Expedition Nereus

by Ilya Martynov

  When he awoke, his stomach rumbled. Over the next hour, he wolfed down several portions of protein supplements, grains, and two packs of waffles that the Center has "kindly" delivered him. The glucose managed to restore his brain back to normal, adding greatly to his good mood. Even was starting to fall and it was possible that it would be cool outside, but Jack opted against a stroll, instead choosing to work with the samples he had placed in the quarantine chamber, following the instructions that were deeply engrained in his mind.

  46

  Space Agency. Earth.

  "What the hell is going on there, dammit!?" Director Newland shouted.

  "We've got everything under control for now," Linda Robore answered calmly, standing in front of her boss, though her voice betrayed her.

  Her voice trembled because her confidence in controlling people was shaken.

  "Under control, you say! Under control! I'm sick of hearing that! What can you control when you're several light-years away!?" He lunged out of his armchair as if jumping up.

  "We think we know what to do with the surviving officer," Robore answered, trying to stay calm and cold-blooded.

  She reminded herself of a nine-year-old schoolgirl who was being lectured for bad behavior. Hate was raging inside her, making her deeply offended. Since the incident, she had been doing everything to guarantee the instruction preclude any unpleasant future incidents. She was the one who was trying to win the battle to toughen the instructions for so long. But why? To be reprimanded. Anger boiled inside her so much that it seemed she was less human and more a vat overflowing with sulfuric acid.

  "The kid... because of him, everything is on edge. Journalists are surrounding everything with their sensors and scanners. They're trying to catch any little peep from the Agency," the director couldn't calm down. "He would have been better off dying with the rest of them. Now we need to find a way to get him out of there!"

  Robore's eyebrows raised quizzically after this phrase.

  "Mr. Newland, I don't understand," her voice carried a shrill tone to it. "You know what I sacrificed. I am not in this position to fail. So long as the officer carries out his orders, the Agency must take care of him!"

  "What did you sacrifice? You've made a career out of being in an office!" the director shouted.

  "I lost my son because of the Agency's laziness!" Robore's voice turned into a yell.

  She pounded the director's table with her fist and stared into Newland's bloodshot eyes.

  "It was an accident," the director replied in a more patient voice, as though taken aback by such a reaction. "And you know... I'm not making you work here. Don't strain yourself, my dear, if you don't want to."

  "You forget, sir," She stepped away from the table, straightening her shoulders. "Your autonomy has come to an end," she tried to insert as much poison into her voice as she could to paralyze the director. "I'm here only to follow the instructions and control everything, including you. The Council will barely tolerate your reasoning about the officer's death. And the journalists are waiting for an opportunity to report a scandal."

  She struck her boss's most vulnerable weak spot. After having worked with high-ranking vipers for many years, she learned to locate the blind spots of her rivals.

  "You can go, Robore..." the director uttered through clenched teeth.

  Shrugging her shoulders, Linda left through the portal. Her typically pale face flushed red. The Director of Intergalactic Missions leaned against the wall and bent like wet straw. Today she had managed to win just a tiny battle in the massive war.

  Her long-standing self-control helped her straighten up and continue walking towards her office. But there was a burning pain somewhere behind her chest that was trying to paralyze her body, making her face and neck muscles quiver. Her lips formed a fantastically ugly grimace as her thoughts returned to that dreadful day.

  A screen with polygons appeared in front of her eyes. Her thirteen-year-old son entering the aquarium tube and getting pulled into the test shuttle.

  What was he doing there? Who let him go in? How did he manage it?

  The shuttle, a tiny dark triangle, seemed to be launched upwards before sharply turning around and flying backwards. Then an invisible force encased it in orange and yellow. The pieces of trimming scattered in different directions. Smoke... a lot of smoke. Rescue equipment rolled onto the range. There was chaos. Her son was nowhere to be seen...

  Only smoke.

  47

  Placing another flask on the microscope platform, Jack noticed the teleport's sides shining purple, then he heard some clicking before the pavilion was filled with the sound of a painfully familiar voice. At first, the lieutenant thought he was hallucinating, but then the gravity of the situation made him react anyways.

