by Mark Lukens
“You each have a room with a bed and bathroom on the lower level,” MAC said. “Once you leave this cryo-room, take the metal stairs down to the next level. All of the necessary clothing and supplies have been stocked for you in those rooms, and each room will have a name on the door.”
Cromartie yanked the rest of the tubes out of his body and tossed them back into the chamber where they coiled up on the floor. He threw the goggles in next, and then the slimy respirator with its attached tubing on top of everything else. He wanted those things away from him; he wanted them back in that steel and plastic cylinder where they belonged.
A loud buzzer sounded above the next cryochamber in line. And then there was a hissing sound.
Cromartie and Sanders turned to the next cryochamber. The bluish-green gel swirled around a man’s body, and then the fluid drained out. The man collapsed on the floor of the chamber. A moment later the door swished open and the man fell out onto the metal grates. Like Cromartie and Sanders before, he started to panic, pulling at his respirator and goggles.
They went to help him, and Cromartie glanced up at the nameplate at the top of the man’s chamber; it read: WARD.
TWO
“It can’t be true!” Ward roared.
Ward was an inch or two shorter than Cromartie, but a stocky twenty pounds heavier than him. He was a bear of a man with a bushy beard and long hair that was matted down now with the gel from the cryochamber.
“We can’t be on a spaceship!”
“Ward,” Cromartie said. “We all need to calm down.”
They were all out of the cryochambers now, all of them naked and cold and still wet from the gel. Sanders had helped the older man named Abraham with Butler, freeing the tubes from her body. Butler still seemed dazed and needed help. The last person out of the cryochambers was a man in his early thirties named Rolle. He had blond hair and a slightly darker beard. He was slightly built and still in shock as he looked around the room with watery blue eyes.
Ward stormed for the doorway of the cryo-room.
“Where are you going?” Cromartie asked him.
“This can’t be true,” he said over his shoulder. “This can’t be real.” Then he bolted out of the archway leaving wet footprints behind on the metal floor.
Cromartie looked at the others and then he went after Ward.
• • •
Cromartie found Ward on the lower level … on the bridge. Ward stood beside the captain’s chair which was situated in front of the other five chairs, all of them facing the large windows that angled down to the nose of the ship.
Ward stood there with his back to Cromartie, the gel from his body dripping down onto the floor as he stared at the plate-glass windows and the endless void of space beyond them.
Cromartie approached the man cautiously. “Ward?”
Ward didn’t turn around.
Cromartie got closer to the man, almost within arm’s reach now.
Ward continued to stare at the windows. He hadn’t moved a muscle so far, only his back rose and fell slightly with his shallow breaths.
“Ward?”
Ward swallowed hard, but he didn’t take his eyes away from the vast reaches of space in front of them outside the windows.
“Ward, are you okay?”
“It’s true,” Ward finally said. “We’re really on a spaceship, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Cromartie answered softly.
Ward was silent for another moment.
Cromartie looked behind him and saw the others gathering in the wide metal archway that led back out to the main corridor. Sanders and Abraham each held Butler gently by an arm, helping her walk. And Rolle stood near them, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the front of the bridge.
“I don’t see anything out there,” Ward whispered in a voice that was now eerily calm.
“What do you mean?” Cromartie asked as he looked back at Ward.
“I don’t see the Earth anywhere out there. Where are we? Where are we going?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Cromartie answered in a gentle voice. “We’re going to get cleaned up and dressed, and then we’re going to ask MAC why we’re on this ship.”
Ward’s eyes followed the plate-glass windows up to the ceiling which was full of pipes, cables, wiring, and ductwork … just like the ceiling in the cryo-room. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before shouting at it. “MAC! Why are we on this ship?”
“You’re part of the ISF Darwin mission,” MAC answered right away.
“You already said that,” Ward snapped. “Why are we here? How did we get on this ship?”
“I’m sorry, Ward,” MAC answered. “That information is unavailable at this time.”
“What do you mean, unavailable?” Ward asked, spittle flying out of his mouth as he yelled up at the ceiling.
MAC didn’t answer.
Cromartie glanced back at the others near the archway of the bridge, all of them trembling and wet, all of them naked. He looked back at Ward. “Come on, Ward. Let’s all get cleaned up. Then we’ll get together and try to figure out what’s going on.”
Ward finally looked at Cromartie. He was breathing heavily and he seemed like he was ready to explode with anger again. But he finally nodded and headed for the archway to the corridor.
THREE
Sanders hurried down the main hall, her eyes searching the doors recessed into the corridor walls until she found the door to her room. Her last name was stenciled on a brass nameplate just as MAC had promised.
She darted inside the room and closed the door. She tried to lock the door but she realized that there was no lock on the door handle. She left the door closed and headed right for the bathroom, right for the shower.
The shower seemed as claustrophobic as the cylinder she’d woken up inside of had been. She wasn’t a large person and the space was cramped even for her. The water pressure was weak, but at least the water warmed up after a few minutes. She found a few bottles of shampoo and a bar of soap wrapped in white plastic. All of the packaging was white and the names of the items were printed in simple black letters—no brand names, no happy designs or flowers, no list of ingredients or any other kind of information at all on the containers.
