So I decide against it. I feel exhausted, and lie down for a moment. Maybe I can just shut my eyes and that way not have to think. . . .
Mom and Dad and George . . . they are so far away now. Farther than humanly imaginable. Back on Earth, which is a tiny blue bead.
So dizzy—the world, the universe, everything is so upside down.
I close my eyes and drown in sleep.
When I wake up, the lights in the cabin have gone down to night level darkness. They are probably motion activated, and since I passed out, there was no motion. However with my movement, they rise to soft evening twilight levels. Reminder to self: next time, ask Gennio if there’s a better way to control these lights short of waving my hands about.
I check the small built-in clock in the wall, and it looks like I’ve not only slept past dinner, but it’s close to midnight. Good thing I’m not really hungry, or I’d be screwed.
The cabin is perfectly quiet, and there are no sounds in the hallway outside. It occurs to me, the soundproofing in the ship is very high-end, so maybe I simply cannot hear anything.
I vaguely consider what to do. Going back to sleep makes sense.
But something makes me get up instead. I use the wash and lavatory facilities, unpack and rummage through my duffel bags and put them away into the overhead storage. I suppose I will also need to ask Gennio tomorrow where the Atlanteans do their laundry. . . .
And then I sit down at the little desk and pull up the screen again, this time using it as a word processor, not a phone line.
I start a new file and title it “A Chronicle of Earth’s Journey to Atlantis, by Gwenevere Lark, Aide to the CCO.”
And then I begin to type.
Chapter Seven
I am awoken by the bright shipboard daylight alarm, and it’s five minutes after 7:00 AM. That’s how long it took my unconscious sleeping mind to surface out of a jumbled nightmare dream filled with dead bodies and subterranean water-filled tunnels into the present reality.
Today is the first day of the rest of my new life.
And yes, incidentally, I am flying through effing outer space, somewhere far beyond Mars, among the rushing debris of the Asteroid Belt, and on approach toward Jupiter. . . .
Of course the debris are not really rushing anywhere. They range in size from microscopic dust to planetoids, and there are huge distances between them, so it’s not like we’re in danger of hitting anything, but still . . . Jupiter!
Last night I got back to sleep really late, after having written approximately five pages of lousy and haphazard notes and narrative that needs to be reworked later, but for now, it’s raw and freshly spewed from my mind. And it’s something.
If I remember correctly, I didn’t stop writing until close to 2:15 AM, when the ship’s computer voice intruded into my feverish flow of thoughts, breaking my concentration.
“Now entering the Main Asteroid Belt region,” the machine voice announced. Which meant, we’re officially out of the rocky inner planets region of the solar system, and on our way toward the gas giants.
Talk about a strange way to fall asleep. . . .
Now, I force myself to get up, shower in the pressurized water-mist stall cubicle, get dressed and step outside the door into the ship corridor, with half an hour to spare before my 8:00 AM morning duties begin at the CCO.
The Officers Meal Hall is the only one I know. So I go there by default, grab breakfast, and eat very quietly in the corner, recognizing no Atlanteans. The officers also eat in a hurry, unlike yesterday’s easygoing lunch. This morning they all appear strictly business, with little conversation. I suppose today the routine begins for real, and they all have a boatload of tasks, including our various training classes. . . .
I arrive at the wide Command Deck corridor, just before 8:00 AM, and stop at the guarded doors of the Central Command Office. Already, my heart is pounding like a drum in anticipation of seeing him—Command Pilot Kassiopei.
“I am Gwen Lark, Aide to the CCO,” I say awkwardly.
The guards let me by without a word.
I enter the office, and there is no one there. There’s no sign of Aeson Kassiopei, and Gennio Rukkat is not here either, even though I’d assumed he might be here this morning.
As I stand there, at a loss, I hear a strange scraping sound coming from the floor behind the large desk. Then there’s a cough and a grunt, and something that sounds like hard cussing in Atlantean.
