Canaan

by David Salvi

  Rob II said, “We have a breach in the laboratory. They will be here soon.”

  “Canaan,” Riley said over the comms.

  An engineer, a young man like Chris with a faint black beard and restless eyes, shouted to the crew from the ladder. He was supposed to be the last to board. One chair was open for him.

  He said, “You go!” After sealing the hull, he ripped his helmet and gloves off and slid down the ladder before falling on his back. Luckily the padding in the suit broke his fall and he twisted himself to his feet like a baby learning to walk.

  Brody said, “What the hell is he doing! Rick!” But Brody was strapped in and he could only scream into the comms. As he tried to unbuckle his harnesses, Brody was ordered to stop by Chris.

  “There’s nothing we can do. We’re thankful for his sacrifice.” Chris said with a quiver in his voice.

  Rob II reported, “Opening hangar door. The eye is directly over us. Now is the time.”

  “Initiate launch sequence,” Chris ordered.

  Above, the hangar’s ceiling split into two and Apollo bled into the cavernous space. The ‘cane’s tunnel of gray clouds covered half of their view. A few raindrops dropped from above. A rush of wind shook the hull.

  Aurora’s engines spit sparks near the exhaust ports. A low-grade hum accelerated to a booming quake on the passenger’s backs. Rob II continued the sequence over the speaker system. He ran through the checks one by one.

  Hangar open. ‘Cane’s eye high above.

  Engine initiation.

  Countdown. From twenty seconds.

  The door from the laboratory to the hangar jettisoned outward. Spilling in were several brutish Canaanite soldiers, weapons in hand. Filing in behind the first few lines was Chris’s old buddy, Jack.

  Rick, the engineer, hurled boxes at them. He screamed in defiance, hurling insults and profanity at the intruders. A few bullets forced him to duck for cover.

  Ten seconds.

  “What’s going on out there?” Brody asked.

  Rob II said, “Someone doing the right thing. Five seconds.”

  “Dammit. Liftoff is going to incinerate them, unless they get into the safe room.”

  Jack ordered his soldiers to fire, and a hell of bullets blasted at Aurora. Tiny sparks popped every few inches on the lower part of the hall near the exhaust ports. But when he saw Aurora’s engines shoot a blue flame into the ground, Jack called for an immediate retreat. Three of the brutes held their ground with their weapons raised at the spaceship. They marched closer.

  The rest of the Canaanites sprinted toward the passageway and back into the laboratory.

  “Two.”

  A deep breath.

  “One.”

  Closed eyes.

  “Liftoff.”

  ***

  Aurora’s engines went into an inferno of blue and red flames that rippled throughout the floor of the hangar. Boxes, packaging, desks, chairs, leftover anything flew to the walls and went up into dust within seconds. And the spaceship lifted, guided by metal scaffolding that ran up the side of the mountain.

  Chris, and the rest of the crew, closed their eyes and accepted the course of vibrations, loud bangs, and uncertainty. A dull humming of the ship’s engine rang in the passenger’s ears.

  “Everybody all right?” Chris shouted into the comms, trying to overcome the pervasive noise.

  A few spoke up. No one said they weren’t okay, not that Chris could do anything about it at the moment anyway. To what was a guess, he figured most of them were passed out from the force.

  “El-vee?” Chris asked.

  The big man screamed in a high-pitched voice, “I’m fine!”

  As Aurora lifted out of the hanger, her glimmering silver, green, and warm tones shined in Apollo’s warmth to the rest of Motus Island. Yet, the only ones to look on were Canaanite warships.

  Aurora soared straight and picked up velocity with every passing second.

  With a calm in the ‘cane, Canaanite warships and bi-copters directed their fire toward the enemy’s escape craft, but Aurora darted with a force to freedom. Many of the soldiers took a moment to see, wide-mouthed and wide-eyed. They dragged their feet and dropped their weapons with their heads tilted toward the sky. A spaceship rocketing upward like a celestial body going home.

  “The winds knocking us off course. Engaging auxiliary landing thrusters,” Rob II reported. Then blasts of thrust shot in various directions based on Rob II’s data. The act steadied Aurora’s trajectory. Engines firmly thrust the spacecraft. Heading realigned. Angles good. Now to get some air under her wings.

  Chris and the crew could see the colossal charcoal-colored wall of the ‘cane. Flashes of lighting crackled through the interior like streams of water instantly dispensing into a delta.

  Again, they were knocked off course. Auxiliary landing thrusters shot to correct the error. Puffs of thrust and force balanced back.

  Rob II announced altitude and status updates every so often for Chris’s purposes.

  Get to 55,000 feet. Then again, he couldn’t do anything about a problem anyway. He was mainly along for the ride and an occasional decision that would probably be made for him with good data and analysis.

  “55,000 feet.”

  Wow that was fast, Chris thought.

  Rob II then counted the altitude in miles. 20. 30. 40. Clearing all of the hurdles.

  Two minutes past.

  Then a lightness sank into the passenger’s bellies. Their grips were relinquished and they waved their hands around in the air to feel the weightlessness. Tingling sensations speckled their toes and fingers. Some smiled, others dropped their jaws. Those unconscious remained that way for a few minutes. Lavik held tight to his seat and kept his eyes closed, just as he did the entire liftoff.

