Ishimaru

by Louis Rosas

  He needed to keep his mind together if he was to make it off Eros 3117 alive. It was said the isolation could make one go crazy. As far as Connors was concerned, he was not about to let that happen. Being fully aware of his depleting oxygen and semi-hallucinogenic state, he would put out the what ifs for the moment and focus on staying alive. After all, he was going to be a father should he make it home. And with that in mind, Connors would do anything within his limited means to stay alive.

  “Sir?” asked the ESC.

  There it was again. That change in tone. The ESC was talking to him as if he were a real human being. So convincing, he thought he was going mad. Perhaps it was the depleting oxygen or the concussion from his injuries? The only sure thing for him to do was open his eyes, and quite possibly these illusions might disappear. Connors opened his eyes and turned his head once again, and to his surprise, he was no longer alone. Connors sat up from his back looking astonished as he could see this middle-aged English Butler in a black morning suit and gold embroidered vest sitting in one of two red upholstered chairs there on the beach.

  “Sir?” the butler asked again.

  “Are you…?”

  “If you must its Hopkins Sir at your service,” replied the English butler.

  Connors scratched his head in astonishment. There he was in his flight suit now finding himself sitting in the red upholstered chair across from an English butler named Hopkins. Connors could not recall taking off his LSS suit much less his helmet yet there he was sitting in this chair on some strange beach amidst gray overcast skies breathing air without a regulator or a space suit.

  “Am I hallucinating?” asked Connors.

  “It’s quite possible Sir,” replied Hopkins.

  All sense of feeling comfortable was soon replaced by the feeling of pains from his two broken ribs, pelvic fracture, and from his injured leg.

  “Oh man that hurts!” cried Connors.

  Hopkins arose up from his chair to help Connors up. He lifted the injured survivor and sat him down on an outdoor chaise lounge chair that appeared out of nowhere.

  “This shall do, Sir,” remarked Hopkins.

  “This shall do indeed,” agreed Connors.

  Acceptance can be one of the hardest things anyone has to deal with. Connors could find no other recourse than to accept his situation or wallow in despair.

  “Please allow me to adjust your headrest so you may lie further reclined for comfort,” said Hopkins.

  For Connors, it was like he was at some first-rate beach resort being attended to by high-end English Butler underneath some sheer draped cabana. Connors could not ever remember having it so good. The closest he came was that one Spring Break he had taken with Leanne spent at the Las Playas Resort in Cancun Mexico. But it was nothing like this. The only thing that was missing was a strong tropical drink with a tiny umbrella in his hand. Just as he could feel the light coastal breeze brush the hairs on his arms, Connors unexpectedly saw what appeared to be Leanne walking by on the beach waving at him from a distance.

  “Hey! Wait!” he shouted.

  But no! The image of his former love of his youth had waded into the glistening waters and began to swim into the swells before disappearing back to the resources of his memories.

  “Sir?” asked Hopkins.

  “Where did she go?” Connors asked.

  “Who Sir?” he replied.

  “That girl! The one that was just there! And Please call me Mike. This is getting really weird!” exclaimed Connors.

  “Sorry Mike, Sir. I still don’t know which girl you are referring to,” replied Hopkins.

  “The one who was just there! The one in the red bathing suit that just walked into the waves with the bushy strawberry blonde hair,” described Connors.

  “I’m so sorry Sir. I don’t recall seeing anyone on this beach this morning,” answered Hopkins.

  Connors rubbed his eyes and looked out to the gray seascape seeing no one in sight.

  ‘Damn!’ he thought.

  “I suppose she was just in my mind,” guessed Connors.

  “I’m so sorry, Sir. I’m afraid it’s quite possible given the nature of your head injury in combination with your other injuries and depleting oxygen Sir,” agreed Hopkins.

  “I wish it weren’t so,” lamented Connors.

