxuries that would aid a passenger on their flight. As he walked further, double checking the buttons on his white dress shirt, he walked past a large image of the Earth, half draped in shadow with “We Will Return” written below it.
Douglas fixed his collar as he stepped aside, allowing a couple the right-of-way, his mind still buzzing from the change in gravitational pull and the thoughts of his trip. Returning to Earth was what a lot of citizens wanted. It was a hot topic when the Noblemen would sit that their bi-monthly open session; life on the moon was not something everyone wanted.
The Federation had several outposts on the surface, mostly research facilities near “hot zones”, areas of heavy radiation; Douglas himself could never get clearance to enter such areas. The permit alone to leave the Moon and land on Earth baffled the professor at times. Hardly anyone not associated with the UNASA could get the clearance to travel to the ruined surface, but Douglas did. The best he could figure was his background helped him.
He pondered further as he walked down the corridor, straightening his tie when the floor suddenly stopped and became a staircase, descending into a wide, circular room. The room was in the same fashion as the security checkpoint. The round room had two other staircases leaving at it from three o’clock and nine, then before him was another large elevator. The other staircases led to other hangers, there were glowing signs posted just above them with the letter and number of the bay in that direction. Douglas ignored them, stepped through the deserted room, and onto the lift.
I hope Richard is in a good mood, Douglas thought, pulling on his dull brown dress coat, I know what he wants…he blinked as he felt a shortness of breath. Douglas shook his head, inhaled, and exhaled, feeling himself return to normal. That was odd.
The clock on the wall ticked by slowly; each beat feeling and sounding so distant, it were almost as if the clock, built from well polished wood and shiny metal, were miles away. But it sat on the wall just behind the large oak desk, ticking away the seconds of the day, oblivious to everything about it. A man in a well pressed gray suit, the tag on the inside printed in Italian, sat just below the clock. He pushed away from the desk with his hands holding one another, resting on his lap. Dean Richard Atkin of Winston University sat in silence, his mind abuzz after the parade of morning meetings had finally ended. The talk and discussion of the last one rung in his head: “…the future of this college…”
He turned in his large leather chair, Richard’s eyes fell upon the many pictures and diplomas hanging on the wall behind him; there were pictures of him, shaking the hands of congressmen, senators, a photo of him and the President of the college. His diplomas were of the highest nature, clear evidence of his knowledge and intelligence that was needed for the position he held. But all of it was now at risk.
Ever since the end of the Six Year War, the Federation had been trying to pull the pieces together; one of the fragments they wanted fixed was the educational system. Shortly after the move to the lunar surface, the Federation pumped millions to establish schools and colleges. Since the college program ended with students required to joined the Armed Forces to receive their diploma, the Federation did as much as it could to keep the colleges open. But now, like the other colleges, the student population was dwindling and the Federal funds were starting to run dry. The advisors to the Noblemen suggested that a baby-boom was on the way, but Richard knew that those “boomers” wouldn’t be ready for college for almost two decades.
With the number of youths left to educate, the college had to think of something.
Thankfully, he though as he turned back to his desk, we have Professor Douglas. He felt a small smile spread across his face. The fear and worry of the college having to close its doors had kept Richard up at night…until the a week before when a representative for the UFASA walked into his office. Richard had felt like he had walked into a dream, listening to how the Aero Space Association needed Professor Douglas on their next mission to the Marian outpost. The representative wouldn’t say directly what Douglas would be doing on the mission, but Richard didn’t press. He could be going there to polish rocks for all I care…but he will go, and his name will be in the papers and on the news…and they’ll mention what college he works for.
Dean Richard wanted to smile, wanted to be over-joy that Winston University had its savior. But the thought of simply using the history and engineering professor as a means to keep the doors open, bothered him some. Richard wasn’t one to step on the toes of those who helped him…if he could help it. He bottled up this thoughts and feelings about the matter, and pushed them out with his breath, he exhaled as he leaned back into his chair some. Easing his troubled mind.
“Dean Richard?” a thundering voice called down. Richard’s eyes shot open and he fumbled in the chair, nearly laying it and himself on the floor. He collected himself and sat up, fixing his red and white striped tie. It took him a moment to realize where the voice was calling from; he gazed a small round impression in the closest right corner of his desk. The intercom. He reached out and tapped a single key next to the speaker built into his desk.