  From what Chris could see from the viewing window, blues and purples of Canaan’s atmosphere dissipated like a light fog burning off in late morning. The deep black of space surrounded them with specks of light dotting the universe.

  Noises from the engine hummed with a dull tone, and the static of the comms filled their ears. Breathing from the passengers. Slow and steady just to make sure that it was okay to breathe and that Aurora worked properly.

  Space. They made it.

  Lavik’s eyes were still closed.

  CHAPTER 27

  CHRIS SAT IN THE COMMAND DECK as miscellaneous beeping and blinking erupting around him. His mouth did not move, but his brain and heart swirled with thoughts and feelings.

  He reached into his pocket to reveal a note written in pencil on Canaanite paper, folded with deep, thick creases at the corners. He read the front’s markings, which were smeared from their original spots. An instinctive feeling boiled in his stomach, as it did every time he read it. His mother gave it to him, seemingly an eternity ago, and the pain from that day was as stubborn as ever.

  The front read as:

  TO CHRISTOPHER MENAS | WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT

  Unfolding the paper, Chris held back tears with his heart palpitating through his chest against the spacesuit. This was his reminder of what he had to do. Something he only knew and no one else. It made him pull his arm back to hurl the paper across the deck. But he restrained himself, took a deep breath, and read it again.

  This note is now real.

  The Day I Left Canaan

  Christopher --

  I am not sure if you will receive this letter. If you do, I am not sure you will even know what it means. I trust your mother will answer questions you may have.

  Today, I am leaving on a reclaimed spacecraft, named Icarus, that Canaanite engineers rebuilt and configured based on Oscar Marian’s instructions. I have no choice in the matter. You and your mother are held hostage by the Arch Canaanites. Your mother was forced to labor in the tower to do their bidding, and in a mocking fashion. If her time appeared careless, it was because she was protecting you by keeping the peace.

  Believe me when I say Canaanites are foul and evil peo
ple. They believe only in themselves, their riches, their pleasures, and the suppression of the Canaanite people. Beware of their treachery. No matter what compromise they may present, or solution to the madness they offer, do not believe them. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and nothing will change. When you have power, you squeeze power from others and sacrifice anything in your life to hold onto that power. That much I know of the human condition from witnessing Canaanite oppression. A sad reality.

  From what I gathered as a prisoner, Canaan is sitting on over a hundred years of scientific research. They have everything needed for interstellar travel from Canaan to Earth. Materials, plans, and instructions for spacecraft and exotic matter, and the will. The Arch Canaanites appear as ambitious as Oscar Marian was, but with worse intentions. They will want to explore all options, such as hopes to laying the framework for intergalactic imperialism.

  Hence my trip. I’m the guinea pig.

  If and when I get to Earth, I will create more exotic matter as Oscar Marian intended. Your mother and I were able to copy Rob II, the artificial intelligence program, and we’ll work together to do what is necessary.

  Rob II calculated the trajectories of the planets for a direct line to open up the pathway. As luck would have it, one of the times is on your twenty-seventh birthday. I will activate my end of the pathway precisely at midnight the morning of, according to the Canaanite calendar and clock. This is the only way I can keep the line open in secret. And it’ll only be open for a matter of hours. From there, we’ll see when Rob I and Rob II determine the next time.

  Do whatever needs to be done to retrieve the plans and meet me on Earth. Do whatever is necessary to escape.

  I know I am just a faceless name to you. An absent father demanding something of his son—on behalf of a cause you may not even believe in. Asking you to upend your life, one you may love and want to keep, is selfish. But the circumstances are dire. I hope you can forgive me for such a thing to ask a young man who wished for none of it.

  In case you may want to know, we named you after Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. Though you don’t know who he is, or what a “saint” is, I thought you should know.

  I hope to see you and your mother in time. For your sake, and mine. I love you. More than you’ll ever know.

  Love,

  Dad

  CHAPTER 28

  CHRIS FOLDED UP THE PAPER and put it back in his pocket.

  A moment later, Riley poked her head around the corner.

  “Ready?” Riley said.

  “Yep,” he said.

  “Happy birthday, by the way.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Rob told me.”

  “Thanks.”

  Aurora had set sail days ago, and they had reached the coordinates of the wormhole’s proposed mouth.

  Rob II communicated over all the ship’s speakers, “All passengers, report to the command deck with flight gear ready. We are starting our cosmic explosion sequence.”

  Scurrying in the back were the passengers, finishing the day’s rations and throwing out trash into a sealed and vacuumed compactor by the refrigerator and storage areas. They floated from spot to spot like doing chores about the ship. Then they spotted each other when donning their flight gear. Once the helmets were on, they’d take their spots in the command deck and secure themselves.

  Chris helped Riley, and Riley helped Chris.

  As she lifted his helmet to his suit, Chris was transported back to the conversation they had yesterday when looking out into the stars while the rest of the cabin was asleep.

  His voice rang in his head, “I’m not going to make the same mistake Oscar Marian made.”

