Odyssey_Double Helix

by R. Patricia Wayne

  Stupid little bitch.

  With what seemed like a head full of concrete and ears still ringing, Vyki rose up on her shaky legs and headed straight for the bathroom. Turning on the tap, she studied her reflection in the mirror.

  A split lip, swollen cheeks, and a black eye stared back at her, taunting her. Maybe all the jokes she’d made about getting old were catching up to her. Slow. Weak. Pathetic. First professional match lost and all the fire had gone out of her soul, leaving her empty and bitter and sick to her stomach.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. Vyki had been riding high after the past sixteen victories. Vyki the Victorious, the ring announcer called her. Well, she wasn’t victorious anymore. And it was all downhill from here. One lost fight would lead to another. And another. Until she was forgotten. Until she was being paid just to go down. The perfect boxer to throw matches for syndicate bookies.

  Vyki scowled at her reflection and then tried to push the thoughts aside. She splashed water on her face.

  It’s just one loss. No big deal.

  She shut the tap off, and after drying her face, she dressed in her street clothes. And after slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder, Vyki took a long moment to scan the empty room. She sighed. She then marched out of the locker room and the arena.

  Vyki spent most of that night staring blankly at the ceiling of her one-bedroom apartment. She replayed every moment of the fight in her head, then replayed it again, then again. It was a futile attempt to figure out what she did wrong and where her strategy had failed. She finally concluded the girl was just better and faster than Vyki was. And hungrier. Sara the Barracuda was still a ridiculously stupid name, but she was champ now and Vyki was not. Now the crowd would cheer for Sara and that shitty dance song she liked.

  The next night, Vyki found herself at Thor’s Hammer after a grueling day of training. It was the small bar just down the street from her apartment in Achaea Colony. It was a place she’d been time to time, but usually only for victory celebrations. There was nothing to celebrate anymore. No reason to watch what she ate and drank. So, she ordered a beer and sat down on the barstool furthest from the door and at the back of the bar. She pulled the hood of her sweat jacket over her head to disguise her face. Then she sat there, nursed her drink, and prayed that no one bothered her.

  One hour rolled by. Then two. She’d hardly touched her beer, but going home meant more thinking. It meant accepting what had happened and finding a way to move on. But she wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.

  I loved boxing. Vyki took in a mouthful of beer and swallowed hard. I was the best. And if I can’t do this anymore, then what good am I? With a thumbnail, she picked at the bottle’s label.

  The best years of her life. Her prime. Her perfection. All that was over simply because she couldn’t beat some shrimpy little bitch from Elysia Colony. How did she lose to that? Sara the Barracuda couldn’t have been any more girly even if she’d shown up wearing a dress.

  It was a bitter pill to swallow and Vyki was fighting it every goddamn step of the way. Maybe her opponent had cheated. Maybe she had guessed where Vyki was weakest due to old injuries... Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  No, this wasn’t her opponent’s fault. Sara the Barracuda had done her homework and earned that win. And she knew exactly what she was doing when she coaxed Vyki into the fight. Perhaps the fault was that Vyki didn’t take the girl seriously enough.

  As much as Vyki tried to blame Sara, she couldn’t. This loss could only be blamed on herself. What had happened to her? She’d been doing this for years. That match should have been an easy win. She should have heard cheering and whooping of her name and come home with an even bigger pile of money she wouldn’t spend. She’d cheated herself of the adrenaline rush, the heady pleasure of winning. The exhilaration and the blood thrumming in her veins. Someone might’ve even taken her home afterward, ecstatic that she’d chosen them to work off the post-match high.

  Vyki had no idea how long she’d been lost in her thoughts when a woman’s voice interrupted her reverie.

  “Dunno if you noticed, but you’re the last one here.”

  With a fifth of vodka and a couple shot glasses, the blonde bartender slid into the booth next to Vyki’s barstool. After pouring a shot, the woman slid it to the edge of the table for Vyki to take. When Vyki didn’t pick up the offered drink, she sighed. “Name’s Lori. You look like you had a bad day and that beer isn’t doing much for you.” She gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Sit?”