“Yes, Miss Kitty?” He asked.
“Professor Jonathon Douglas is on his way up, sir.” The raspy, but soothing voice of his receptionist said. “Also your wife called and requested you call her back.”
Richard groaned softly, dreading what madness awaited him at home.
“Thank you Miss Kitty,” he breathed, removing his hand from the button on the intercom, severing the line. Richard pushed back in his chair once more, now his mind was filled with thoughts of what his wife could need or want; his mind quickly thinking over the amount of money he had in his bank account, and the location of all of his credit cards. He said a silent prayer in thanks as he remembered they were all safely tucked away in his wallet. One the wall to the left of his desk rested a line of filling cabinets, a potted plant of some sort, his wife picked it out, and between the two sat the double doors to his office. There was a soft click noise, and Professor Douglas stepped into the room. He carried no briefcase, and looked as though he dressed hastily. Richard figured he must had just stepped off the ship.
He put on a smile and rose, extending his hand, which the middle-aged professor took and shook. Richard then gestured to the seat before his desk before he sat himself.
“Have a seat, Douglas,” he said, “how was your flight?”
Professor Douglas was a serious looking man at times, his face was unshaven, his dark coloured bear hung from his face, well-trimmed and cleaned. His hair was sparse on his head; Richard could tell Professor Douglas was slowly going bald. The man sat up straight, almost proud as he smiled and nodded at him. Dean Richard returned the nod and smile, being as polite as he could.
“It was fairly smooth,” Douglas said as he fixed his tweeter jacket, “found some good artifacts that I can use in my class next semester.”
“Yes, everything you find has to processed by the Federation, right?”
He gave another nod, still holding his smile, “Yes, they must be decontaminated and then processed and labeled. I should see them again in about six months.”
Richard had only heard about the procedure about bringing artifacts back only once, with everything else on his mind, how Douglas obtained his treasure of trash was of no concern to him.
“That soon?” He joked, forcing a small chuckle from his throat.
Douglas joined in, his chuckle sounding just as forced, “Well, I am doing them a service. If I was doing all this research and excavation for myself, I would be lucky to have the items processed in my life time.” He muffled his forced laughter, seeing that Richard now carried a serious expression. “I was told you needed me for something?”
Richard nodded, “Indeed, the college is getting antsy, mister Douglas, as you could guess. The board is pressuring me to keep you on solid ground until your mission to Mars and back is over.”
“And why is that?” Douglas asked, sitting straighter in his chair, the dean could see the concern on his face. Richard brought hands up and crossed them together before his chin before letting out a long breath.
“They are afraid, mister Douglas, of an accident that might occur while on one of your trips.”
“ But the board has no say in the matter,” he said, “I am commissioned by the Federation on my expeditions. I have limited windows for the scheduled times, I can’t just say ‘no’.”
“Mister Douglas, please try to think about the college.” He explained, feeling himself as almost as a serpent; the professor was commissioned by the United Federation, and college saw a good portion of the money earned. The board knew this, but they made their decision to have Douglas wait until after his mission before he could fly on his own once more. “The board thinks that it could become too dangerous with you moving about so much. There was a call made this morning from an Extremist cell, claiming that some ship, in one of the dozen of ship yards, was armed to blow. And not only that, you could have sudden power failure, fall from the sky…crash land…” He leaned forward into his desk. “The college is just looking out for your well-being, mister Douglas.”
“I didn’t know you cared,” he said sarcastically, “And well, until I hear from the Department of Aero Space Aviation, telling me that I am grounded, I will continue my excavations as planned.” Douglas stood up, fixing one of his sleeves. “You can tell that to the board when you see them next. If that is all you wanted to tell me, then I must get going. Have a good day Dean Richard.” He smiled, and with that, he nodded his head and walked for the door. Richard sat there a moment, he knew there was little he could do; he couldn’t throw the professor a pink slip. The college needed him.
He rose to his feet and held out his hand in protest, but the Professor had stepped through the door and was gone. Richard stood there for a long moment, feeling a small rage inside as he stared at the door to his office. He was the one in charge. He made decisions vital to the college…and yet, Professor Douglas just walked right over him.
