U
Uneasy Goat
Guest
Original poster
I'm super nervous about it, but I want to get some feedback. I'm going to send it to my coworker later this week (she's a prior english professor) for syntax and proofreading, but before I do that I'd prefer to see if someone would actually be interested in reading what I've written. I've got 2000 words so far, and the publisher I'm talking with requires 80000 minimum.
If there are things that are misunderstood, not clear, or things you want to know more about, I'd be glad to entertain the ideas.
Thank you in advance, please be gentle:
Prologue
The heat from the water fogged the large mirror over the sink, dampened the air around the room and jolted every sense Nathan had. He opened his eyes for the first time since he awoke, squinting at the lights that burrowed a headache into his brain, then quickly closed them with a groan. He stood under the showerhead for what seemed like hours, letting the water run down his shoulders and drip pathetically onto his feet. His breathing began to get difficult, the water running along his cheeks not solely from the faucet above him.
His knees hit the floor with a thud, but he couldn't feel it. Every thought was a shudder, violently thrusting him further and further against the floor until he was as crumpled as the blankets thrown from his bed. No amount of water, no matter the heat, would wash the plague of nightmares down the drain. As the heat began to dwindle, the hairs on his arms began to stand up and he made an attempt to do the same.
He fumbled his way through the corridor with a limp, the cold metal under his feet almost too much to bear. He never quite understood how the air in the ship could be so warm, but the floors were always ice cold when he woke up. He put his boots on and lit a cigarette, laughing slightly as he imagined how he must look every day on his "floats" to someone else. Mussed hair, one cigarette, and one pair of thigh-high leather boots. He often found himself in an absurd mood after the morning shower, the negativity purged like vomit after a bad night at Wesley's.
Still limping, he found his way into the cargo hold and grabbed a spaghetti flavored calorie bar before moving towards the cockpit. The flavor was awful, but that's why he ate them first. In five days he'd be in chocolate heaven, so he figured chomping down on trash would only make the chocolate that much better. It worked. Still nude save for his boots, he stared out of the main window and sat down in the pilot's chair.
She always loved to look up at the stars.
He closed his eyes quickly and looked away, glancing instead to the ghost on his right. The other chair devoid of a pilot, gathering dust from the last 10 years and reminding him of where he was. Alone, adrift, safe. He couldn't hurt anyone in a tin can, he couldn't make choices to regret so long as he remained here. It was his only true choice, the only choice he was able to make for himself. All the others had been circumstance, force, abuse.
But excuses don't get rid of the guilt.
He lit another cigarette and pushed the thoughts away, standing and walking to his room to get dressed. He almost forgot about his knees as he stood, but they reminded him with an explosive shot of pain up his thigh. His cigarette hit the floor as he caught himself on the arm of the seat, and he withheld an exclamation with gritted teeth and a grunt. He leaned down to grab his smoke and did his best to stand, but the pain was too much and he collapsed.
"Nothing to be done, I suppose," he muttered weakly as he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes once more, "The pain will go away as it always does, the bruising will subside and the regrets will return."
He flicked the butt across the room into the pile of bad mornings and stood up for the last time. He didn't see the flashing red light on his dashboard, nor the blacked out portion of stars from the front window as he turned away and walked back down the long corridor to his room. This was the part of the morning where chores were accomplished, clothes picked up and trash incinerated. The next few hours were spent occupying himself with anything and everything to keep himself going, but there was only so much to do on a class-4 cargo vessel before you began recycling jobs.
After wiping down the countertop in his kitchenette for the fourth time, he walked back into the cargo bay to fetch another calorie bar. The mass of boxes and crates that lined this small space made it feel significantly smaller than it already was. He reached into the already opened container of "Spaghetti 3-A-Days" and pulled out one of the few remaining bars and put it into the pocket of the grey pants he put on before doing laundry. And he backed away, his eyes caught the crate of "Chocoholic 3-A-Days" and his mouth watered with the promise of the next few days.
