by David Salvi
“Are you okay?” Riley asked. She recognized the girl, since it was a small civilization, but did not know the girl’s name.
The little girl nodded behind a stream of tears. Her brunette hair was wet and stuck to her face. Her little turnup nose sniffled and red cheeks blushed from the rush of adrenaline and exhaustion.
“What’s your name?”
“Anna.”
“Anna, where are your parents?”
“They were on a boat.” Anna fought her feelings and kept focus with Riley’s focus.
“Okay, then we’re going to go into the mountain,” Riley proposed.
“No, I want to leave. We have to leave,” Anna said defiantly.
“Leave?”
“Yes.” No mincing words for the little girl.
“Can you run?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
The woman and her child companion ran as fast as they could past the town square shops, which was now a field of bodies and debris in watery tombs. Only a hundred feet away was the base entrance of the mountain. Scouting from there was Lavik, who spotted Riley and excitedly alerted those at the gate.
Behind them, the flagship of the Canaanite navy parked at the pier and dropped a loading ramp from its bow. Dozens of soldiers dispensed like a disease of terror trying to destroy its host. The cannon fire stopped, and the men marched to the mountain.
Step by step the woman and girl ran, fueled by their own survival. They finally reached the entrance with the Canaanite companies breathing at their backs. High above, the dark gray face of the ‘cane loomed, irate with thunder and purple lightning.
Lavik alerted the man operating the gate, telling him to close it now. Riley and the girl would make it. They had to make it. The button was pushed and piercing alarm echoed into the mountain. This wasn’t supposed to close often. Riley and Anna snuck through as the bronze-plated steel gate closed behind them.
CLANK!
The alarm stopped.
On the other side were the survivors—only eight—all Motus members thrust into service, which they gladly accepted but for which they were hardly prepared. Sniffs, tears, murmurs filled the echoing halls of the mountain. Riley, Lavik, Anna, two elderly men, another child and two women.
“You sure you are okay, cap?” Lavik asked, motioning to her hip.
“It’s just a bruise. I’ll be fine.” Riley eyed a path to safety.
“But you’re bleeding…”
“I’m fine. Worry about them.”
Muffled yelling and banging against the steel barrier was heard outside. The noise forced the eight people to recoil, but Lavik assured them of their safety, as did Riley.
The people asked what they were going to do. They created scenarios on the spot, mostly of their impending demise. Children did not know what to make of the chaos. To them most of life had only been a little more than a dream. The reality of today’s scars were sure to haunt them later, if they were lucky to survive.
Lavik thought. Riley thought, too. Then Riley silenced the group by putting her hand up with a “shh!”
“Everybody come with me,” Riley said. She gazed at them with determined eyes.
She rushed the group through the tunnels deep into the mountain. After several turns and unfamiliar spots to the Motus members, she arrived at their destination. The old men asked where they were headed, as old men do.
“You sure about this, ma’am?” Lavik asked.
“Yes. Open it,” Riley commanded. Lavik did as she asked.
They had arrived at the prison, heading to one cell with two inmates.
“Not them, they are traitors!” one of the old men said. He snarled at the sight of Chris. Riley rebuked the man with her own vote of confidence toward the condemned.
Chris and Brody rose from their seats and grabbed the bars again as they did before, but this time with someone to talk to, not just a noise to wonder about in the distance.
Chris said, “Riley. What are you doing here?”
“Chris, don’t fuck with me.” She looked at the kids with an apologetic face, then back to Chris. “Can we get off this rock, or what?”
Brody interrupted, “I just don’t know. The ‘cane…” His voice, sewn with doubt, trailed off.
“Chris?” Riley wanted him to answer.
“Yes.” He then scanned to count the group. “And we can take everybody.”
“But the ‘cane…” Brody said. Always a scientist. The facts were against them.
“We will figure something out,” Chris assured him.
Riley asked Lavik to unlock the gate to the cell, and he did. She then pulled Chris toward her by the shoulders
“Chris, help us,” Riley pleaded, and she gave Chris a hug.
***
The group headed toward the laboratory, this time with Brody leading the way since it was his domain. He was excited and giddy, outpacing his contemporaries with ease, despite his age. The other elders huffed their way at the rear of the pack. The children were barely ahead, but that’s because of their shorter legs. Riley and Chris stayed with the children. Lavik and the two other women were ahead with Brody, connecting a caravan of survivors.
When they arrived at the laboratory, Brody alerted Rob II, who promptly replied over the loudspeaker. The others stood around in awe of the omnipresent voice and waited for further instruction.
“Is Christopher with you?” Rob II asked.
Chris spoke up, “Yeah, I’m here.”
Rob II’s software processed the vocal records. A match. It replied, “Is it safe to open?”
“Yes.”
A hiss came from the door on the far side of the laboratory, and it opened automatically. Brody urged the group this way, but Chris held back.
“Where are you going?” Riley asked.
“The Library.”
“We don’t have time!” Riley shouted as Chris went off.
“There’s something I have to do.”
