Anti Life

by Allen Kuzara

  The relay shuttle docked. Alvarez stood and approached the open doors. A voice stopped him.

  “C-c-colonel Alvarez, is that you?”

  He turned and looked for the person speaking. Officer titles were uncommon these days, no longer issued by Novos. They were a remnant from the Fight fifteen years ago and only used now out of respect for veterans.

  “Colonel, it’s me,” said a young man wearing a goofy grin. “I-I-It’s me, Jitters. I can’t believe it’s you. How long has it been, sir?”

  Alvarez recognized him now, the fidgety guy on the bench. The last time he had seen Jitters, the kid was only about nineteen years old. “You’ve grown up young man,” said Alvarez. Alvarez couldn’t remember Jitters’ real name. He had received the nickname from his habitual consumption of substances: coffee, coca-tea, nicotella—you name it. If it got you up, Jitters was on it.

  “Colonel, I haven’t seen you since the mining expedition out in the Delta quadrant.”

  “I guess that’s right. Didn’t you quit Novos right after that trip?” asked Alvarez.

  “Yeah, I did some work over at Trinity for a few years. L-l-long story short, I’m back.”

  Alvarez saw the relay shuttle leave. “Weren’t you going to catch the relay?” asked Alvarez.

  “Oh, no. I’m riding direct. I don’t have to ride slow soup anymore.” Jitters seemed to realize what he had said.

  Alvarez let out a big laugh and said, “Jitters, you still put your foot in your mouth. Don’t you?”

  “I-I-I’m sorry, Colonel.”

  “It’s okay, but that slow soup was my ticket out of here.” Alvarez slapped Jitters on the back. Jitters seemed to relax a bit. “So, where are you staying?” asked Alvarez.

  “At the Stanton orbiter, but not tonight.”

  The Stanton orbiter was one of the finest residencies certs could buy. It was up-scale and the second stop on the relay route. “Where are you headed tonight?” said Alvarez.

  “I’m meeting a buddy way out on the Century orbiter. Then we’re taking a private shuttle to a refueling station halfway between Novos and Trinity. The last time I was there we played shatook all night. I-I-I won three-hundred certs!”

  “Sounds like there’s more than fuel out there.”

  “That’s not the half of it,” Jitters said. “Y-y-you’ve gotta see these girls. I don’t know where they come from, but they’re all drop-dead gorgeous. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “Nothing’s free, sir. You told me that on many occasions.”

  The refueling stations were strategically placed throughout the Outer-Five territories. Some of them were owned by the Outer-Five corporate settlements, but most were owned by individuals and partnerships.

  All of the corporate settlements were near stars or luminous planets. But the refueling stations were usually placed in near darkness, minus their artificial lights. At first these stations served their given purpose, midway points between settlements. Soon, however, they took on a new character. Alvarez thought it was telling that people were still driven by their circadian instincts. People preferred performing certain activities—gambling, drinking, and sex—in the dark.

  “Sir, why don’t you come with me on the direct transit? I’m sure there’s enough room.”

  “No,” Alvarez said. “You know how they get bent out of shape about these kinds of things. If I ride direct with an unauthorized bio-marker, those transfer agents will cite me. I won’t have any certs left after this pay period.”

  “Oh, come on. You could earn it all back at Shatook. You used to play a pretty mean hand. C-c-come on. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Let’s go just for old time’s sake,” Jitters pleaded. A bell sounded signaling the direct transit’s imminent arrival.

  Alvarez knew he wasn’t the same man Jitter’s remembered. He decided to splash a big dose of reality into the conversation. “I’m a family man now. I can’t party down all night like we used to. I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”

  Jitters squirmed. “Oh, that’s great, sir. H-h-how many kids?”

  Alvarez didn’t think Jitters was sincere. The slightest notion of being tied down with a family seemed to terrify him. “Just one, my eight-year-old son Adam.”

  “I’m happy for you, sir,” Jitters said. The direct transit entered the station. “W-w-well, Colonel, look me up the next time you’re in the embarkation bay at Novos. I’m always there or away on a mission.”

  Alvarez smiled, then added, “or playing shatook on a refueling station.” The two shook hands, and Jitters was away.

  Alvarez was glad he ran into Jitters. He hadn’t seen any of the old crew in some time. It was bitter-sweet. The old days were hard. The years following the Fight were a period of rapid change and dislocation. The way people survived, or at least the way Alvarez survived, was to take every job that came your way.

  Alvarez was a nostalgic and sentimental person, but he kept most of it to himself. He knew in reality that things weren’t as nice as he remembered them. You always forgot some of the bad, or at least you shaved off some of its intensity. And what was left was romanticized. He was committed to remembering the truth.

  “I don’t want to go back there,” he said out loud. He looked at the timer up above him. Five minutes remained before the next relay would arrive. This may cause him to be late for Adam’s third grade graduation ceremony.

  After the relay transit arrived, Alvarez got on board and made himself comfortable. It was unusually vacant with only one other passenger at the other end of the cabin. Sometimes Alvarez watched entertainment feeds or listened to music on his commute. But lately he had been doing nothing. He liked the silence, the lack of tension. It was important to enjoy not being challenged.