He reached into his rear pocket to grab the pack of cigarettes he stored there when he got dressed and pulled out a single wrinkled smoke from the box and put it up to his lips. The lighter was low on fuel, so it took a few clicks to give out a pitiful wisp of flame for him to draw from. The stale smoke filled his lungs as he took a deep breath, pocketing his lighter as he closed his eyes to take it all in.
The exhale came slowly, but the low-quality brand showed it colors as a rough raspy plume of smoke came hesitantly from his throat and out into the dank corridor before being inhaled again, this time by the ship's ventilation system. Sliding the mangled pack into his back pocket once more, he held the cigarette between his lips and began walking towards the cockpit. His steps echoed softly in the hollow hallway, the only sound aside from the gentle hum of the engine that could be heard. His eyes caught the flashing light on his dash, but he told himself it was probably just a subsystem failure and nothing of his concern yet.
His palm rested against the reinforced glass panel, the cold sending shivers up his spine, as he looked out into the vast emptiness surrounding him. He found peace in the emptiness, relaxation knowing that there was nothing for hundreds of thousands of miles. There was a blank spot of stars in the distance and he had an uneasy feeling as he stared at it, thanking himself for keeping all of his systems minimal. Never could be sure what other ships could hold, the people they carried or the supplied they trafficked (or vice versa). He shook his head and looked directly above him at the console of switches on the ceiling, flipping and holding a metallic toggle as he began to speak.
Chapter 1
"This is the personal log of Nathaniel Blackwell, so-called Captain of Cargo Vessel [Redacted]. I landed on my leg funny in the shower… again. One of these days I'm gonna shatter my kneecap or worse, but luckily today it's just bruising. I need to hit up another port and get better smokes, these are possibly the worst I've had in years. The only reason I got the damned things was 'cause of the pun. Wolf Brand cigarettes… Run with the pack," he stared back through the glass at the shape in the distance, "Got another ship here, looks like. Pretty large, I think, unless my perception is just going out. Might be a Class-2, but I won't know unless I get closer. This'll do for an update, I suppose. Signing off."
As his hand left the switch, the feedback scratch of the radio bounced off of the metallic walls and he stepped toward the dashboard in front of his chair. Looking at the flashing red led, he saw that it was not a subsystem error, but a distress notification. He took another quick glance at the shadow in the distance and back down to the flashing bulb near his palm. Hesitantly, he flipped the switch next to the light and listened for something to come through.
Thirty seconds of dead air made him slightly more uncomfortable than he'd have liked, but as he moved to flip the switch back off a screeching metallic noise began pouring through the speakers followed by a soft voice that was difficult to hear. He quickly moved over to the speaker controls to attempt to isolate the voice as the message seemed to be on a loop, ear-splitting static included. After some adjustment, he could make out a semblance of what was being said.
"…Ship Alpha Romeo Romeo Osc- …Oscar requesting immediate assistance! Our mainline systems have shutdown, and we're on auxiliary life supp- …mmunications are out, and we are in need of a long-range transmitter to get in contact with- …anyone in range, please help!"
As it looped again, he heard something in the background that he couldn't quite make out. Something like an alarm, loud and piercing. Even isolating that sound did nothing to explain its origin, but that couldn't be helped. Neither could they, he thought glumly, but it might be worth a looksee. If the ship was as large as it appeared, it should have its own docking bay and whatever it was carrying could be worth something to someone.
Since his adjustment to non-scav life, Nathan had done his best to keep his nose clean publicly by only accepting government jobs and a ship all alone could look bad if he was encroached upon in the middle of picking at bones. He decided that he'd call it in to the nearest military outpost and use the time in between to do his own searching. Striding forward to the communications console at the front of the cockpit, he flipped the switch opening the emergency line and awaiting a response.
A raspy voice came through the systems, "You have reached Capital Outpost Echo Four-One-Niner, please state your name and nature of the emergency."