The shampoo and the soap smelled okay. But she really didn’t care about the scent right now; she just wanted to wash that sticky gel off of her skin. She stayed in the shower for twenty minutes, anticipating that the hot water would run out soon, but it didn’t. She washed her hair twice and scrubbed every inch of her body with the bar of soap. The gel residue was gone, but she couldn’t help not feeling entirely free of it.
As she stood in the shower thoughts raced through her mind. She had helped the man named Cromartie (must be a last name, she was sure) get the others out of their cylinders. They were all in shock, especially a woman named Butler who hadn’t even spoken at all. Everyone except Butler had questions; they were all confused and scared, all of them on the verge of panicking when Cromartie told them that they were on a spaceship. They all had many more questions after that, and they all wanted answers. But Sanders wanted to get that sticky gel off of her skin first, and she wanted clothes to cover her body.
What are all of us doing here? Sanders wondered as she stood under the weak stream of water in the shower. Like Cromartie, she couldn’t remember signing up for a spaceship mission. She couldn’t remember much right now, her memories seemed to be trapped in a fog. She knew her name, and she knew that she was from Los Angeles, and she knew that she should be carrying a gun on her right now, but that was about it.
First things first, she told herself. Get clean, get dressed, and then meet with the others in the kitchen to discuss everything.
After her shower, Sanders rummaged through a medicine cabinet that was recessed into the bathroom wall above the sink. Among the many tubes and containers of personal care products inside the cabinet and a large first aid kit, she found a white tube that had the word OINTMENT
stamped on it in plain black letters.
She dabbed a little of the clear cream on each spot where a port had been stuck into her skin and the ointment seemed to soothe the wounds immediately.
Her body still felt weak, but she seemed to be regaining her strength pretty quickly. She wiped at the mirror and stared at her face for a moment. She recognized herself; she recognized her bluish-gray eyes and her blond hair that was wet and stringy now from the shower. She remembered some things about herself, and she could feel other memories beginning to float to the surface of the fog in her mind ... but she couldn’t remember why she was here.
It was only short-term memory loss, MAC had told them.
She hoped so.
Sanders left her bathroom and walked over to a small closet that was tucked away in the corner of her small room. Inside the closet she found a stack of clothes folded up and sealed in shrink-wrap plastic. The cube of compressed clothing sat on a shelf and a pair of shoes that looked like sturdy sneakers were on the floor. There was nothing else in the closet.
She ripped the plastic open and pulled out the clothes. There were three sets of long-sleeved shirts and pants that reminded her of thermal underwear, only lighter and slicker, along with a white cloth belt. The clothes were a little tight-fitting and revealing (not that the others hadn’t already seen her body), but the clothes felt good against her skin. It felt good to be warm and dry again.
After she was dressed, she walked over to the bed which took up nearly a quarter of the room. Above the bed was a curtain that she guessed covered a window. She pulled the curtain to the side and saw a small circular window that looked like a port window on a cruise ship. Beyond the thick glass of the window was the never-ending deep black space and twinkling stars. She let the curtain fall back in place and stared up at the ceiling. Even here in her room there was that constant hum of machinery working behind the walls.
A knock at her door startled her.
At least whoever it was had knocked instead of barging right into her room.
She hurried over to the door and opened it. Outside her door was the older man they had helped out of the metal and plastic cylinder after the gel had drained out. He was dressed in the same style of white clothing that she wore, and what little hair he had left on his head was wet from a shower. His scraggly, gray beard was also wet. She had read his nameplate when they had helped him out of his chamber, but she was having difficulty recalling it right now.
“Abraham,” the man said as if reading her mind. He smiled and she thought that he had a kind face.
“Yes,” she said and nodded like she had just been about to spit his name out. “Abraham,” she repeated.
“I came to ask you for some help.”
Sanders braced herself.
“The other woman from the … uh, the chambers we woke up in, she’s still in some kind of shock or something. She’s just standing in the middle of her room. She’s still … uh … I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping her with a shower and help her get dressed.”
Sanders nodded. “Okay. Yeah, sure.”
Abraham smiled at her and led her down the hall to Butler’s room.
They entered the room together and Sanders saw Butler standing near the bathroom door. She was still naked and her skin was glistening with gel, her black hair was shiny under the lights of her room. The woman didn’t seem to be bothered that she was naked, but she was shivering from the cold and she needed to get warm. Her eyes were vacant as she stared at the wall, her hands down limply at her sides.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Abraham told Sanders. “I wanted to help, but I just thought it would be more appropriate if …”
He let his words hang in the air.
She understood what he meant.
“I can take it from here,” she told the older man, her words clipped short. She glanced at the open doorway.
Abraham got the message; he bowed his head a little and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Sanders looked at Butler who didn’t seem to notice that she was there. She walked towards the woman who looked like she was at least ten years younger than she was, maybe in her late twenties. Her body was slender and looked graceful. She had slightly slanted dark eyes, and Sanders thought that she might be Japanese.
