When she woke up, the first thing she’d see was her daughter’s face. A reminder of why she was putting herself through this misery.
A reason to keep battling on, despite the fact they’d never make it home alive.
Jelly pressed her hands to the Perspex and blew Furie a kiss. Her mouth quivered as she moved off the pod and sat upright.
CLOMP — CLOMP.
Her feet hit the ground, enabling her to shift her weight to her thighs. The muscles bulged out, somewhat less rigid and strong than they used to be.
She lifted her head and chose not to speak.
Blink, blink.
Several counter scratch marks lined the far wall by the cabinet. Sets of five marks with a line through as far as the eye could see.
Jelly stumbled to the wall and lifted her pinkie to the wall.
Scritch-ch.
Another mark, another day gone - presumably. The fourth line in a new set of five for her collection.
Jelly’s routine, now, was to walk around the hyper-sleep chambers one-hundred-and-fifty times after she woke up. The exercise was key to reducing fatigue. She’d stop by Furie’s pod, turn around, and do the same in the opposite direction.
It killed an hour or so before breakfast.
Chicken or pork sludge from a packet. Both tasted the same at this point. She’d long since given up using the plastic cutlery. After all, no one was around to see the filthy state K-BOLT was in.
She sucked the remainder of the pork sludge from the packet and tossed it over her shoulder.
Lap — Lick.
The ground pork stuck to her teeth, but a swig from the water dispenser always took care of it.
No paper cups - she’d run out of them somewhere past Jupiter. Instead, she got in the habit of having her face under the nozzle and blasting the fresh H20 across her fangs. Why not, after all? She had to bend her head to move around the ship.
After the third month or so, she became convinced that the ship was shrinking. There was no way to measure herself formally, and so used the length of Furie’s hyper-sleep pod as a measuring stick.
Seven foot in length when they first boarded, from toe to nipple.
Today, seven foot in length bought her from toe to waist.
She was definitely growing in size. The ceiling height confirmed it.
Now, one day shy of two hundred - a mere third of the journey - it wasn’t a case of surviving whatever remained of the oxygen.
Jelly knew that if she continued to grow at such an exponential rate she’d cease to be able to move outright. Entombed in a suffocating vessel that closed in on her hour by hour.
Just under a third of the journey.
The additional weight alone might slow the light spacecraft down.
Once she’d completed her daily constitutional walk around the pods, she moved to the back end of the ship.
To get in, she needed a code - the year of her birth. If one tired of the view through the windshield, or the sterile and featureless bright, white walls, one could enter the payload area and look at something different.
Much different.
K-BOLT had told Jelly that the payload department was fit for launching a modest strike against an enemy. It held the thrusters underneath the floor that fueled their journey home.
Its second use would be to detach entirely from the rest of the ship and secure a safe landing.
Ha, Jelly thought. Fat chance of that ever happening.
The glass pods were delicate to the touch despite being inches thick.
She used them as chairs for an unusual game she’d decided to play to relieve the tedium of space travel.
The second sheets from the three vacant hyper-sleep pods had been stuffed into Alex’s USARIC jacket and pants. The third cushion poked out of the neck hole, sporting a crudely-drawn smiley face with ink from a pen she’d found on the deck.
She’d tied the boots around the ends of the pants legs with tape.
“Hey, Alex,” Jelly spoke to the bizarre doll in as quiet a voice as possible. Her vocal cords weren’t what they once were, “I’m lonely.”
She silenced herself for a couple of seconds.
“Yes, that sounds good. I’d like to be held, please.”
She slung her hands under the padded jacket sleeves and lifted the makeshift companion to its feet. A final shift of her shoulders whipped the arms up into the air, which she caught with her shoulders on descent.
She pulled the doll to her chest and closed her eyes for just a moment or two.
The inked, oblong mouth split apart and began to speak.
“Jelly?”
She kept her eyes closed and enjoyed Alex’s diluted scent lifting from the jacket’s lining.
“Yes, Alex?”
The drawing of the mouth shuffled across the fabric, “It’s going to be okay, you know. You have to have faith.”
“Mmm,” Jelly hugged him harder and slowly danced from side to side, “I lost faith a long, long time ago.”
“You have to remain strong.”
“I have to remain alive, Alex,” she whispered into the side of the pillow, “That’s my only obligation.”
She opened her eyes and saw that the pillow was its usual lifeless self.
It was the one moment in an otherwise insufferable day where she felt happiest, after being with Furie.
The doll doubled over itself in her hands.
Her fourth finger’s infinity claw nicked through the fabric and tore a mark down the side of Alex’s face.
“Ugh, ugh,” she gasped. “Alex, I’m so sorry.”
The doll didn’t respond, which only exacerbated its injury - almost as if it had died.
Startled, Jelly felt an intense anger towards herself.
“Damn it. Damn it.”
She threw the doll on the floor and left the payload area.
“Greetings, Jelly Friggin’ Anderson,” K-BOLT announced, full of the joys of Spring, “Did you sleep well?”
Jelly gripped the armrests on the pilot seat and slammed her behind onto the torn fabric on the seat.