  Vyki studied the woman for a long moment, then moved from the bar and sat down in the booth across from Lori. “Vyki.” After removing her hood, Vyki downed the shot with a grimace. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?” She prayed that Lori didn’t recognize her and that she wasn’t a fan.

  “That’s quite a shiner, you’ve got.” With her empty shot glass in hand, Lori pointed a finger at Vyki’s face. “Having girl troubles? Or guy troubles?”

  Scoffing and rolling her eyes, Vyki shook her head.

  “Syndicate problems?” Lori cringed.

  “Nah. Only person I’m having problems with is me. I’m a boxer. Or I was.”

  Lori looked decently impressed. She nodded as she poured herself another shot. “Don’t really follow boxing myself, but I can take a guess at what happened, Vyki.” She downed her shot, then poured another for Vyki. “You’re taking it pretty hard. I mean everyone loses someti—”

  “Sixty one.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “The number of fights I had in me. I’m done. Can’t do this anymore. Thought I’d at least get to a hundred before I got screwed. Was going to try anyway.” Vyki slung back her head and downed the shot. She laughed bitterly. “No idea what I’m going to goddamn do now. I fight. It’s what I’m good at. But no way in hell am I ever getting back in a ring. I’m too slow now. Weaker than the younger girls.”

  Lori hummed. “There’s gotta be something you can do, right? Something you’re good at other than fighting?”

  “Not really.” Vyki shrugged. “Been doing this since I was a teen.” She pushed herself back against the wall and propped her feet up on the bench. “Never done much else. I don’t have anybody special. Never needed anybody. No new tricks to wring out of me, either. That old dog new tricks thing.” She pushed the shot glass back over to Lori. “Thanks, Lori. Don’t really get to unload like that often.”

  Lori nodded with a light shrug. “Glad I could help. You don’t have to go. You can stay and talk more. The way you’re looking, I don’t think you should be alone.”

  Vyki shook her head. “Nah, thanks. I need to get home. How much do I owe you for the drinks?”

  “On the house. Not going to kick a gal when she’s down.” Lori giggled. “I would say be careful on your way home, but it looks like you can take care of yourself.”

  “Yeah, I can, just not in the ring.” Vyki slid out of the booth and marched out of the bar.

  As she made her way through the relentless rain, she thought more about her conversation with Lori.

  It doesn’t matter what else I can do. It’s stupid really. I’m a boxer. I just have to swallow my pride and get back in the ring.

  But I can’t. I’d just make an even bigger fool of myself. And who am I if I don’t have boxing? I can’t even end a match in three rounds anymore. It only gets harder from here on out.

  When she arrived at her apartment, she changed into dry sweat clothes. Then she went straight to her bedroom and took out her journal to jot down the day’s food intake and exercise sets like she always did. Except this time, she had to note all the alcohol she’d consumed.

  So much for my diet.

  Once finished, she found herself flipping through the pages, reading back over the past year and grinning a few times as she read over childish dreams and promises, many of which had nothing to do with boxing.

  Then she dug under her bed until she found the box that
held all her old journals. All were kept in chronological order. One for every year. She read through them all from the beginning.

  She’d been keeping diaries since she was old enough to write. She was thirteen when she decided to take boxing seriously. The same age when she began working out in the weight room and keeping detailed journals of her routines, meals, and her goals. Although she had the desire to box at that age, she didn’t have the discipline. Her journals showed that she didn’t always eat healthy. Her workout routines were optional when she wanted to spend time with friends. And she had been much less meticulous about her records back then. That all seemed to change at fifteen. She chose to give up all her distractions. No more friends. No more fun. No more cheating on her diet. Workouts, practice, and running consumed her days. Meals, train, shower... Like clockwork. Her self-discipline and desire became synchronous. And after a while, her self-imposed routines had become as mindless as breathing. That’s what it took to become a champion. Was all that worth nothing now?