"This is Nathaniel Blackwell of the [Redacted], I picked up a short-range emergency broadcast from what looks to be a Class-2 Cargo Vessel, requesting aid from anyone with a working radio. I believe the ship is called the Arroyo, but I'm unsure as to when-"
"Class-2, Comms out, Arroyo," the voice echoed flatly, "Anything else?"
"Yes," Nathan replied, "It also seems like their life support systems are stuck on auxiliary, but I'm not sure how long ago this message was sent out so there's not telling-"
"If they're dead already, yeah. If it's the Arroyo, that ship went missing 3 years ago so I imagine that there's nothing left to save. We'll send a scav crew out in a month or so to bring it back to port. Do you have an emergency beacon on your ship?"
"Yes," Nathan said hesitantly, "But mine doesn't detach. Ship's too old."
"Then looks like you're camping out for awhile. Do you have supplies to stay in place?"
"I've got enough for a little over two months, but just barely."
"Then we'll bring more to pay you for the salvage."
"Now wait a second, I never agreed-"
"Tough, pal. You called us, you accepted the responsibility. This ship goes missing again it's on you. Hunker down, get comfortable," the voice paused for a moment, then came back with a voice that was inexplicably eerie, "We'll find you, Nathan. You can bet on that. Capital Outpost Out."
With that, the line went silent and Nathan let go of the switch as his arm went limp by his side. This was not the way he wanted things to go, but what was there to do now? Nothing now but the wait, he thought solemnly. He sat down in his chair and began flipping the switches to power the main systems and engine, squinting his eyes slightly as the bright lights began to illuminate the whole of his ship. The engine became louder, the floor underneath him beginning to shudder and creak as his ship began to move forward. He started the navigation towards the shadow with the hesitation of ripping off a band-aid.
The shadow grew in size as he approached, the Class-2's details becoming more visible as his own ship was dwarfed in comparison. The ship was beautiful, a mammoth of machinery built to house a colony's worth of supplies, along with the tools to build one from scratch. It was strange to see, as these were commonly escorted by a wealth of secondary colony ships. Alone, the beast was like a home without people, without purpose. The starboard side of the ship had "Arroyo" in giant block letters, with "Maintaining the future" written underneath.
That's not a good sign, he thought to himself as he threw the high-watt spotlights onto the sides of the ship, the future is not so well maintained it seems.
If there are things that are misunderstood, not clear, or things you want to know more about, I'd be glad to entertain the ideas.
Thank you in advance, please be gentle:
Prologue
The heat from the water fogged the large mirror over the sink, dampened the air around the room and jolted every sense Nathan had. He opened his eyes for the first time since he awoke, squinting at the lights that burrowed a headache into his brain, then quickly closed them with a groan. He stood under the showerhead for what seemed like hours, letting the water run down his shoulders and drip pathetically onto his feet. His breathing began to get difficult, the water running along his cheeks not solely from the faucet above him.
His knees hit the floor with a thud, but he couldn't feel it. Every thought was a shudder, violently thrusting him further and further against the floor until he was as crumpled as the blankets thrown from his bed. No amount of water, no matter the heat, would wash the plague of nightmares down the drain. As the heat began to dwindle, the hairs on his arms began to stand up and he made an attempt to do the same.
He fumbled his way through the corridor with a limp, the cold metal under his feet almost too much to bear. He never quite understood how the air in the ship could be so warm, but the floors were always ice cold when he woke up. He put his boots on and lit a cigarette, laughing slightly as he imagined how he must look every day on his "floats" to someone else. Mussed hair, one cigarette, and one pair of thigh-high leather boots. He often found himself in an absurd mood after the morning shower, the negativity purged like vomit after a bad night at Wesley's.
Still limping, he found his way into the cargo hold and grabbed a spaghetti flavored calorie bar before moving towards the cockpit. The flavor was awful, but that's why he ate them first. In five days he'd be in chocolate heaven, so he figured chomping down on trash would only make the chocolate that much better. It worked. Still nude save for his boots, he stared out of the main window and sat down in the pilot's chair.
She always loved to look up at the stars.