  Frustrated by his circumstances, Connors tried to put the thought of it out of his mind as he struggled to adjust his pillow and attempted to fall asleep in the outdoor cabana. He could close his eyes for a moment without having any sense of time elapsing. For all he knew, there was a chance he might be dead or dreaming.

  When he awoke, the same beach was still in front of him just as pristine and soothing like no beach he had ever been to before. He turned his head and was suddenly startled by the sight of Hopkins standing next to him standing at attention.

  “Oh crap! You about scared the shit out of me!” exclaimed Connors.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I am here at your service,” replied Hopkins.

  “I’m still on this rock am I?” asked Connors.

  “I’m afraid so, Sir, but I insist you must lay back and relax to avoid further exacerbating your injuries,” replied Hopkins.

  “How long have I been out for?” inquired Connors.

  “I’m sorry?” politely asked Hopkins.

  “You know, asleep. How long have I been asleep?” asked Connors.

  “Sir, you have been asleep for another six hours, Sir,” answered Hopkins.

  “Wow! Six hours and the skies look the same as I left it,” remarked Connors.

  “Sir?” questioned Hopkins.

  “You know I really could go for an ice cold beer about now,” salivated Connors.

  “Sir?” asked Hopkins.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just in a setting like this you’d want a beer or some tropical fruity drink like say a piña colada or something to fit the mood. Say! You wouldn’t know where to get a decent cheeseburger around here would you?” jokingly asked Connors.

  “I’m so terribly sorry, Sir, but there are no cheeseburgers on this planetoid,” replied Hopkins.

  “I’ll assume a pepperoni pizza or some decent sushi is out of the question,” remarked Connors.

  “Sir, may I remind you that sushi is not an off-world dining option. However, pizza is available at most major civilian off world installations including the Lunar surface, Europa Station, and on Mars,” replied Hopkins.

  “Pizza on Mars….Sure. Thanks, Hopkins. That doesn’t help one bit.”

  “Sir, I highly suggest that you not focus so much on food. It will only make you desire further culinary options that are unavailable at this time making you even hungrier,” suggested Hopkins as he stood there holding a covered silver platter in one arm.

  Connors bent forward to lift the cover to reveal a sirloin steak with sautéed mushrooms to which he reached for hoping to get a bite. But just as the steak was in within reach, his injured ribs sent forth sharp pains that forced him to lie on his back depriving him. In an instant, the steak was gone.

  ‘Wow! Not even in a dream,’ thought Connors.

  CHAPTER IV

  THE ALIEN UNKNOWN

  Cold! A bone-chilling temperature drop had seeped into Connors LSS suit adding misery and sheer discomfort. A moment later, a small warning sensor on his LSS suit set off an alarm alerting him that his environmental control status had been further degraded. The tardy light flickered on and off, but by then he already knew that he was in trouble.

  “Gee, thanks for the warning,” he snickered.

  Alert and near freezing, Connors opened his eyes and discovered the day had turned into a near-freezing starry night. To complicate matters hunger had set in but now it had become unbearable in the frigid conditions of Eros 3117. The pristine white beach that comforted him earlier had given way to a bleak desert landscape of black course sands. Connors sunk his gloves into the sands and watched the fine grains float downward. Within it, he could see gold glitter flakes that lo
oked like fine dust particles sparkling away into the mixture of dark sands as they slipped from his grip. Connors found it amusing to laugh as his pain allowed him.

  ‘If this was only real gold,’ he thought.

  “How could I possibly get it back to make it count?”

  “Sir? Are you ok?” asked Hopkins.

  Connors turned his head to see Hopkins sitting there in the chair wearing a heavy wool overcoat, a scarf around his neck, ear muffs, and a pair of black gloves.

  “It’s cold isn’t it?” asked Connors.

  “Yes, it is quite cold Sir,” replied his overly polite English butler that as far as Connors was concerned existed only in his mind.

  “The sensor,” pointed Connors.