  She tucked the journals back into their assigned places and pushed the box back under her bed. She then fell back and stared at the ceiling. Sleep hadn’t been easy the night before and she suspected it wouldn’t be now, despite the alcohol buzzing in her system.

  As a young girl, Vyki had set many personal goals for herself, and those had motivated that little girl to become the professional boxer she was. And yet, time had just proven that she’d failed miserably at the most important one. This was all she wanted to do with her life. This was supposed to last until she was old and gray. Not retire before she turned thirty. What would she do for the next thirty years? Become a waitress at some all-night diner?

  The truth was that she needed another career. This one was over.

  “Physical. Routine-oriented. Loner. Something that requires strength,” she muttered, thinking of Lori’s certainty that she had to be good for something else.

  There was always the rangers, she supposed, brow creasing. It wouldn’t be much different than the life she was used to. And the rangers would be strenuous work, but easy for someone like herself. She was no stranger to physical routines and the requirement forbidding relationships would be no issue. She never had many lovers, much less any time for a full-time relationship.

  No one and nothing had ever been more important to her than her boxing career. So why was she thinking of giving it up now? Just one little loss, no big deal. But it was. A nagging thought wormed its way into her musings.

  You lost and you’ll lose again. You’ll be a failure. You’ll be laughed at and mocked. A laughingstock. Is that what you want?

  She sat up and slipped out of bed, padding to the bathroom. She stood there and looked at her reflection, taking in the sight of her slowly healing lips and swollen purple eye. “What do I do?” She sighed heavily and turned on the cold water. After wetting a washcloth, she pressed it to her swollen eye and returned to bed.

  The nagging, intrusive thoughts started up again.

  Maybe you should just kill yourself. You’ve got nothing left.

  No, I shouldn’t! What the hell is wrong with me?

  You failed and you should die.

  But I don’t want to die.

  Yes, you do. Don’t you know how hard living is going to be now that you have nothing? You can’t go back to boxing, silly girl. There’s nothing left for you.

  She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

  When she woke the next morning, it was eleven o’clock. She should have been up at the break of dawn. “I... well, shit.” So much for her ritualistic, routine-oriented, lifestyle. Everything about her was breaking down. She’d lost, she’d gone out to drink, and now she couldn’t even wake up on time.

  The rangers were still in her thoughts. They could give her purpose and strength again. She’d never be what she once was, but it was better than wilting away into nothing. Better than abandoning herself along with her shattered dreams. What did she have to look forward to now? She had plenty of money saved up, but her future was bleak now. Day after day in this same shitty apartment with nothing to do but train and think. She never spent any money anyway. Her apartment was barely furnished.

  The rangers could use her strength. They were all about routines, and at times, they were needed to battle jungle beasts. It would be better than questioning everything she’s come to know about herself. It would be better than wanting to die.

  I need a new arena.

  She stretched and got out of bed, striding to the kitchen to fix herself breakfast.

  Might as well make the whole planet my arena, I guess.

  After she finished cutting up her fruit, she settled down in her only kitchen chair to eat breakfast, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe she should go tell Lori. She didn’t know Lori from Eve, but she was the closest thing she had to a friend. It might be nice to tell her that she had found something else to do. Maybe even have one last fling before she went to sign up.

  She sighed and shook her head. No, sex wasn’t a priority. It couldn’t happen. She needed to get back into habits, not destroy them completely, no matter how strange and incomplete she felt now that her career was in shambles.

  I’m going to join the rangers, she decided.

  The thought still felt weird, but later that day, she found herself at a recruitment station, approving the paperwork by signing her life and her fortune away for the protection of the planet. She sighed, feeling at peace for the first time since her defeat in the ring.

  Round two of her life had just begun.