  Out his window, he saw Novos’s massive solar array, the primary power and lifeblood of the entire settlement. Solar power on earth was utilized, but the efficiency was so much greater in space. There was no atmosphere to block the intensity of the rays. And instead of two or four hours of solar exposure, energy production was continuous.

  In space, there was an added bonus for using solar power; the lack of interruptions in energy production meant there was little need for extensive battery systems. There was no need to save power for the proverbial rainy day. Maintenance was one of the few reasons for a disruption, and even then, it was simple enough to work modularly. One segment would be taken offline for repairs, and power from remaining panels was redirected through other channels.

  The console in front of Alvarez’s seat whirled with a red light and soft bell. It was a call for Alvarez. One of the pluses of corporate transportation was that you could be reached at any moment by anyone via the central computer. It knew your exact location at every moment. The minus was that there was nowhere to hide.

  He thought about ignoring it. There wasn’t an identification icon from the caller. It might be Nadia. But probably it was someone from work. He ought to answer it just to be safe. He engaged the console with his hand. Instantly, a holographic two-dimensional picture was projected.

  “Hello, John. I hope I didn’t disturb you,” a gruff voice said.

  “General McKinley. Not at all. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Alvarez replied. General McKinley, a man about sixty, was Alvarez’s commanding officer during the Fight. He was also the man who hired him at Novos and who recently gave him the desk-job he requested.

  “John, I meant to have you come by the office today. I was hoping that we could catch up, maybe even grab a bite to eat.”

  “That would have been nice, sir.”

  “So, am I understanding you correctly? You’re done with Novos?” asked McKinley.

  “It’s not really about Novos, and I’m certainly not trying to burn any bridges. I just need a break. I need to spend more time with my family. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do after all those years away on missions.”

  “John, that’s why we gave you that desk job.”<
br />
  “I know, and I appreciate you doing that for me. But I just can’t make myself do it anymore.”

  “Out of the pan, into the fire?” asked McKinley.

  “No, it was like going from the frying pan to the deep freeze. The hours were good, but it was all so…”

  “Pointless?”

  “Yes. It was all paperwork. I felt like a place holder. It was a job for a job’s sake. Any computer could have handled ninety percent of my work. It took no initiative, no creative problem solving, no talent to do the job. The worst thing was how people around me acted—pretending it was important.”

  “John, people have to legitimize their existence. Most people have to make a big juicy rationalization at least once per day.”

  “As usual, you’re right,” Alvarez said. “But I don’t know how to do that. I’ll do what I have to do to take care of my family, but lying to myself isn’t going to be part of the equation.”

  “I get that, but we’ll hate to lose you. You always have a place here. You know that, right?”

  “Thank you, General. That means a lot.”

  “So, where are you headed now?” asked McKinley.

  “Nadia has a vacation all planned out right after Adam’s graduation ceremony this evening. I think she wants to try that new terra-formed moon off of Beta P-36.”

  “My goodness,” laughed McKinely. “That’s virgin territory there.”

  “All the better,” Alvarez said. “I’ve got to get away for a while. I don’t even know what we’ll do there. A whole lot of nothing would be fine with me.”

  “What about in the long-term? Any career goals?”

  “I’ve not signed a contract with another settlement if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve really not given it enough thought. All I know for sure is that what I’ve been doing—mission commands and paperwork—isn’t going to work anymore.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but how are you going to make ends meet?” McKinley asked.

  “We put enough certs back to make it for a while. I think we have enough to make a new start. You know I’ve toyed with the idea of buying stock in one of Novos’s farm orbiters.”

  “Colonel Alvarez, the farmer!” McKinley said laughing. “I can picture it now. You’ll be busting the humps of those farmhands like you did your grunts way back when.”

  “Whatever I do, I need to be the one who makes the decisions that matter. I need to get my hands dirty, and a little peace and quiet wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Well I hope you find what you’re looking for, John. What do I have to do to get you back after you get this out of your system?”

  “I’m not shuffling more papers.”

  “No, I mean commanding missions again.”

  Alvarez thought for a moment. He loved doing missions. It was what he did best. But it was nearly a deal-breaker at home. He couldn’t miss any more of Adam’s childhood. “Just one thing,” he said.

  McKinley’s brow lifted in amusement. “Yes?”

  “Enough certs for Nadia and I to start over.”

  Chapter 6

  The Constance was docked in one of Novos’s many hangar bays, a more suitable location for the hefty ship. Docking at the transit station earlier in the day was to prove it could be done. It was an exciting feature of Parker’s design but not the most practical way to load people and supplies aboard.

  The hangar bay was on the outer rim of Novos station. It, like the main docking bay, faced out into the darkness of space. Since usually only Falcon-class ships were capable of entering the transit station, bigger Atlas-class ships had to be stationed in the larger hangar bays. Although the hangars contained atmosphere, freeing workers from spacesuits, AG was absent. Weightlessness was helpful for certain stages of the construction process, e.g. moving and assembling massive parts and components, and the hangers didn’t have to be reinforced to support the mega-ton vessels. But loading people and smaller items was a hassle.