He closed his eyes quickly and looked away, glancing instead to the ghost on his right. The other chair devoid of a pilot, gathering dust from the last 10 years and reminding him of where he was. Alone, adrift, safe. He couldn't hurt anyone in a tin can, he couldn't make choices to regret so long as he remained here. It was his only true choice, the only choice he was able to make for himself. All the others had been circumstance, force, abuse.
But excuses don't get rid of the guilt.
He lit another cigarette and pushed the thoughts away, standing and walking to his room to get dressed. He almost forgot about his knees as he stood, but they reminded him with an explosive shot of pain up his thigh. His cigarette hit the floor as he caught himself on the arm of the seat, and he withheld an exclamation with gritted teeth and a grunt. He leaned down to grab his smoke and did his best to stand, but the pain was too much and he collapsed.
"Nothing to be done, I suppose," he muttered weakly as he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes once more, "The pain will go away as it always does, the bruising will subside and the regrets will return."
He flicked the butt across the room into the pile of bad mornings and stood up for the last time. He didn't see the flashing red light on his dashboard, nor the blacked out portion of stars from the front window as he turned away and walked back down the long corridor to his room. This was the part of the morning where chores were accomplished, clothes picked up and trash incinerated. The next few hours were spent occupying himself with anything and everything to keep himself going, but there was only so much to do on a class-4 cargo vessel before you began recycling jobs.
After wiping down the countertop in his kitchenette for the fourth time, he walked back into the cargo bay to fetch another calorie bar. The mass of boxes and crates that lined this small space made it feel significantly smaller than it already was. He reached into the already opened container of "Spaghetti 3-A-Days" and pulled out one of the few remaining bars and put it into the pocket of the grey pants he put on before doing laundry. And he backed away, his eyes caught the crate of "Chocoholic 3-A-Days" and his mouth watered with the promise of the next few days.
He reached into his rear pocket to grab the pack of cigarettes he stored there when he got dressed and pulled out a single wrinkled smoke from the box and put it up to his lips. The lighter was low on fuel, so it took a few clicks to give out a pitiful wisp of flame for him to draw from. The stale smoke filled his lungs as he took a deep breath, pocketing his lighter as he closed his eyes to take it all in.
The exhale came slowly, but the low-quality brand showed it colors as a rough raspy plume of smoke came hesitantly from his throat and out into the dank corridor before being inhaled again, this time by the ship's ventilation system. Sliding the mangled pack into his back pocket once more, he held the cigarette between his lips and began walking towards the cockpit. His steps echoed softly in the hollow hallway, the only sound aside from the gentle hum of the engine that could be heard. His eyes caught the flashing light on his dash, but he told himself it was probably just a subsystem failure and nothing of his concern yet.
His palm rested against the reinforced glass panel, the cold sending shivers up his spine, as he looked out into the vast emptiness surrounding him. He found peace in the emptiness, relaxation knowing that there was nothing for hundreds of thousands of miles. There was a blank spot of stars in the distance and he had an uneasy feeling as he stared at it, thanking himself for keeping all of his systems minimal. Never could be sure what other ships could hold, the people they carried or the supplied they trafficked (or vice versa). He shook his head and looked directly above him at the console of switches on the ceiling, flipping and holding a metallic toggle as he began to speak.
Chapter 1
"This is the personal log of Nathaniel Blackwell, so-called Captain of Cargo Vessel [Redacted]. I landed on my leg funny in the shower… again. One of these days I'm gonna shatter my kneecap or worse, but luckily today it's just bruising. I need to hit up another port and get better smokes, these are possibly the worst I've had in years. The only reason I got the damned things was 'cause of the pun. Wolf Brand cigarettes… Run with the pack," he stared back through the glass at the shape in the distance, "Got another ship here, looks like. Pretty large, I think, unless my perception is just going out. Might be a Class-2, but I won't know unless I get closer. This'll do for an update, I suppose. Signing off."