She touched Butler’s shoulder gently.
Butler looked at her with dark eyes that still seemed lost. But at least she had reacted to her touch.
“We’re going to get you in the shower,” Sanders told her. “We’re going to get that gel, or whatever the hell that stuff is, off of you. Okay?”
The woman didn’t nod, but she didn’t fight as Sanders led her into the bathroom. The shower in Sanders’ room had been cramped, and she could imagine how difficult this was going to be to help this woman get showered.
What happened to this lady? Sanders wondered as she started the shower. She thought of the gaps in her own memory, and the short-term memory loss that the computer had told them they were all suffering from. But this lady seemed to have more than just some short-term memory loss.
Her brain seemed to be fried.
FOUR
Thirty minutes later, after everyone had showered and dressed, they met in the dining area as they had all agreed.
Cromartie leaned against the long counter on the other side of the large room and sipped coffee from a plastic cup—the coffee was hot and it felt good on his throat. MAC had told him how to make the imitation coffee which was sealed in individual packets. He had found the packets in the cabinets above the countertop where other stacks of cans, metal containers, and packets of food were stored. There was also a large walk-in cold storage room off of the galley kitchen with more boxes and cans of food.
He had scanned the names on the labels of food, but Cromartie didn’t want to eat right now—he was too nauseous. What he wanted right now was answers.
“Is everyone okay?” Cromartie asked the group after Sanders and Butler joined them. “Is anyone injured?”
Ward paced back and forth in between Cromartie at the counter and the others seated around the built-in dining table. “No, we’re not okay,” he snapped. “We just woke up on a fucking spaceship and none of us know how the hell we got here.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “And MAC doesn’t seem to be any help.”
“Let’s all try to stay calm,” Cromartie told him.
“Calm?” Ward barked. “What the hell are you talking about? Why should I be calm? Somebody stuck me on this damn ship and I don’t know why.”
Everyone was silent for a moment.
“I haven’t seen anyone else on this ship so far,” Cromartie finally spoke. “There are only six of those container things we woke up in. There are only six seats on the bridge. And there are only six sleeping quarters with our names on them. So I’m assuming we’re the only ones on this ship.” Cromartie looked up at the dining room ceiling. “MAC, are we the only people on this ship?”
“That’s correct, Cromartie.”
Ward had finally stopped pacing. He took a deep breath and seemed to be calming down a little.
Cromartie looked away from Ward and he stared at the others who sat on a bench seat that wrapped around the large plastic table in the corner of the dining area. Sanders and Abraham sat on each side of Butler like they were there to prop her up in case she leaned over too far.
Butler sat back in the bench seat, listless and slumped to one side a little. Her hands were on her lap underneath the table. Her dark hair was still wet from her shower, and her eyes looked blank. She had been pretty much unresponsive since they had gotten her out of her cryochamber.
Maybe she’s in shock, Cromartie thought. And who wouldn’t be? They were all in varying degrees of shock. They had woken up on this spaceship and none of them could remember how they got here.
Cromartie stared at Butler for a moment longer. She could walk by herself, but she needed help to do basic things. Abraham had told him that he’d asked
Sanders to help her with a shower and to get dressed.
“Butler, are you okay?” Cromartie asked her.
Butler looked up at Cromartie. At least she knew her name. But she didn’t answer him and her gaze was still blank. Finally, she nodded.
Cromartie’s gaze shifted towards the other end of the bench seat where Rolle sat. He still looked a little scared and nervous, but he hadn’t said too much so far.
“I don’t understand why I’m having so much trouble remembering how I got on this ship,” Rolle finally spoke, meeting Cromartie’s eyes.
“MAC said we have some temporary memory loss from the cryosleep,” Cromartie reminded him.
“Yeah, maybe,” Rolle answered, but he didn’t seem convinced.
Sanders looked up at the dining room ceiling. “MAC?”
“Yes, Sanders.”
“Can we talk to you from anywhere on this ship?”
“Everywhere except your rooms. Those are your private spaces.”
Ward darted to the metal archway that led out to the corridor.
“Where are you going?” Cromartie asked him.
“I’m going to the bridge. We’re drifting through space. I’m going to find out exactly where we are.”
Ward left the room.
Abraham got up to his feet. “Maybe we should go with him.”
Sanders looked at Cromartie and nodded in agreement. Her eyes were cold and hard, a contrast to Butler’s soft dark ones. Sanders seemed strong and confident, and she seemed to be handling this better than any of them so far. He wanted to know more about her, about each one of them. But maybe she and Abraham were right; maybe they should follow Ward to the bridge.
Cromartie set his cup of coffee on the counter. He looked at the others for a second, and then they all hurried after Ward, Abraham and Sanders helping Butler.
There was something about Ward that Cromartie didn’t like, something unpredictable about him that made Cromartie wary. Ward seemed like a rattlesnake that was coiled up and ready to strike at any moment.