  “You won’t,” Riley told him at the time.

  “I’m not going to abandon my people. Whether we are on Earth, Canaan, or anywhere else, we are one species. Together. Fighting for each other, even if its against our own kind.”

  “I know.”

  “I’d rather be sewn with seeds of doubt, so I may flourish and see the bountiful harvest of the land in all its glory, than to be showered with arrogance, only to be drowned out and deafened as to not hear the truth around me.”

  “Did you write that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well done. Not sure I know exactly what it means, but it sounds nice.”

  “Eh, that’s what writers do. Sense doesn’t matter.”

  “Makes sense.” She winked at him.

  A moment later Riley looked into Chris’s eyes and moved closer so he could feel and smell the sweetness of her breath and skin. Their lips connected and shot a static spark between the two. They had laughed and called it a cosmic connection.

  Now, the moment of a greater truth was upon them.

  Rob II gave the alert again. Passengers filed in and buckled up.

  “What now?” one of the old men asked.

  Chris replied before Rob II could, “We ignite the exotic matter, knowing it’s the precise time they do the same near Earth.”

  “And?”

  “When the hole opens, we enter, traveling four light-years within seconds.”

  “How do you know it’ll work?”

  “We don’t,” Rob II said. Chris smirked into the comms. Then the old man muddled something under his breath, seemingly inappropriate for the children.

  “Pipe down, old-timer. Sir Christopher got us this far, didn’t he? I’d rather be here than in the custody of the Canaanite dipshit club!” Lavik said.

  “First, we jettison the exotic matter,” Rob II said. “Three. Two. One.”

  A loud hiss dispensed from the hull, and Aurora vibrated a bit. Ahead, a canister came into view, but it was larger than the exotic matter canister Chris, Lavik, and Riley confiscated from Canaanite Tower.

  The canister split into two. One thrust upward above Aurora with small reflective wings extending outward. An antennas poked through the top of it and a light blinked green. The other part of the canister was a box shape, but propelled forward with a small propulsion system.

  “What’s that?” Lavik asked.

  “Up there is a satellite. Ahead is the exotic matter. It’s getting in position for detonation.” Chris said it almost as robotically as Rob II.

  Rob II counted off, “Three minutes until the clock strikes midnight on Canaan.”

  Riley said, “Okay, that’s when I’ll really mean ‘happy birthday.’”

  The crew watched as the exotic matter canister stopped and engaged its opening sequence. Rob II continued to count it off, and even put a display timer for everyone to see so they did not have to hear its voice. Also, a camera from the front of the ship had zoomed in on the canister for viewing.

  Alone and desolate, the canister went about its business retracting its metallic casing slowly. It was a speck to the crew until the exotic matter was in full view. A purple aura surrounded a black void, emitting a plain and idle light output. The glow reflected off the pupils of their eyes.

  Then a reality circulated through the hull as the clock ticked away like a countdown to their doom. Chatter on the comms turned dark and ominous. What if this. What if that. Then silence. Each thinking about what if it was their last five minutes of existence. Less than that now. Less than that even now. Each second ticked and ticked, and they all secretly wished for the clock to stop. But there is no stopping time. No stopping the inevitable.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  When the clock hit a minute left, Chris interrupted the somber silence over the comms.

  “We’re about to embark on something extraordinary. Whatever happens on the other side, remember you had the courage to walk the path only few have. From the ashes of Motus to a pathway through the cosmos, you are here with us as explorers of the greatest unknown. And if we die, we will explore that journey together, hand-in-hand. We can trust that our souls are linked for eternity.” He lifted his hand under the restraints and curled his forearm up. Under his glove, Chris
extended his thumb to the rest of the crew from his captain’s chair. It sprung out and shot hope into the passenger’s heart. Chris could not see their smiles and calm, but they were there.

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

  Here we go, Chris thought.

  Three, two, one.

  First was a blast of light, forcing all of the passengers to squint. Then the black void swallowed the purple aura in seconds, and bent the space inward toward the void, creating a spherical shape of light and cosmic dust, like a miniature universe stuffed in a glass ball. Light curved at the edges, and swirls of more light stabilized into a more clear object, one more than large enough to accommodate Aurora.

  Chris ordered, “It’s open. Go.”

  Rob II engaged the thrusters and Aurora shot forward toward the wormhole.

  As the ship approached the pathway, a gravity pulled them faster and the passengers on Aurora were drawn from their seats, only battled by their harnesses. Their arms and legs were pulled forward. The kids let go from the armrest to enjoy the sensation. They giggled and lightened the moment. But just for a moment.

  Lavik held tightly to his armrest, only peeking with his right eye to see what was in front of him. The sphere was closer, nearly enveloping their ship, so he rushed to shut his eye again.

  When Aurora reached the precipice of the wormhole, vibrations sent the ship in a frenzy of blurting sensors and blinking lights. That’s when the ship started to orbit the wormhole like a moon, circling one loop before penetrating the mouth of the wormhole.

  Inside, gravity yanked everything forward and a thrush of movement shook the cabin. Consoles, compartments, boxes, switches, storage, and more in the hull violently collided to whatever was next to it without losing its place.