I take a step forward. “Hello?”
Someone emerges from underneath the Command Pilot’s desk. It’s another older teen, medium-height, wiry and slim, with Caucasian-pale skin and freckles. I am willing to bet anything that his long hair, gathered in a segmented ponytail, is bright red underneath that gilded dye. His face is long and lean, and his expression is supremely annoyed. His armband is red, to match his temper.
“What?” he says is a deep voice, speaking decent unaccented English. “Who let you in here? Are you a Cadet? Who are you? Wait, no—are you the new Earth Aide?”
“Yes, I’m Gwen Lark. And you are?”
The Atlantean makes a grimace. “Oh, for crap’s sake, I have no time for this.” And then he climbs back down underneath the desk.
I stand in the middle of the office, somewhat stunned.
And then I hear, coming from under the desk: “Anu Vei . . .” followed by a grunt and more Atlantean cussing. “I am . . . the other . . . Aide. Come around and help me, girl! Right now!”
“Excuse me?” I say, frowning at his tone.
“I said, move! Or go get Gennio Rukkat, because you are obviously incompetent—”
“Wait a minute,” I say, and my voice is rising to match his. “What is going on here? What do you want me to do, exactly? Look, it’s my first day, and I am supposed to get my schedule from Command Pilot Kassiopei, and then discuss with him—”
“As you can see, the CP is not here!” Anu Vei says, still from underneath the desk. “Look—See? Not here! He’s in a meeting. As for your damn schedule, did you check your email this morning?”
“What? No. . . .”
“Well, there’s your confirmation. You are incompetent. Now, get out of here and check your email! You have your Pilot Training, first thing, as in, right now—and why is it that I know this and you don’t?”
“Wait a minute, what?” I say, as my temples start to pound with stress and anger. “No one told me to look for any email, in fact I was supposed to see the Command Pilot himself—”
“You are wasting time! Either help me with this desk here, or leave!”
“Okay,” I say. “But—”
In that moment the door opens behind us, and I turn around nervously, only to see Gennio Rukkat. Oh, what a relief. . . .
“Gennio!” I exclaim. “Oh, so glad to see you! I am not sure what is going on, or what to do—this person tells me my schedule is in my email? And Command Pilot Kassiopei is in some meeting? I was not told about any—”
“Gennio, at last! Get over here now!” Anu Vei interrupts me ruthlessly and peeks over the desk with a frown.
“Just a moment, Gwen.” Gennio smiles briefly then immediately walks past me to the desk. “Anu, what happened?”
The other Atlantean grunts, then motions with his hand, pointing downward.
Seconds later, Gennio goes around and gets under the desk also.
I stand like an idiot for about a minute, listening to them burrow about and knock things, clunk heavy objects, and breathe loudly.
“I am not sure what is happening. Should I go?” I say at last. “Anu, since you know about my Pilot Training, can you at least tell me where it is? It would take me too long to return to my cabin to check the email—”
Gennio peeks over the desk and gives me a mild look. “Oh, don’t worry, Gwen. You have plenty of time.”
“What?” I say. “But he just told me I’m late to my Pilot Training!”
“Who said this?”
“He did! The guy under the desk!”
Gennio makes a soft sound like a chuckle. “Oh,” he says. “No, no—Anu just likes to joke with people. It’s your first day, right? So, on my first day Anu told me I was on the wrong ship! He told me I had to run back to the shuttle bay and report to ICS-3 instead, which is halfway down the Fleet formation.”
“Yeah, and he almost fell for it too.” A low sarcastic snort comes from underneath the desk. “If the CP himself hadn’t come in at that point, my friend here would’ve been trying to report to Command Pilot Tahirah Zulei instead, after taking a shuttle flight to ICS-3.”
“Oh, that’s truly awful!” I say. “How could you do that? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Hah!” Anu says in a rough tone. “Deal with it. If you can’t deal, you’re in the wrong place. How did you even pass Qualification?”