CHAPTER 25
CHRIS SPRINTED to the Library, hoping the only person he wanted to talk to was there, and no one else. He could only hear the deep thuds of cannon fire against the mountain periodically. It would flicker the lights and send clouds of dust to the ground.
“Liv!” he shouted, hoping to hear her voice. He lost breaths from the sprinting. Stars spotted in his vision.
Huddled under her desk, covered with blankets and pillows was a petite, blonde woman. She heard her name again and crawled out. The dust had covered her fair skin. The faint light drew a haunting shadow on her face. She looked afraid and alone.
Upon seeing her, Chris ran over and hugged her. But the embrace was not reciprocated. He felt her resisting him. As he pressed forward, the more she pushed away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t do what you want me to do.”
“What do you think I want you to do?”
“Leave. Go…up there!” she motioned up to the ceiling of the mountain, meaning well past into the sky.
“What’s wrong with that? It’s a better life.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe I want something different.”
“What do you want?”
“I know I don’t want that.”
“If you stay here, you’ll die!” Chris became emotional. He hated the thought, but he knew he had to say it aloud.
“No, I won’t. I’ll go back to Canaan.”
“What?!”
“I’ll just go back to Canaan and live my life. On the planet I was born. Doing things I know.”
“It’s all a farce. Nothing more than a controlled existence.”
“Well, that works for me. Like everything here in the Library. I know where it is. What it is. And where I need to go when I want it. Up there…is too big of a mystery for me.”
“Don’t you want to live your life freely like you did here?”
“If you wanted to save what Motus stood for, you wouldn’t have wasted all your
time with this spaceman fantasy.” Olivia pushed him away and stepped back to create a chilling distance. “You think you know what you’re doing, but you don’t. People are dying because you are selfish.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“We aren’t the same. What we were was just a fantasy.”
Chris slumped his shoulders. A pit in his stomach grew to the size of his head. He felt the void grow deeper and deeper.
“Chris,” Riley said from the tunnel entrance. She had followed Chris and listened to the conversation.
Once she saw Riley, Olivia rolled her eyes.
“She’s wrong,” Riley said.
Chris turned between the two women, craning his head back and forth, fighting his own feelings, which were a mixture of confidence and doubt, hope and loss, love and hate.
Riley said, “You’ve given us hope, Chris. It may not seem like it now, but you’ve given us hope. That’s enough for me—for us—right now.”
He started to pace toward Riley, not knowing how to leave Olivia without cutting off his own feelings and saying goodbye for good. It took a few steps. His heart beating faster than it did in the face of death. Love did that.
So he said goodbye. And that was that.
Chris and Riley exited through the tunnel and the last faint light on Olivia’s face ceased as he turned the corner. Burned in his memory was a lasting impression of Olivia, in pain and alone.
There was nothing more he could do, he reminded himself. A mind made up is a stubborn thing. This much he knew for himself. That much was true for all.
CHAPTER 26
CHRIS AND RILEY HURRIED through the doorway and entered the laboratory. They saw engineers milling about, except one waiting by the entrance, as if for them. Report in hand. Yep, he was for them.
“Tell me something good,” Chris said. “Where’s Brody?” He snatched the paper from the engineer.
“He’s loading the passengers in Aurora,” the engineer replied, matter-of-factly.
Rob II picked up the answer on the speaker system, “The storm is spinning in an oblong shape. It may take over a day for it to pass. Wind speeds are too strong for launch…” Then Rob II went into weather metrics Chris didn’t care to understand.
Instead of paying attention, Chris scanned the document. A printed radar map of the storm from their sensors and radar system littered around the island. He then saw an insignia printed at the bottom-right of the page. The Motus Symbol. Green and glorious. The symbol stood for something. Bold action. Then he noticed something on the map.
“Does the eye of the ‘cane come over us?” Chris interrupted Rob II mid-sentence.
The engineer shot Chris a bewildered face. “And, why does that matter?”
“Rob?” Chris asked.
The engineer shook his next question, “You’re not going to…”
“Rob?” Chris demanded this time.
“To answer your question, yes. We project the eye of the storm to be over us within the hour. But the eye’s path is unpredictable, like a crooked corkscrew spinning aimlessly.”
Chris asserted, “Then there’s our Option B. What altitude do we need to clear the storm?”
Rob II replied quickly, “Around 55,000 feet, but the atmosphere above the storm can be as turbulent, throwing the flight path off.”
Riley stood back and listened to the idea with pose. She thought of the time she met Chris. Her face buried in gravel, only to look up at a worried young man, the man she was sent to find and save. From an idle, yet concerned Canaanite to the last hope for Motus. Despite the gravity of the conversation before her, she couldn’t help but smile at Chris.
“I know this ship. I know it can do it.” Chris asserted, as if to convince himself.
“The launch sequence does not…”
“No, but the ship can do it. Auxiliary landing thrusters. You can override the system and activate those to balance our ascent.”
Rob II was silent as if computing something. After an austere moment, it said, “Chances are slim. It’s virtually suicide.”
“Staying here is certain death. I’ll take virtual suicide over certain death right now.”
“I know.”