  “I’m sorry Sir. There appears to be a secondary cell failure in the environmental control unit that cannot be repaired or replaced at this moment,” said Hopkins.

  “Yeah, I imagine my predicament is a real deal breaker,” remarked Connors.

  “Sir?” queried Hopkins.

  “Forget about it,” he shrugged.

  “Say, we’re still transmitting are we not?” inquired Connors.

  “Yes on high gain emergency distress channels,” replied Hopkins.

  “Temporarily suspend distress signal for three cycles and transit claim marker with location with my credentials ISM Six-Tango-Alpha-Charlie 811735. Repeat three cycles then resume distress,” ordered Connors.

  “But Sir, the LSS Emergency protocols are strictly for distress beacons only. This is highly irregular and if I may say, such a waste of valuable transmission time,” protested Hopkins.

  “Just do it for me even if I’m just imagining. It can’t hurt right?” reasoned Connors.

  “As you wish, Sir. Temporarily suspending distress signal three cycles before resumption. Now transmitting new claim marker,” echoed Hopkins. Thank you,” replied Connors.

  Within the span of a minute, Hopkins relayed the transmission and resumed the distress beacon. While aware that he was still in his LSS suit, he imagined that his hands were free of his gloves with his helmet removed just enough so he could physically rub his eyes. He imagined doing such while under a warm blanket as his imaginary manservant stood there next to him awaiting his every need. The more Connors interacted with Hopkins, the more real he seemed to become right down to the gold thread in his embroidered vest under his dark tailored suit and overcoat to which he appeared to always have a white towel covering his left forearm. This all seemed too convenient for him. Nobody had an English butler anymore save the British Royal Family but there before he was this robust looking middle-aged man standing in the most lifelike of appearance. Perhaps Connors wanted to occupy his mind? Or his situation was far worse than he imagined. Time would tell if only it wasn’t in such short supply. For Connors, a rescue could not come any sooner.

  Within the blink of an eye and flicker of a distant star, Connors looked up towards once more to the heavens as he dug his gloved hand into the black sand. He picked up and threw a handful of grains into the thin atmosphere. There he sat watching the sand particles and flickers of gold float down like glitter.

  “Sir?” asked Hopkins.

  Connors could see that Hopkins had taken a seat in the leather high backed chair that appeared out of nowhere next to a small end table and lamp. Connors found himself sitting in an identical high backed chair as the two watched a distant star. Connors scratched his head and realized it was no longer so dark nor was he wearing his LSS suit. For reasons unknown, it had become daylight again, and the comforting sounds of the waves crashing in the distance had returned.

  “Sir?” he asked again.

  “Yes; go ahead Hopkins,” Connors acknowledged.

  “May I ask you a question, Sir?”

  “Sure go ahead.”

  “Why was it so important to you to put your personal safety at risk to forego valuable transmission time to mark a gold claim? If rescued, what is your personal interest? More specifically what would you do with this gold should you return and extract it?” asked Hopkins.

  This was something Connors could not have contemplated nor wrap his head around.

  ‘Such a curious question considering the source of the question,’ thought Connors.

  The thought had him scratching his head for a moment. It seemed Connors’ figment companions query seemed most curious if not rather odd and most unexpected.

  “How can I best explain this to you? The gold is used for components and sophisticated circuitry. These days it’s too valuable to hoard for personal wealth or waste on some gaudy trinket. Only an asshole would do that and believe me; there are plenty of them still on Earth. But in truth, since we’ve become a fledgling space-faring race of people, the demand for gold has skyrocketed exponentially. While there is still gold to be found back home, it’s getting harder to find and far more expensive to mine not to mention significantly dangerous particularly if you go to remote places like Greenland or the Russian Arctic Islands. People wind up dead if they are not careful. If the Polar Bears don’t get you, bandits with weapons just might. So now that deep space mining has become a reality, it’s just far more lucrative to come out here to find it than scouring around the Arctic Circles to find hauls that barely break even,” explained Connors.