Okay . . . I think. This Anu guy is a real piece of work. . . .
I take a deep breath. And then I decide to ignore the jerk.
“Gennio,” I say instead. “What is up with my schedule? Do you know anything about it?”
“Oh, sure,” Gennio says. “I’m the one who put it together for you, when the CP told me some of the classes you’ll need. It is not completely finalized, naturally, since the CP needs to approve it after discussing it with you, but that should happen after he gets back here from his meeting in about an hour.”
“So, what classes will I have?”
Gennio pauses to think. “Hmm, there’s Pilot Training, definitely—that’s priority one. Then there’s Culture, Atlantean Language, maybe Combat—or maybe that’s optional? Anyway, I don’t recall exactly, except that your first class will be Pilot Training at 1:00 PM today. Why don’t we take a look at it in the system? Let me just finish here with Anu, and then we can login and check.” And he dives back underneath the table.
“Okay—what exactly are you guys doing?” I take a few steps and finally peer over the desk. I see the tops of two metallic-haired heads as the two guys are leaning over a portion of a lower desk drawer that appears to be broken or detached, and there is a whole lot of alien wiring coming out of there.
“What’s that?” I say.
“Nothing,” Anu mutters with a frown, glancing up at me very briefly. “Nothing that concerns you, really. At this point, you won’t understand it.”
“Maybe if you explained it, I would? And maybe I could help?”
“I highly doubt it. You should’ve helped earlier when I asked you—when I needed help moving this drawer panel—at least that would’ve been at your level of competence.”
I feel a twinge of anger returning. This guy is really—and I mean, really—getting on my nerves now.
Fortunately Gennio speaks up in his usual mild tone. “It’s the networking cables. Something’s causing intermittent connectivity failure along the different consoles. They’ve been having problems, and we replaced some a few days ago, but now the problem is back. The CP told us to check it out, first thing this morning.”
I stare at the mess of cables below. “Okay,” I say. “I may not know your Atlantean systems but I can probably help with the troubleshooting. The process is always the same—a process of elimination. So just tell me what to try and we can test connections maybe?”
“We’ve already done that, many times,” Anu says.
“And we’ve replaced parts,” Gennio adds with a sigh. “Many parts. Pretty much everything, to be honest.”
“Well,” I say. “Let’s begin from scratch. Take everything apart. And this time I will watch and maybe write each step down, so you will know for sure every combination and configuration you already went through.”
“We already went through everything!” Anu’s voice rises in new aggravation.
But I ignore him completely. I step around the desk and crawl in between the two of them.
About forty minutes later the CP’s desk is lying in pieces all around the room, and so are half the computer consoles. We’re all sitting on the floor, tangled in wiring and covered in alien circuit boards. I am passing around Atlantean micro-wrench and screwdriver tools from one guy to the other, jotting down their troubleshooting combinations, and plugging in one cable after another as they tell me.
“Aha!” Gennio exclaims at last, after some successful line connection is made. “I think it’s this one! Keep both of those plugged in, Gwen! Don’t move! Don’t move!”
“Okay, not moving! Just a sec,” I mutter, passing the back of my free hand against my forehead, while I hold a loose connection with the other, and a second in my teeth.
“You got it?” Anu wipes the sheen of sweat off his own pale forehead.
“Yeah!”
In that moment the door opens, and Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei enters his office.
There is a long pause as we all fall motionless.
Aeson takes one step, sees the condition of the room, then freezes in what is possibly stunned silence.
“What?” he says, and his lips part. “What is going on here?”
Both Gennio and Anu drop whatever items they’re holding, scramble up to their feet, and salute the CP. I remain seated on the floor, cross-legged, my eyes opened wide. A long piece of networking cable is still clutched between my teeth.
Oh my lord, it occurs to me belatedly. This is so wrong. . . . Could I possibly look even more like a dog?