“Shut up,” she snapped, nearly cracking her vocal cords in the process. She rifled through the drawer under the deck and hunted for something.
“What are you doing?” K-BOLT asked. “I’m sensing you’re in a hurry. Most unlike you.”
Jelly rammed the flight deck with her fist, “Shut up.”
Rummage — rummage.
“Christ, there’s so much crap in here. What is all this stuff?”
“I have no idea, Jelly Friggin’ Anderson.”
“Ah, wait—” she snapped as she felt something long and cold in her left hand, “I got it, I got it, I got it.”
“Got what?”
“This,” Jelly slammed the drawer shut and produced a pair of pliers.
“I’m sorry, I cannot see what this is.”
“Call it sanctuary.”
Jelly pressed her right palm on the flight deck and looked at her broken infinity claws on her index and middle finger.
She grabbed the pliers in her left hand and squeezed the two ends together at the base of her index finger.
Tug-tug-tug.
The infinity claw shifted left and right, causing her considerable amount of pain.
“Ngggg, nnngggggg—” Jelly clamped the pliers around the base of the Titanium claw and pulled it away from her finger, “Nggggggg.”
SCHLAP.
The claw lifted away from the end of her finger. To her surprise, the shaft of metal was much longer than she’d expected.
CLUTCH.
Something snapped in her wrist, forcing her knuckle to swell under the skin.
“ARRGGGHHHH,” Jelly wailed at the top of her lungs in severe agony. “Oh-my-God, huh, huh—”
She panted as the length of the claw slid away from the end of her index finger.
A shooting pain rifled up her forearm and crashed around her elbow.
A busted, goo-covered twelve inch i
nfinity claw nestled in the teeth of the pliers.
“Juh-Juh,” she snorted. “Jesus. What the hell did they do to me?”
“They installed infinity claws on you before you left, didn’t they?” K-BOLT asked. “Nasty things, to a man.”
“Or a cat.”
Jelly released the claw to the deck.
CLANG.
“They engineered m-me,” she winced as she moved the jaws of the pliers to the infinity claw on her third finger, “They s-said it was to p-protect me—”
“—Why are you removing them, Jelly Friggin’ Anderson?”
“Mind your own business,” she wailed as the grip tightened around the base of the claw. “Oh, Christ. I need something to bite on.”
She looked down at the removed claw and tossed it between her teeth.
CLAMP.
The teeth in her mouth bit down on the Titanium claw. The teeth between the pliers chomped on the infinity claw on her third finger.
TUG.
“Nggggggg,” her muffled squeals rocked around the cockpit. The claw wouldn’t come free.
K-BOLT’s voice seemed to dampen, “Oh, I can’t watch. Quite literally.”
The dastardly claw wouldn’t budge. If she applied any more pressure, she’d surely knock herself out with the pain.
“Ugggghhhh,” she squealed through her closed teeth and dropped the pliers to the floor.
“Bastards—”
Jelly made the mistake of looking up and to the left. The irritating USARIC logo that teased her whenever she sat in the pilot’s seat grinned back at her.
“I hate you.”
The ends of the “C” in USARIC lifted up and down like a perverse set of lips and laughed at her.
Enraged, Jelly snatched the infinity claw from her mouth with her right, bloodied hand and lifted it behind her head.
“Arrrrrgghhhh—”
CRACK.
She stabbed the logo dead center with the sharp end of the claw. She removed her hand, leaving the fat, broken end sticking out of its victim.
Jelly looked at the top of the windshield and screamed at the pink light blasting into space.
Day 228
— 48 hours until oxygen depletion —
The doll in payload resembled a chicken’s funeral - several mounds of feathers and dust splattered up the wall. The result of some furious attack that took place days or weeks ago.
The jacket, pants, and boots lay flat on the floor as if the occupant had melted.
The hyper-sleep pods containing Alex and Furie were the only thing resembling normality around here. A stench of death in what little remained of the air.
Last week, Jelly gave up her morning routine. It wasn’t worth it. She continued to sleep on Furie’s pod. Lately, she slept more than she usually did.
K-BOLT had advised Jelly that she spent more time sleeping than awake. A result of a severe lack of oxygen. Poetic in its nature, and, in a rare case of circumstance actually playing into her hands, time had moved quicker.
But time overall hardly seemed to move fast enough.
She perched her behind at the bottom end of Furie’s pod and leaned on her elbows.
The thick bandage on her right hand resembled a large snooker ball of fabric.
“Hey, honey,” Jelly mouthed, slowly.
No sound came through her teeth. She simply thought her conversation in her own mind, and that was good enough.
“It’s me again,” she said as she took a look at the wall.
The week-before-last’s count hadn’t been scratched into the wall as usual.
Instead, four severed infinity claws had been masked to the wall in a vertical position with electrical tape. A fifth claw, the smallest of the five, was plastered horizontally across them.
“I don’t have much to say, today, honey,” Jelly thought. “Other than we’re less than halfway home, and the oxygen is going to run out.”
Furie didn’t say anything.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past few weeks, actually,” Jelly said as she shifted her behind on the pod. “Been thinking about your grandmother. Her name was Wool. You would have liked her.”