  “But, Sir. Is the risk worth so worth the gain?” asked Hopkins.

  “Right now I am not so sure about that,” replied Connors. In a strange sense, Hopkins understood Connor’s position as he sat back in his chair and kept warm.

  It seemed within the blink of an eye that Connors found himself reminiscing back to the early part of his military training. His vivid memories so heightened by his worsening condition gave him a sense of being there once more. In one sense, he remembered these events like an observer watching a biopic feature and in another sense recalling what it was like to be physically disembarking off the green transport and racing to fall into company formation. The clearer his memories had become, the more difficult it was to distinguish between memories and reality.

  Situational awareness! It was something drilled into every person who goes into the military. For Connors, it was no different. One minute Connors lay stranded out in space, the next he was back ten years earlier on a military base. All debate as to what was the “where and the now” seemed to dissipate as Connors looked around himself hearing the shouts of instructors and scores of boots racing double time to fall in. Then it occurred to him where he was as he looked up and noticed the big “OAV” (Orbital Assault Vehicles) parked in front of him. The OAV’s where these large transport space planes with tilt thrust nacelles which could drop heavy payloads from the traditional rear loading doors or for module drops using its large bomb bay doors for dropping heavier cargo or ordinance from higher altitudes. On this day nearing the end of Connors’ training, one last test was needed to complete in order before moving up the ladder and into an assigned flight crew. The required Escape Pod Training Certification or as it was better known as the Orbital “Plop and Drop.”

  Just like yesterday! These sensations seemed so real. It was almost as if Connors were really reliving these poignant moments of his past. He could remember standing nervously in line for the large white hatch of the EPTM (Escape Pod Training Module) that sat inside the bay of the large OAV23 Space Plane slowly opened its wide doors before the two helmeted rows of men and women each wearing escape suits awaiting entry.

  Much like Airborne training, each helmet bore a number stenciled atop their black visors as on their heavy gloves designed for both high altitude and the vacuum of space. As soon as the Loadmaster gave the thumbs up to the TI (Training Instructor), Master Sergeant Evans held his hand up and waved his troops to board the EPTM. Connors recalled his apprehension as he filed into the module and took his seat. The seats were lined opposite of each other in two long rows in the near windowless module. As soon as they were seated, they were to buckle themselves in the safety straps before the large restraint bars were lowered t
o protect those inside from being thrown from their seats in the violent g-forces they could potentially face in an emergency descent into a hostile atmosphere. An event Connors would train for that he hoped he would never have to do for real.

  “Listen up people!” addressed Master Sergeant Evans.

  “Make sure all your restraints are locked into position. Failure to do so may result in internal ejection from your seats which means one of you in here will be using a mop to remove your splattered remains off my module. Is that clear?” asked Evans.

  “Yes, Master Sergeant!”

  “All right then! Loadmaster: We're good to go.” declared Evans.

  With thumbs up from the Loadmaster, the hatch of the EPTM slowly closed sealing the trainees in. No sooner than the sound of the EPTM being locked and the outer rear doors of the OAV23 were heard being closed, MSgt. Evans made one last walk through checking to see that everyone was securely locked in.

  “Check-check,” was repeated by all the trainees down the rows of seats. Connors closed his eyes as he could hear the sounds of the OAV23 warming up its powerful engines. He tried to think of something to relieve his stress when suddenly Connors felt a slight bump to his toe. Connors looked up and could see MSgt. Evans standing in front of him, all six feet and two inches of him in full escape gear with his helmet visor open standing in front of him. “

  You good?” asked Evans.

  “Check,” replied Connors.

  “Relax flyboy. This is just Earth. You have no idea what the real deal is like. I’ll tell you what; you’ll all get through this in two shakes of a lamb’s tail in no time!” chuckled MSgt. Evans as he walked to his seat.