“Command Pilot Kassiopei, with greatest apologies, we are working on the connectivity problem,” Gennio mutters. “Fortunately we’ve just isolated the bad connection—”
“It was her idea to disassemble everything.” Anu says in a cool voice, pointing in my direction.
Command Pilot Kassiopei takes that moment to ignore the two standing aides, and instead focuses his wrath on me. “Gwen Lark,” he says very softly, taking a step toward me over a piece of disassembled furniture and a circuit board. “How is it that you’ve only been here one day and you’ve already managed to take apart my ship?”
I allow the cable to fall from my mouth, and look up at him. “I—I just thought it would make sense to repeat the basic troubleshooting, since they were not having much success—”
Aeson looks at me with a complex expression that is hard to describe. “Is that so? And how well familiar are you with our ship systems that you think you can make repairs?”
“Not at all,” I retort. “But then I don’t have to be. I am familiar with the method of problem solving. It applies to any situation.”
Anu makes a choked sound.
“With your permission, Command Pilot,” Gennio says in a hurried voice, as though sensing that an explosion is about to occur, “I am certain we are now done and can have everything reassembled and functional in half an hour—”
“You have fifteen minutes,” Aeson Kassiopei says, glancing at him and Anu. “I expect everything to be back the way it should be by the time I return.”
“Yes, Command Pilot!” The two aides salute again and start picking up parts and connecting lines in a hurry.
Meanwhile the Command Pilot returns his attention to me. “You,” he says in an unreadable voice that is low and dark. “Come with me, we are going to discuss your schedule—out in the hall. Move!” And he turns from me coldly and again steps past pieces of his desk and exits.
I scramble to get up, nearly tripping on cables, and follow him outside.
As soon as we’re in the corridor past the guards, Aeson says without looking in my direction, “Walk with me.”
We begin walking along the corridor, and for a few seconds there is only silence. I glance up at him nervously a few times, but mostly keep my eyes on the way ahead. Eventually I can’t keep quiet any longer. “I am really sorry,” I begin. “It was my fault they took everything apart—”
“No, actually it was not. My aides are qualified technicians. As crewmen, they are solely responsible for their own actions—and methodology. What they did was unwisely take the advice of an inexperienced but very insistent, know-it-all young girl—”
“Advice, which proved correct!” I exclaim, staring at him, or better to say, at his stern profile, since he still does not look at me.
“That is beside the point.”
I struggle to keep my mouth shut. We continue walking.
“And you,” he says. “You were out of line. On your first day, you do not make recommendations to anyone. You look and listen and learn.”
“Okay. . . . Understood.” I bite my lip, and this time turn away from him and look directly ahead. “It will not happen again.”
He finally looks at me. “See that it doesn’t.”
I nod, silently.
We walk past a few corridors and sections, generally moving in a circle along the wide corridor, as it surrounds, like a donut, the spherical Resonance Chamber at the heart of the ship.
“So, may I ask about my schedule?” I say.
“Yes.” He pauses and takes out a small flat gadget that resembles a key card out of his uniform shirt pocket. I stand looking at him curiously, and feel my pulse once more beginning a slow rhythmic pounding in my temples.
Aeson places the card over my yellow token ID, and it flashes briefly. “Your schedule is now programmed into your record. You may consult it any time by reading your token data against any ship console.”
“But I thought we were going to discuss my specific classes first, before finalizing?”
“Not much to discuss,” he says with another cool, brief look at me. “You are taking Pilot Training, Culture, Language, and Combat. These are the core Cadet classes. Any problem with these selections?”
“No . . . but I am not a Cadet.”
“Not yet. But if you are to have this choice available to you at the end of the year, you will need to be ready.”
“I see,” I mutter. “Okay.”
“Furthermore, you also have Navigation, which is part of your continued Yellow Quadrant training, Technology and Systems, which is Civilian general education, and voice training with me, every night at eight PM.”
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