“So you know we can’t just throw chairs and tables in front of that door and expect to survive. We have no choice. Have a projection map of the eye’s path and get ready for the launch sequence.”
After a moment, Rob II replied, “I’ll prepare the flight plan.”
Chris turned to Riley with playful eyes, “Bold action, the Motus way.”
“I love it.” Riley cracked a big smile. She couldn’t contain it in. She nearly giggled from the insanity.
“Let’s go see our lady,” Chris said to Riley. They rushed around the tables and chairs to the far end of the laboratory. Rob II unlocked the metallic door, and into the hangar went Chris and Riley.
Aurora appeared ready with up-lights shining on her cylindrical shape. Electronics were on, interior and exterior lights beamed. A faint steam emitted from the exhaust pipes at the bottom of the ship. Chatter amongst the engineers bounced in private corners of the hangar.
“I love her name,” Riley said.
“Me too,” Chris replied. He took a few moments to stare upon their chariot to the stars.
For what Chris read about faith, he felt as close as he ever had come to it. He felt like this was going to work. He had a burning fire within him that never has stopped since reading the letters of Oscar Marian. Transported back to Oscar’s letters put the man’s voice in his head, like when he read them atop of the Albertrum mountains. It was probably the wrong voice, but it was the one he imagined.
Oscar had a busy voice, meaning there was text beneath the text, and then more layers above and below, like he was talking himself in and out of corners. The timbre was a shrill voice though, one of vulnerability and loneliness. That was until later in the letters. Chris found them more haunting and brooding. From an excited puppy yapping about a special discovery in a field to an old man beaten by the world he tried to conquer, and eventually abandoned, only to know more truth without the time to make things truly better.
Yet Chris felt a connection to the man. Both invested in decisions they believed were best for the greater good. Yes, people were harmed, but doesn’t anything good have a cost? That’s how they justified. You always had to justify it, Chris would tell himself. He learned that from Oscar.
Two hundred and fifty years after landing on Canaan, an underlying feeling of unease connected them across those centuries and bent time toward one another, as if Chris was there to undo the wrongs Oscar had done. Though Oscar followed his path after significant discovery, he was impatient. Maybe Chris was more patient and thought things through. Or more bad things were to happen. Time, for what it was, would tell.
Again at the precipice of a grand decision for their species, a man made a choice.
“So, we are going to go to Earth and start over?” Riley asked.
“Yes.”
“Make it right this time.”
“Yes.”
Chris and Riley walked toward Aurora. An engineer adjusted straps and fittings on their spacesuits, which were a green, sturdy material with metallic hoops at the wrists, ankles, waist, and neck. Hoses and a life pack were then attached to a helmet with glass partition, giving the wearer a panoramic view. Proper air levels and pressure were applied when it was secure. A flush of air blasted into the helmet and startled them. Then the comms crackled in their ears.
The voices were static like in the bi-copter, but clear enough.
“Hear me?” Chris asked.
“I got you,” said Riley. “I can hardly move in this thing.”
“Good thing we aren’t running away in these things.
Chris heard Riley cackle like she needed that laugh.
“How’s that eye looking, Rob?” Chris said. Most of the crew did not know Option B. Of course they also didn’t know they’d be in a spacecraft headed out
that day.
“Within the hour now,” said Rob II.
Then Chris turned to Brody the best he could, “Shall we?”
“We shall,” answered Brody.
They moved to the ladder and climbed up while swaying their bodies and grasping each ring. The sides of the suit bumped quietly against the edges of the ladder. Both of them laughed at themselves and complained about mobility, but managed fine to enter Aurora. First Riley, then Chris.
When Chris reached the command deck, he scanned his unorthodox crew of interstellar travelers, including a restless Lavik. They sat wide-eyed behind their glass partitions and used what grip they had in the bulky spacesuit to hold tightly to their armrests, molding them to their stations for takeoff.
With Rob II, Brody communicated through the last of the checks before initiating a launch sequence when Chris and Riley arrived. He then instructed his new space cadets on what will happen. The children, women, and old men were in the spaceship wearing ill-fitted spacesuits and strapped into passenger seats tighter than any of them would have liked. Behind their space helmet’s arced glass, innocent faces of all ages—eyes wide or completely shut.
“Don’t worry, El-Vee, everything will be okay,” Chris said to Lavik with a wink.
The big man scanned the area with wandering eyes, ignoring Chris’s reassurance.
Maneuvering into his captain’s seat, front and center to the rest, Chris buckled himself in. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and called for Rob II, which was plugged into all the comms systems.
“Once we close the hull, we will be ready for launch sequence, Captain.” Rob II declared over the airwaves.
One of the children gulped. Others chimed in with comments.
“Cut all communication until directed otherwise,” Chris ordered. The commentary stopped.
On a private line Rob II asked Chris, “I can cut their comms.”
“Nah, I don’t want a mutiny so soon.”
Before Chris could proceed with orders, a vibration shook the ship. A quake shuddered the passengers teeth and sent their eyes around the ship for a problem. But everything operated fine. Then another quake.