As his hand left the switch, the feedback scratch of the radio bounced off of the metallic walls and he stepped toward the dashboard in front of his chair. Looking at the flashing red led, he saw that it was not a subsystem error, but a distress notification. He took another quick glance at the shadow in the distance and back down to the flashing bulb near his palm. Hesitantly, he flipped the switch next to the light and listened for something to come through.
Thirty seconds of dead air made him slightly more uncomfortable than he'd have liked, but as he moved to flip the switch back off a screeching metallic noise began pouring through the speakers followed by a soft voice that was difficult to hear. He quickly moved over to the speaker controls to attempt to isolate the voice as the message seemed to be on a loop, ear-splitting static included. After some adjustment, he could make out a semblance of what was being said.
"…Ship Alpha Romeo Romeo Osc- …Oscar requesting immediate assistance! Our mainline systems have shutdown, and we're on auxiliary life supp- …mmunications are out, and we are in need of a long-range transmitter to get in contact with- …anyone in range, please help!"
As it looped again, he heard something in the background that he couldn't quite make out. Something like an alarm, loud and piercing. Even isolating that sound did nothing to explain its origin, but that couldn't be helped. Neither could they, he thought glumly, but it might be worth a looksee. If the ship was as large as it appeared, it should have its own docking bay and whatever it was carrying could be worth something to someone.
Since his adjustment to non-scav life, Nathan had done his best to keep his nose clean publicly by only accepting government jobs and a ship all alone could look bad if he was encroached upon in the middle of picking at bones. He decided that he'd call it in to the nearest military outpost and use the time in between to do his own searching. Striding forward to the communications console at the front of the cockpit, he flipped the switch opening the emergency line and awaiting a response.
A raspy voice came through the systems, "You have reached Capital Outpost Echo Four-One-Niner, please state your name and nature of the emergency."
"This is Nathaniel Blackwell of the [Redacted], I picked up a short-range emergency broadcast from what looks to be a Class-2 Cargo Vessel, requesting aid from anyone with a working radio. I believe the ship is called the Arroyo, but I'm unsure as to when-"
"Class-2, Comms out, Arroyo," the voice echoed flatly, "Anything else?"
"Yes," Nathan replied, "It also seems like their life support systems are stuck on auxiliary, but I'm not sure how long ago this message was sent out so there's not telling-"
"If they're dead already, yeah. If it's the Arroyo, that ship went missing 3 years ago so I imagine that there's nothing left to save. We'll send a scav crew out in a month or so to bring it back to port. Do you have an emergency beacon on your ship?"
"Yes," Nathan said hesitantly, "But mine doesn't detach. Ship's too old."
"Then looks like you're camping out for awhile. Do you have supplies to stay in place?"
"I've got enough for a little over two months, but just barely."
"Then we'll bring more to pay you for the salvage."
"Now wait a second, I never agreed-"
"Tough, pal. You called us, you accepted the responsibility. This ship goes missing again it's on you. Hunker down, get comfortable," the voice paused for a moment, then came back with a voice that was inexplicably eerie, "We'll find you, Nathan. You can bet on that. Capital Outpost Out."
With that, the line went silent and Nathan let go of the switch as his arm went limp by his side. This was not the way he wanted things to go, but what was there to do now? Nothing now but the wait, he thought solemnly. He sat down in his chair and began flipping the switches to power the main systems and engine, squinting his eyes slightly as the bright lights began to illuminate the whole of his ship. The engine became louder, the floor underneath him beginning to shudder and creak as his ship began to move forward. He started the navigation towards the shadow with the hesitation of ripping off a band-aid.
The shadow grew in size as he approached, the Class-2's details becoming more visible as his own ship was dwarfed in comparison. The ship was beautiful, a mammoth of machinery built to house a colony's worth of supplies, along with the tools to build one from scratch. It was strange to see, as these were commonly escorted by a wealth of secondary colony ships. Alone, the beast was like a home without people, without purpose. The starboard side of the ship had "Arroyo" in giant block letters, with "Maintaining the future" written underneath.
That's not a good sign, he thought to himself as he threw the high-watt spotlights onto the sides of the ship, the future is not so well maintained it seems.