  "Jack! Jack! Goddammit! Jack, answer!" Sam Norwell's head could be seen in the center of the teleport.

  "Sam, is that you? But how!?" Jack asked, his eyes wide open in shock at what was happening.

  "Jack, it's too long to explain. I don't have much time," Sam replied.

  "Sam, who's that lady in your dad's position!?" Jack blurted, remembering that Sam was the son of a key person at the Agency, so he clearly had more opportunities to contact anyone anywhere.

  "Oh, buddy," Sam gave a heavy and long sigh. "A lot of things have changed since you left."

  "I hope your dad is the Director of the whole Agency now?" Jack tried to make a joke, knowing that it wasn't so.

  "If only! We wouldn't have problems then!"

  "Then what is he!?" Jack tilted his head, rolling in his chair to be closer to the teleport.

  "He's Agency spokesman now."

  "Really?" Still not completely comprehending what was going on, Jack glanced at Sam with delight, happy that Sam's dad hadn't been fired.

  "I'm so damn happy to see you, buddy! If only you knew! I'm looking at you and I still can't believe that I'm talking to you! Jack, damn you! I was about to start raising funds for your memorial," Sam opened his heart to him.

  "Sam, well, I... I can't believe it myself. The memorial will have to wait though," he almost laughed. He missed having such honest conversations with people he felt really understood him.

  "To be honest... Ehm, I'm sorry... I thought that you, before dad told me..." Sam stopped, searching through his mental dictionary to form the right words.

  "You thought I bought it?" Jack surmised.

  "Well," Sam slightly lowered his gaze, like a guilty dog. "Well, yes..." Now he was looking up slightly, waiting for a reaction.

  Silence fell for a few moments.

  "It's fine," Jack chuckled. "If I were you, I would have thought I'd died a long time ago too."

  "Believe me, I was peppering my dad with questions for so long, especially when they stopped receiving any signals. And we were going crazy thinking you were stuck in space," Sam tried to justify himself. He straightened up, holding his head high.

  "It's all right. I understand, Sam," Jack tried to smile again. No matter what much Sam blabbered, the lieutenant was overjoyed to see his friend. "I hope I'll survive long enough for the next expedition."

  "Jack, what do you... don't feel depressed. We'll think over something, I promise! We'll get you out of that hellhole! We'll make up for it at yours and Gladys' wedding," Jack was smiling but then he suddenly fell gloomy and sad.

  "Sam, may I ask you for a favor?" he asked in a serious voice.

  "Anything! Seriously. Anything you wish! But don't ask us to send you to Nereus again," he didn't realize immediately what a ridiculous joke he was trying to make in their conversation.

  "No, enough of that..."

  "I'm sorry. Bad joke. What's your request, buddy?"

  "Gladys... I'd like to..." He looked down, as if searching under the table. He was worried because he didn't want to make Sam take risks.

  "Ah, I understand! You want to talk to her!? Sam exclaimed, leaning forward.

  "Yes! I want to see her so much!" Jack responded, lifti
ng his head.

  "Will do! I'll do whatever it takes! You'll see..."

  "Thanks, Sam. You're the best friend a guy can ask for..."

  "And you're the best friend I can ever ask for. I'm so proud of you, you frakking son of a bitch! How could you even do all this!?" Sam asserted in admiration, gripping the edge of his teleport.

  Jack remembered they used to banter like that back in school. This way of chatting was quite strange for the lieutenant, but it was probably the only thing that could restore the invisible mental connection between them.

  "Yes, it was an accident... I didn't want to be alone here... Honestly, maybe I would have been better off exploding with the others..." He felt he had said something wrong, something different than what he was actually thinking. "I wish everyone had survived..."

  "You know... actually Jack, I don't know how much longer I can talk. If they find out, dad will be removed from his position. But listen. Something bad is happening with this mission to Nereus," Sam fell silent and leaned in, whispering. "I overheard that the new director has a grudge against the whole mission. I haven't found out why and dad is saying nothing."

