Sci/Fi Landing Pad

You’ve captured Richard’s emotions quite well here. I’ll be back to read more later. Can’t wait to find out more.

Dragon

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I am floating in darkness, immersed in the void between asleep and awake. Overwhelming memories of pain and fear cloud my mind. I have died, and I now wait in purgatory, my soul removed from its body. Where will I go? Part of me still remains, for if I command my arms to move, they do so, though with agonizing slowness. I am not breathing; I have no need for breath. I feel a single thump deep inside my chest, accompanied by a rushing sound, the distant roar of the ocean in a seashell pressed to my ear. It can only be my heart, a single beat. The silence endures.

Sleep slowly gives way to consciousness. I command my body to inhale. It tries, but there is no air to breath. Thin liquid flows languidly into my nose, down to my lungs. I don’t cough. The fluid is as natural as air. My lungs are filled with it. The warm, almost burning sensation in my arms and legs tells me that the liquid has suffused my body, become one with it. The fear-filled memory that had been receding suddenly returns. Where am I? Surely this is not death.

My world comes to life. The liquid around me begins to churn. A moment later my coffin has been sucked dry. An airbag explodes above my chest, pressing with obscene force. Liquid spews out of my mouth and nose and is sucked away through a hidden port. A blast of air hits my face, forcing itself into my lungs, filling them until I fear they may burst. The airbag strikes again, expelling the air along with more liquid. This repeats mercilessly until my throat is raw. It stops at last.

I remember where I am, or at least where I was when this ordeal began. How long have I been unconscious? It could have been a few seconds, or it could have been a year. My cheap digital wristwatch might have the answer, if it has not been ruined by the chemical bath. Unfortunately, my muscles have trouble with the contortions needed to bring my wrist to my face in the tight confines of the box. I remember that I’m not wearing it anyway. I took it off to go to bed, and didn’t bother putting it back on. The time doesn’t matter, though. I am alive, ergo Linda is probably alive. Nothing is more important at the moment.

The silence is unbroken, but a subtle shift in air flow, as well as the odor of pine disinfectant, tells me that my coffin is no longer covered. I raise my arms and discover that the sides have silently vanished as well. My hand explores the surface on which I am lying and discovers that there is no barrier within my reach. A hint of yellowish light appears and slowly strengthens. I turn my head and see that I am lying on the floor of a tiny room, perhaps eight feet by ten feet, with flat, bare walls and ceiling. The source of the light is indistinguishable; it is simply there.

I take inventory of my body, wiggling my fingers and toes, bending at the elbow and knee, twisting my head. Every part of me related to breathing, from my nostrils to the lower-most depths of my lungs, tingles or burns or both. Drawing deep breaths helps, though, and reinforces the notion that I truly am alive.

I struggle to stand, first rolling on my side, then pushing myself up to a sitting position, and finally gritting my teeth and forcing my leg muscles to go to work. Dizziness sets in immediately, but I refuse to fall, instead stumbling to the nearest wall and using it for support. The dizziness recedes and I take a few steps, though in the bare room no destination is apparent.

As if it had been waiting for me to prove myself, a part of the wall disappears. The invitation is clear, so I half walk, half stagger through the doorway. After a few steps down a narrow hall, I find myself in a brightly lit room. Janet is seated at one end of a padded bench that spans the full twenty-foot length of the wall. I rush to her, and in my haste trip over my own feet, luckily landing on the bench beside her. She stares at me, her eyes wide with fear, as I scramble to a sitting position. Does she know who I am? What about Linda? I’m about to start questioning her when comprehension awakens in her face. She throws herself at me, wraps her arms around my chest, and proceeds to squeeze me almost as hard as that airbag had done not long ago. She buries her head in my shoulder and sobs. I have no idea how to respond, so I let her get it out of her system. The sobs slow and she raises her head.

“What happened?” she asks. “Why did they do that to us?”

I shake my head and answer with a one-word question of my own. “Linda?”

She shrugs her shoulders and rubs her temples. “I just got here.” Though the crying has stopped, she’s breathing funny, in quick, shallow breaths. I’m afraid she’ll faint, so I shift my weight, ready to catch her if she tumbles off the bench. She rubs her eyes and continues. “When I woke up, I freaked. I had to get out of there. I beat on the box until they let me out, then I ran for the light as soon as the door opened.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Janet in this state. Her jaw is trembling, like she’s ready to burst into tears again. I remind myself that she’s just a kid, barely in her twenties. I take her hand and hold it. She’s wearing a watch that I’ve been jealous of ever since it appeared on her wrist some months ago, probably a gift from one of her rich boyfriends. It doesn’t just tell the time. It has a GPS system, an altimeter, and even a little picture of the moon that shows the lunar phases. All these things are irrelevant now; what I’m interested in is the date. I gently twist her wrist to see. She looks, too, and her jaw drops.

“Seven months?” we whisper at the same time.

She pulls her hand free and wipes a tear that’s trickling down her nose. “We’re not on the shuttle, are we?”

“I doubt it. This room is too big.” I get up and pace the perimeter, running my fingertips along the wall. It’s perfectly smooth and seamless. The door that admitted me has vanished without a trace. “Linda’s somewhere behind this wall,” I say, hoping that it’s true.

“Do you trust them?” Janet asks.

“Does it make any difference?”

She exhales with a hint of a wry laugh. “No, I guess not. Where do you suppose we are?”

“I don’t know.” I look up at the ceiling. “Hey! Where are we?”

There is no answer. The room is unnaturally quiet. I would have expected at least mechanical noises, air flow in ventilation ducts, jet thrusters, valves opening and closing. But there is nothing. If I listen hard I can hear my own heart beating, and once again the rush of blood in my ears, the telltale sign that my blood pressure is too high.

“We’re a long way from Earth, aren’t we?”

I nod. “They must have some kind of faster-than-light drive. Remember the AI said that a supply drone came to service it regularly? When the drone popped into real space, light passing through the area got bent. Then when it left, it built up energy, and when the energy hit a peak, the drone passed out of real space, off to its home base. That’s the microwave signature Phil picked up with his array.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. The big shift we recorded at Orley must have been the mother ship arriving, sent to investigate when the last drone came home with a record of Phil’s laser contact.”

“No doubt. I suppose that’s the ship we’re on. I can only imagine how far we’ve traveled if we’ve been moving faster than light for seven months. We’ll be getting some answers soon, though. They woke us up, so we must’ve arrived.” But did we all live through the trip? The thought is terrifying. “Linda!” I scream her name, but the walls suck up the sound.

“Rich?” Janet stands and walks shakily to me. I wonder if we are the only two living humans in this part of the galaxy. The idea is too horrifying to consider. I slip my arms around Janet and pull her close.

“Rich?” she says again. “We were really stupid, weren’t we?”

I’ve known the answer to that one all along, but I don’t say anything.