  Unbound

  By R. Patricia Wayne

  EDITOR’S NOTE: In Book I, the MSEV Athena departed for Earth in order to seek out any humans that had survived Earth’s Armageddon. This is the story of the scientist that made the Athena’s expedition to Earth possible. And according to Mars’ history, Dr. Elizabeth Titus, the creator of the Prometheus engine, disappeared on October 10th, 2247. The same day she successfully proved her prototype engine could break the lightspeed barrier.

  Location: Unknown

  Year: 2247

  Dr. Elizabeth Titus opened her eyes. Everything was black. At first, she thought she was still on Mars, still in bed, but she then noticed the numerous red lights flashing around the darkened room. Warning alerts repeatedly chimed in the air. Then she noticed the pilot’s chair and the glass display panel full of red, blue, and amber lights. All reminding her that she wasn’t at home, and not on Mars. Wherever she was, she was flat on her back on the cold, metal grate flooring of an unknown spaceship.

  “Computer, turn off the alerts,” she ordered.

  The red lights stopped flashing but remained on. The warning chimes silenced.

  “Computer, turn on the lights.”

  Several fluorescent tubes in the ceiling pulsed on and off. Slowly, each tube stabilized, providing her with prominent overhead lighting. Through the strands of blonde hair that hung over her face, she could see her surroundings. It was a shuttlecraft of some kind. She’d seen a hundred just like this one over the years. Nothing out of ordinary.

  With a groan, she tried to sit up, but a pain like being electrocuted seized her back. Instead, she chose a less painful task. She grimaced as she inched her body backward to the nearest wall and forced her way through the pain to a sitting position. Blowing out a breath of relief, she rested her head against the bulkhead. She was thirsty. Hungry. She had a splitting headache.

  “Computer, what’s the current chronometer date?”

  “224710.11.21.27,” the computer replied in its typical, unemotional female voice.

  710.11? Why did October 11th seem like a date she should know?

  She dug into her pocket and removed an elastic hair band. She secured her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail as she puzzled over how she got there. Finally, with nothing more than a blurry haze of memories, she decided to find out where this shuttle had taken her.

  “Computer, where am I?”

  “You are currently aboard the
experimental test vehicle, Daedalus-3.”

  Not the answer she was looking for, but it explained a few things. She now remembered this ship, but the date still didn’t seem right. She recalled that she had finally figured out the design flaw in her lightspeed engine theory. She had taken this ship out to prove that her Prometheus engine worked just like she promised it would. However, she couldn’t recall if she had engaged her new engine. The last thing she remembered was using the thrusters to navigate out of the drydock that orbited near the Mars moon, Phobos.

  “Computer, where is this shuttle located?”

  “Unable to comply. Unable to calculate a precise location.”

  Odd. Did her test screw up the computer’s navigational sensors?

  “How fast are we traveling?”

  “The Daedalus-3 is currently stationary.”

  “The ship’s not moving at all?”

  “Negative.”

  That means she wasn’t traveling somewhere. So, where was she? How did she get to wherever she was?

  After a moment her foggy memories seem to clear themselves up. She remembered what happened now, but this shouldn’t be October 11th. It was October 10th when she piloted the test shuttle from drydock. She recalled the pre-ignition sequence, the countdown, then the engine engaged in a violent blast the pinned her against the pilot’s seat. All as planned. All as predicted.

  Then something went wrong. Instead of the ride smoothing out, as it should have done once the engine achieved speed, it got worse. The engine continued to accelerate. The ship shuddered. She remembered needing to shut down the drive before the incredible force tore the shuttle apart.

  In her attempt to shut down the engine, Dr. Titus released the chair’s safety restraints in order to reach the dashboard controls. It was a mistake. The chair swiveled, as it was meant to do, but not as she hoped it would. It spun. She was thrown from her chair, launching backward, airborne. She landed, her back slamming against the rear of the cabin. Unable to move at that point, she could only observe. Through the window, stars became streaks of blurry light as they passed. And then, the shuttle went even faster. The entire cockpit was filled with a light so bright she could no longer keep her eyes open. She pressed her eyes closed. Her mind felt like it was ripping into two halves. She screamed in agony. She then lost consciousness.