  The Constance was dwarfed by the two massive ships aligned on each side of it. The bay was full with the roar of machinery, pounding of high-powered tools, and the yells of men and women attempting to be heard over the racket.

  Like worker ants, crew and technicians streamed in and out of the Constance carrying tools, supplies, and other equipment necessary for deep space travel.

  The Constance, similar to other Falcon-class ships, had remnants of wings and an elongated, shuttle-like construction. In contrast, Atlas-class ships were bulky, rectangular, and utilitarian. Since they weren’t designed to land on planets or dock in transit stations, aero-dynamic aesthetics were pointless.

  David Parker held onto the causeway’s rail outside the Constance. He kept finding jobs to assist with, even though technically, he was done with the ship. The spacecraft production process was standardized across most Outer-Five settlements: ships were commissioned, a space-architect made the design, and then production engineers took over. After the design phase, the space-architect had little involvement with rest of the process. The propulsion engineer, mission leader, and others continued to work out the bugs before the ship was part of the corporate fleet.

  Parker, because of his imminence in the industry, asked for and received the proviso to take his ships out for their first run. But now that was over. After today Parker would have nothing to do with his latest creation.

  He felt like a retiree on his last day of work. People congratulated and praised him, but they soon moved on to carry out their work duties. The longer he outstayed his welcome, the louder and clearer the message became; life and the Constance would go on with or without him.

  Terra York pulled herself up the causeway rail to where Parker was. “It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You spent who knows how many months or years working on this thing, and then suddenly it’s out of your hands.”

  A little surprised by his transparency, Parker looked at her warily out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not too far removed from what coastal ship builders used to experience back in the first millennium,” he said. “In shipyards they built vessels destined for water. Once launched, there was no going back onto dry land.”

  “Well, technically there was,” York teased.

  “Shipwrecks don’t count,” he said. “You know, you’re the lucky one. If I didn’t love creating new designs so much, I think I’d be happier as a mechanic.”

  “I’d have to agree. Getting to go out with new ships, breaking them in, and fixing the bugs is way better than being stuck back here on Novos. You know, I do some designing myself, except there aren’t any blueprints for what I come up with,” she said.

  “What kind of designs? New craft?”

  “No, mostly just fixing the mistakes made by space-architects,” she said giggling.

  Terra York was Novos’s chief mechanic. Despite her tomboy appearance, she had a softness that appealed to Parker. In the short amount of time they had worked together, York and Parker had found kindred spirits in each other. They both loved the same thing—spacecraft.

  Terra York was an exception to the norm. In space travel—research vessels, research probes, and interstellar travel especially—women were the minority. In a voluntary society without state mandates, quotas, etc, the space exploration industry was highly segregated. No corporate settlements prohibited women from doing extended IST missions. But it was usually only the men that were desperate or dumb enough to subject themselves to the isolated, perilous, and inhospitable conditions of space missions.

  York defied more than gender norms. She beat the odds by growing up in an unincorporated fleet of marauders—opportunists that salvaged, stole, or worse to survive—and then scratching and clawing her way into one of the highest paying fields in the industry. She had more than fortitude though; hers was a special combination of skill and talent. She comprehended complex architectural blueprints but could also go beyond the math intuitively fixing things in ways that w
ere beyond rational explanation.

  “Did you have a chance to look over the data from our test run?” Parker asked.

  “Yes, everything checks out. I am a little concerned about the energy-transfer coupling. It looks fine now, but until we take her out longer, we won’t know if it’s going to overheat.”

  “You’re right,” said Parker. “That little blip on our sensor wasn’t enough to cause a problem over the short distance we flew, but it’s enough to concern me about Inter-Stellar-Travel.”

  “I guess that’s why Novos puts new designs through the gauntlet.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I’m sure it will be ready for primetime after a couple of months of further testing,” he said.

  “Parker, you know she’s amazing, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty proud of her, even with the bugs left to tweak,” said Parker.

  The conversation grew silent. They watched people continue to swarm in and out of the Constance.

  “I guess it’s time for me to call it a day,” Parker said. “Let me know how she does.”

  “Will do. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of her,” York assured him.

  Parker swallowed the emotional lump in his throat. He turned and started to descend the causeway. From the hangar bay exit, a man approached him. “David Parker?” he inquired.

  “Yes?” Parker replied, startled.

  “General McKinley needs to see you immediately.”

  Chapter 7

  Alvarez stood gripping the steering wheel with one hand and his almost empty mug of coca-tea with the other. The marine craft he had rented two hours earlier was quiet despite its great velocity. He should have been sleepy, but he wasn’t. He took another sip and knew he would pay for it later. But he didn’t care.

  The computer could drive for him, but he liked to hold the wheel. After being stuck at a desk for three months, it was good to do something physical again. Relaxing was difficult, so mindless, tactile activity helped.