  Jack perked up and bent as close to the teleport as he could, trying not to miss a single word.

  "I'm still collecting information and if I find something out, I'll let you know. By the way, is there anything you'd like?"

  "I don't know for now... although..." Jack was stunned, as well as disappointed by the lack of more facts about his new boss.

  "Damn it, Jack!" Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger. "I can send you practically anything you want! My brain melts just from imagining all the possibilities!" Sam couldn't hold back the wave of emotions he felt.

  "Sam, can you promise you'll be able to do what I ask?" Jack asked in a serious voice.

  "I promise, buddy, I promise. I'll do everything I can," Sam answered in a calmer tone.

  "Thanks," Jack nodded, pursing his lip. A grimace was on his face as his lower lip curved. Jack was on the verge of crying, but he controlled himself. Sadness wouldn't leave his face for a long time.

  "Jack, I need to say goodbye already... I'm so happy to see you. I'm happy to know you're alive. That's the main thing. So?

  "Eh, maybe," Lieutenant Sallenge wistfully remarked, leaning back in his armchair. "Maybe, yes..."

  He understood Sam couldn't even imagine what he had gone through on this planet. There was no time to share such sentiments though.

  "Don't feel sad! I'll see you again for sure! I swear! And I remember about Gladys! Just hang on," Sam repeated, jokingly waving a threatening fist.

  "Thanks, Sam, I’ll..." the connection was lost, freezing on Sam's 3-D face before it faded out. "... be waiting," Jack slowly finished, talking to himself.

  48

  It was the strangest conversation in his life. Sam was smiling and glad to see him, but at the same time, he looked worried, if not scared. The last time Jack saw him like this was when Sam drove one of the transport robot-drones and crashed it against the construction site of the Academy. This issue was solved because Mr. Norwell had gotten involved. If it had been Jack, he never would have gotten away with it. Fortunately, Sam got off with a stern reprimand from the Academy's president.

  Until now, Jack hadn't thought about the Academy or the incident. He was concerned with why his friend was so frightened. Sam Norwell belonged to the group of guys who seemed pretty dependable yet too immature, if not reckless, but that was only on the face of it. When the need for it called, the broad smile and loud laugh of a healthy strong guy with curly dark-blond thin hair would immediately transform into a serious expression, one signaling the readiness to carry out any task, even the most difficult ones.

  The teachers at the Academy used to call Sam a "brainy daredevil". Strict Mrs. Nadella even went so far as to say he was a "clever scoundrel". Unlike Jack, Sam was incredibly religious, even attending Sunday school for a while. Sam liked to sing religious songs and he also played the double bass, twirling the bow, biting his lip or smacking them in a sappy way. One day, Jack attended a church concert and was surprised how different Sam acted with the old string instrument ensemble of the Northern Lutheran Church orchestra. Sitting on a red upholstered seat with his eyes closed, Sam seemed to soak in the religious atmosphere of the church with his entire body, his hands flying up the bass' neck before sharply sliding the bow across the strings. Each action was accompanied by his lips smacking. At the same time, Sam's closed eyes gave off the impression that he was eating something delicious while playing music. Jack used to make jokes about Sam, mimicking his manner of smacking lips with his eyes closed.

  Once Sam got so irritated by this that he let Jack have it, "You know, you may be teasing and laughing at me, but I'm doing this for the church's sake and for those who want to be saved. Gladys goes there with her mom too during the weekend."

  Back then, Jack was already mulling his friends words and thinking of the single mother of his girlfriend. The strings of memories twisted around themselves until nothing was easily distinguishable. Gladys didn't talk about herself much, but she could speak for hours on end about her mom.

  An old widower after losing her husband, Mrs. Swift was in constant, tearless sadness when her daughter was born. Time and the loss of her beloved husband spared no mercy for the intelligent, pretty woman who had upheld strict moral values as a youth. Hunched over by years of grief, when Jack began talking with her, she had practically stopped going outside. Heavy dark-violet layers of thick cloth shrouded her whole body, and at times she reminded Jack of a rock wrapped in tattered strips of fabric.