Jelly tugged the loose end of the bandage in her left hand.
“She gave me these claws to protect myself. Every time I look at them they remind me of what they did to me.”
She unfurled the end of the bandage around her hand and felt the stale air seep through and onto the skin.
“I envy those Androgynes, you know. At least they spent most of their lives forgetting who they were. Whenever they found out, they freaked out and tried to kill themselves. I understand how they feel, now. I empathize with them.”
The bandage end flapped over her palm. She held it to her nose and sniffed around.
“Ugh, this is ridiculous. I’d remove the infinity claws from my left hand, but my fingers are in so much pain. I can’t get a tight enough grip. If we could have gotten home, maybe you could have helped me, honey.”
SLAP.
The bandage hit the floor, soaked in pink and black goop.
Jelly showed Furie the ends of her four fingers and thumb. Charcoaled beyond the point of saving. Her entire forearm formed dark gray varicose veins.
“Look what they did to me, honey,” Jelly snapped. “Look what they did to me. In trying to make me stronger, they made me weaker.”
Her fingers shuddered in an arthritic rage. Both her lungs felt as if they were turning to stone.
“I c-can’t make the pain stop, h-honey,” Jelly gasped aloud for the first time. “It h-hurts s-so m-much.”
Furie’s zen-like face refused to budge.
“H-Honey, I c-cant die like this—” Jelly gulped and tried to close her right hand, but the effort was futile. “Agh, agh.”
She grabbed her right elbow in her left hand and tried her best to stop it from shaking.
“H-Honey,” she struggled through her tears as she eyed her daughter for what felt like the last time, “I c-can’t b-b-breathe—”
***
“Mommy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going home, honey. The light will guide us. The light will protect you.”
“What is that white thing?”
“That’s our ride home.”
“Is this place not home?”
“No.”
“Where is home?”
“A planet a long way from here, honey.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Does home have a name?”
“Yes.
“What is it called?”
“Earth.”
***
Beep — beep — beep.
A tiny white dot appeared in the middle of the darkness. Each end elongated and drew a line of pure, brilliant white in each direction - left, and right.
“Whu—?”
The lines doubled in thickness, then tripled, and quadrupled.
“Whu—whu—”
As they expanded, the whiteness faded into black, leaving behind microscopic gray dots blinking for attention.
A pink hue drifted down and pushed forward.
Jelly sat up in the pilot’s chair and blinked. The stars behind the windshield smiled back at her.
The top of her lungs heaved in and out, quickening her breathing.
Day 230
Jelly leaned forward on the pilot’s chair.
Her arms crossed over on the flight deck.
The left side of her head buried in the flesh on her forearms. She tried to lift her face away from her wrists, but it was futile.
“Jelly Friggin’ Anderson,” K-BOLT said. “I understand you wished me to report when the oxygen levels were running low.”
“Uhm, uhm,—” Jelly tried to speak and instantly gave up.
“I have to report that we actually ran out of O2 around thirty-six hours ago.”
Jelly made herself comfortable
and faced the windshield. There was no fight left inside her.
At all.
“CO2 levels detected. You’re breathing carbon dioxide.”
Jelly closed her eyes and began to purr for the first time in months.
“O2 to the hyper-sleep pods will last seven days, and then deplete,” K-BOLT said. “It is my recommendation that you avail yourself to the floor. Additional breathing apparatus can be secured from payload should you wish to extend life for an additional sixty minutes. Before respiratory failure. Organ failure.”
WEEEEEZE — GARGLE.
Jelly’s nostrils flared and produced a rope of thick, gooey saliva.
“I recommend this, now,” K-BOLT continued. “Before you are unable to move.”
Jelly opened her eyes.
The yellow thruster lever focused into view. Her heart slowed down, forcing her to yawn.
“Jelly Friggin’ Anderson?” K-BOLT asked. “Can you at least tell me your plan? Perhaps provide instructions to USARIC upon K-BOLT’s return to Earth?
A pink shaft of light glazed over her eyes. She shifted her head to focus on the pink light show running above their path through the windshield.
“Understood.”
Slowly, Jelly climbed the fingers on her left paw up the side of her torso. She’d lost the ability to exercise the muscles to do it independently.
Critch-critch-critch — WHUMP.
Her hand slapped to the flight deck as she held her gaze on the pink light.
Jelly’s thumb pushed her palm forwards as the last of her breath escaped her body.
“Can you hear me?” K-BOLT asked. “If you elect not to issue any instructions, I shall inform USARIC you were unable to do so and died in transit.”
Tap-tap-tap.
One by one, she walked her fingers around her cheek and slammed them on the yellow thruster lever.
She placed the butt of her palm on the handle and used every last ounce of energy to move it forward.
K-BOLT’s voice dipped with confusion, “What are you doing? Why am I detecting pressure on the engage circuits?”
Gray, smog-laden tears blasted down Jelly’s cheeks. She hadn’t blinked in several minutes, and the view of the pink stream threatened to dust out into nothingness and blind her permanently.
Star Cat The Complete Series Page 116