Damnit.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
A_Alexander reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This 102 word review has not been unlocked.
kadiya reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This 185 word review has not been unlocked.
JIOden reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
An interesting concept. I must say that I can see this kind of war breaking out. I like that the earth has been described as almost dead, but you should add in some form of information about how survivors are living elsewhere early in the story. The descriptions of Lunar life are one of the best elements you have in this story. It flows much more effectively than the rest.
Perhaps using the information about colonization of the moon during the six year war earlier would help to make the prologue stronger. Then, adding the fact that there are historians digging around New York for a job can be inserted to clarify why there are people digging through rubble?
These suggestions would help to focus the plot more. You have a habit of bouncing back and forth in the topics I notice. That choppiness makes it hard to stay with the characters, and situation.
Sentance structures need lots of help. You tend to run on, and mix up sentances that break the flow of reading. I have the same problem, so I understand it well. Try reading it out loud as if reading to a kid was the advice I was given. It works well.
Another helpful tip from experiance: If you have grammatic checking in your word processor turn it onto as you go stats to get insight as you type. It will alert you through underlined sentances when you have run ons. That feature has helped me immencely in my own writing.
EX: It was gone, all gone; the once lush environment, the tall metal spires that reached for the heavens, the soft and welcoming sound of the ocean lapping at the bay.
This is three distinct thoughts. Try making each thought concise and independant. Focus will help a great deal with making the points and avoid redundancies that you are using through out page 1.
EX: The United Federation of Free Nations had flex their muscles during the first outbreak, the ringing bell for the beginning of the Six Year War came as a chemical agent, dropped into the water supply of Los Angeles by the Extremists.
Again, multiple sentances involved in a single sentance. Flexed is the word to use instead of flex, also. You mention a nuclear weapon as the begining of the war elsewhere.. Which one is the inciting of the war? These examples should be clarified to make the reading flow and more believable.
EX: The Nobles were all former rulers or subjects in different governmental parties; a deciding factor for all though, was military service. Every Nobleman at one point or another had to serve in the military to have been elected. The same rule followed for any large position in the hierarch of the Federation. This is also redundant. You only need to say they had militery experiance one time to get the picture across.
Consider rereading the work on paper and making notes as to which topic really goes where. You have a good idea, but you need to do a lot of fine tuning. I have given several examples so you can get an idea of what to look for.
Page 15 you mention slow boating. Did you mean show boating since the next lines are about stunts? I think you should consolidate the stunt styled space ship uses more. Peppering the stunts through the story chapter, then having a strong set down by the proffesor would give the characterization of both more clout and believability I believe. ANote, if it does not further plot think of axing the information. Lean and mean is the publisher’s law. Keep at it and good luck.
- add/view comments (2)
Tryptophan reviewed Version 1 -
Read 75% of the Item
Your first page is the beginning of the exposition and, while it effectively describes the environment of the story, seems to oscillate between the language of an observer (“It was gone, all gone.”), and the language of an omniscient narrator (The plant life was shriveled up, dead, or dying as the murky sky passed on.). I merely suggest that you develop either style, to make your writing more stylistically interesting. Personally, I prefer the first person language of a protagonist (that seems to be conveyed with the first sentence) supplemented with diction, syntax, and interjections that match the character (who I assume will be relatively screwed up.).
On the second page, I would merely develop the socio-economic nuances of your conflict. Why did the separatists decide to resist the federation? Making their cause more sympathetic than the one of the Federation would provide the conflict more well-rounded. For example, the federation being a economic hegemony that oppresses the separatists peoples, or the federation being fascist in nature, would provide intriguing philosophical musings on the modern political atmosphere. Regardless, more background information would be helpful to develop the plot and the characters.
I preface this comment with: I will admit to be biased in the subject of diction. I always prefer Ebonics and vulgar colloquialisms from certain characters. In this case, on page four, I would suggest that the personal asides of your military personal sounds more like a quote from Full Metal Jacket (Instead of, “This place gives me the creeps, sir,” I would suggest something more along the liines of, “Shit… this place is fucked up.”).
Pages seven and eight are surprisingly vivid. Just saying.
Showing 1 - 4 of 4
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
4 Reviews 3 Comments
Version 1
Latest Activity: 9 months ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 23 Times
Skipped: 2 Times
Ratings & Rankings