  More than once, Jack heard Gladys try to convince her mother to open up to people, but the response she got was pained smiles and looks of panic. He was surprised how an exhausted, almost crazed, worn out woman managed to raise such a well-mannered and educated daughter. Having found some degree of consolation in her daughter, Mrs. Swift had committed her remaining resilience into bringing up and educating Gladys.

  The family used to be poor, living on benefits and meager salaries of part-time jobs worked by Mrs. Swift. They had no money for neurobands, which explained why Clara Swift read books aloud to her daughter. Every evening she would read a passage of a book from Twain, Blyton, Wilde, or Lindgren, read page after page for a long time. Once her daughter was old enough, she had Gladys reading Thackeray, Hemingway, Bradbury, Beecher Stowe, Exupery, and many other authors, even Russian classics such as Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Gogol, Kuprin, Bunin. In the evenings, Gladys plays an old forte-piano "C. Bechstein", which she and her mom meticulously moved from one rented apartment to another.

  "Damn, you're so well-read compared to me... I haven't even read half of the school's literature list," Jack confessed to Gladys his ignorance when they were walking along a street near Aeronaut City's central park.

  When Gladys turned eight, Mrs. Swift sent her to sports acrobatics section that would determine her future path in life. Mrs. Storfish, a cruel teacher at the sports school, ignored the girl first, considering her to be a clumsy and spoiled mediocre girl. But to the demanding teacher's surprise, after a few months of tenacious training, Gladys achieved her first success.

  "You may be inexperienced and a bit spoiled, but at least you're persistent. That's good. Maybe you'll succeed someday," Mrs. Storfish told her one day with sly look to her eyes.

  The teacher wasn't particularly malignant. She was just annoyed with all the lazy and spoiled girls from rich families she had to work with. She hated children whose parents considered the most talented ever the most. Stupefied, befuddled, and blinded by far-fetched visions of glory, these children thought the world was theirs for the taking. Mrs. Storfish was certain that groundless vanity only hindered and killed the development of talent.

  Gladys, coming from a poor family, in Mrs. Storfish's opinion, could constantly work hard and achieve set goals. This feature was definitely appealing to Mrs. Storfish. At first, the demanding teacher was sure that the
eight-year-old Gladys, who had come too late according to acrobatics standards, would not be able to succeed, thus she'd quickly wash out.

  In some time, the girl became the most advanced in her group due to her incredible internal grit. It made Mrs. Storfish give in and change her point of view. She started leaving little Gladys for additional training after classes, and soon the young acrobat won her first small but deserved prize - her first junior gold medal. Mrs. Swift made the right decision, sending her daughter to acrobatic classes.

  During that time, everyone started gradually forgetting about the epoch of cataclysms, and beautiful sports competitions became desired and popular among society again. Sometimes Gladys attended classical choreography classes, but each time Mrs. Storfish found out about it, Gladys received harsh reprimands.

  "How many times must I tell you you're spoiling your technique with choreography!" Storfish chided.

  "I won't do it again."

  "You told me that already!" The teacher wouldn't stop.

  "I only did a little."

  "A little!? What if you slip up and get injured? Every minute is a risk. You have to live with this."

  Eventually, Storfish began thinking she was developing more maternal feelings towards her student. Looking at the stooped old lady in a dark-purple hat who came to pick up her daughter, the teacher pitied the girl deep in her heart, thinking she was being forced to live with a crazy lady. At least, Gladys suspected that Storfish thought this way about her family, but she never blamed her.

  She thought that Storfish believed this not because she had a wicked heart, but because she simply didn't know any better. Even Gladys was sometimes confused by her mom. She blushed embarrassed when the girls at school made jokes about her mom's hats, imitating a stooped heron. However, no girl could have guessed that the hunched over, crestfallen, grieving woman gave her daughter. Mrs. Swift provided everything she could.