'59 A Space Exploration Adventure: PT35

Cindy nodded. “It’s frightening to think what some people will still do to another human being even today.” She forced a smile, “but you could have gone onto a transplant waiting list for compatible organs from volunteer donors.”

© A Sunderland 2011


“I was on a list for several years and several doctors told me they would supply new healthy lungs and operate in exchange for mine. No questions asked, and no need to bother with all the paperwork.” She shook her head and wiped away a tear. “I still don’t know if I would ever have woken up again on their table, or just become an empty carcass in a dingy morgue somewhere.”
Cindy shuddered.

Chapter 12
Halfway There
[Day 108]
The ships, cruising at six times light speed, ran into a space storm of meteoroids, dust, and gases. Several small rocks hit the Intrepid. Blue sparks burst out from the ship’s electromagnetic shield. The rocks shattered and crumbled. Those not disintegrated were flung into space.
Xing Wu and Lieutenant Ahkbar were on the flight deck. Suddenly blue sparks began lighting up the observation window. A short high-pitched siren alarm told them that the electromagnetic shields were fielding off the little shards of rock that accompanied the larger pieces.
As the sparks increased, Ahkbar’s monitor winked to convey a small power surge as the automatic detection systems geared up several notches. Occasional thuds could be felt as some of the rocks ricocheted off the side of the ship.
Wu turned to look at his colleague. “Status reports please Mr Ahkbar.”
The slim Egyptian botanist studied the display before reporting to Wu. “All shields intact, Sir.”
“Thank you.”
Ahkbar turned to Wu and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to say that!
Wu laughed.
“We’ve cleared the worst of the storm now Sir.”
“Good. You take control while I inform the captain.” Unbuckling his seat, Wu swung round to operate the video intercom.

On the floor below the cabin, via a steel staircase that stretched five floors in all, Don was jogging at a moderate pace on a treadmill, sweating slightly. Dr Moritz was doing some weights. On the wall in front of the machines was a large monitor, the screen divided into six different images projected from cameras posted around the ship’s exterior. Next to this was a smaller screen relaying vital information about the engines, speed, and vital systems.
The ship shuddered under another impact. “Well, that was a cheeky one,” said Don.
“Ten years I studied English, and I still cannot understand your use of the language.”
Wu appeared on the screen. “Good morning sir.”
“Yes we just got the wakeup call.”
“We’ve cleared the storm, no damage to report.”
“Thank you. I’ll be up to relieve you in an hour.
“One other thing to report, sir. In three hour’s time we will be at the halfway point of our journey.”
“Thank god for that,” Don smiled. “I don’t know how many more times I can watch your selection of space disaster movies.”

The Space Academy, set in seventeen square miles of land between the Bracero Memorial highway and Pinnacles national park in California, was temporary home each year to over 200 cadets, and shared its beautifully maintained landscaped plot with DeepSEA’s HQ. The chief difference between the two buildings, however, reflected the Academy’s senior incumbent, Admiral Stirling, who was a determined traditionalist. Whilst both the training facilities and the admin block were state of the art, stark, modern and efficient, Stirling had insisted on replacing the soulless metal with traditional wooden fittings. Instead of automatic sliding doors his office was entered via a heavy door made of old oak.
While his junior colleagues were more than happy to accommodate the Admiral’s old-fashioned tastes, they were not so convinced by the waxed oak floorboards. Visitors to his office were often seen grabbing for something to hold on to as their feet slid from under them.