Spaceboys
He couldn't make out any of their shapes in the window though he knew them by heart. Cassiopeia and Orion and Ursa Minor. Their weapons and their bipedal forms. On his own volition he studied them as a child always with the dream and motivation to travel by them, to greet them on their own turf and wave a hand hello in that great black open. The excitement and allure that for many had been lost but never for him. So groundbreaking and terrifying were the advances in galactic traversal. Expedited interstellar travel. The colonization of celestial bodies. The discovery and communication of alien species. Their arrivals came with point impacts that faded and disappeared not a moment after they had solidified. Just another facet of life, exploding every prior sight and sound known to existence then shrinking back down again. Such was the way of people, be them earthlings or seven-foot tall speaking reptiles. Adapters.
There they were, a family of them sequestered by a docking station. The actual pronunciation of their names was impossible for the human tongue and they themselves could only communicate through voice modulators affixed to the collars on their suits. For their speech was a guttural and moist clack without analogue to any other race. But still they had a relative ease with the other patrons about the port, even if they found little reciprocation. The small one, the runt of his litter, trimmed the multi-hyphenated litany of apostrophes and accents making up his name to Gorth. A single syllable easy and applicable for the humans. When they asked for it that's what he gave and they handed to him a pass detailed with bar codes and an image of his green and yellow face, his mohawk of bone and fin barely contained in the square.
He hugged his father and mother and bid them some goodbye native to his homeland and followed the attending lady down a corridor and into a sterile terminal accosted with rows of waiting chairs. The white and spotless decor disrupted by the black and monolithic window expanse toward him. Sitting by it and watching out into the inky ocean was Barry, unaware that his partner was just brought before him. The first thing Gorth noticed was the amount of purple the man wore. Most would call it excessive. A purple jacket and matching pants. The shoes were a different shade, something closer to lavender, and the socks were a mauve glimpse. Though he could barely see it the shirt he had on underneath was much paler and when Barry turned and introduced himself Gorth was staring at it.
"Hi there. I'm Barry."
"I-My name is Gorth."
"Nice to meet you Gorth. I think we've been paired. We're going up."
"Up?"
"I mean, uh, out. We're going out to Neptune."
"That is correct. I have been trained to operate this shuttle. As I trust you have."
"Trained, yeah. But this'll be my first real expedition."
He paused. "This will be my second."
Gorth hid doubt behind practiced pleasantries. He was confident in his skill, appropriately so. He had been the first in his class of several hundred and was reared by a mother who at one time was a pilot considered near-legendary in his planet's navy. But this Barry person. He was certainly enthusiastic, aggressively so, but it counted for nothing when one was in the seat, controls at hand, life or death at the turn of a wrist. Still, out of all possible candidates they had been paired together. There had to be something to him, something equal.
They were directed to where their suits were stowed and they were briefed, again, of the protocols. The keywords washed over them as they were fitted and they stepped and latched into protective, form-fitted equipment made distinct for their bodies. A length in the backside accommodated for Gorth's tail and the helmet shaped similar to a chicken egg. Barry's was purple, of course, and slim. They followed their supervisors to where there was mission briefing and preliminary tests to be run. Physiological record keeping involving wires and mechanical synchronization. Barry was restless now, eager for the terminal open and his seat to be occupied. The endless gulf opened to him at last.
There needed to be a training session completed and passed before they could begin proper. A simulation they had each done scores of before but never together, never with the goal so close. They called it a measure of symbiosis. A chamber they were paired in that enacted for them an itinerary of expected scenarios; docking, landing, maneuvering, etcetera. There a frequency on which they could work in tandem was first discovered. Whether forced by necessity or a preternatural chemistry they excelled such that even when they failed they did so not as individuals. A shock to both men but especially, and secretly, to Gorth.
When it was finished and they were evaluated and granted the penultimate blessing they did not interact directly with each other. Did not speak or exchange any inkling otherwise. Chalk it up to nerve. For Barry it was a thing bordering on paralysis that had stung his mind. The excitement had fallen through to the reality in which he currently lived, where in a dozen minutes he would have accomplished the only thing he ever truly longed for in his humble life. The rebuttal to a hundred rejections he heard since the word "astronaut" could be pronounced out of his mouth. How did this happen?
Gorth entered first the extended corridor that once they were in position would retract back into the station and the ship would be untethered and at their mercy. A small craft. "Economically designed" was the exact phrase they used, which when translated meant it was a ship just big enough for two and some change. Not a big investment so the risk was negligible and the liability mitigated. Ships such as this docked and departed by the sheaf on a weekly basis and the routine cadence of the proceedings was not lost on Gorth. The station's staff grinning and rotating with the rehearsed automation of theme park attendants.
They went through the hull of the ship and to the living quarters and the compartments for the engines and life support systems. Four rooms in total. Segregated by a rolling hatch and short spinal causeway. The cockpit the beak of the eagle. White trimmed with yellow and black paneling, the investor's gaudy logo plastered beneath the view ports and labeled on the ration boxes. Their beds folded into the hull away from the kitchen and above storage for personal affectations. Ensconced washrooms behind. With a checklist they examined each piece of hardware and confirmed every operation was running. The whir of technology, the little green lights blinking. They checked their stock of food and fuel and equipment and found it plenty, enough for the months at hand.
As they surveyed the interiors an operating system referred to as Dorothy introduced itself to them. A standard-issue artificial intelligence there to help manage the myriad of the ship's systems and to supplement and assist the pilots. It was never to replace, the salient point stressed several times during the corporately mandated spiel that it rolled out with its feminine, digitized voice. No form to it save a touch screen with a cartoonish simulacrum overlaid with data lines and winking. Hello Dorothy. Greetings. The engines are primed. Navigation systems online; course is set. Take off is imminent. Gentlemen, when you are ready.
The facing window was divided into four quadrants inlaid equally and subtly curved. Two large panes in front and the smaller ones at the sides in the shape of acute triangles. Their edges were rounded and they were spaced far enough apart that the full breadth of the aimless vista could not be seen without the upholstery blocking it. It showed now the divided neon of the launch bay, a long chamber tracked as a rifle barrel for propulsion. The seating was low, adjustable, slightly staggered. Barry's seat closer to the front, Gorth's straddled on the right. A waist-wide gap between them. Still close; a reluctant intimacy. Meters, switches, and buttons in panels at their arm rests and on the ceiling just above their eyeline. Luminous screens on the steering controls and the dashboard and on their visors reflecting the grid maps and star charts. Barry knew them already. He approached and took the chair with a reverence like a monk at an alter. His head bowed, mute and still. Was he praying? Strange human ritual. The steering mechanism a mobile console on a gimbal with two vertical handles that moved all as one with fluidity. Barry took the twin sticks with their knobs and triggers and maneuverability. He smiled.
"How about it?" He said.
"It is... functional." said Gorth.
He chuckled.
"Are you ready?
"Yes. Yes I am."
"Affirmative." He flipped some switches and turned the lever forward and the ship rose and steadied prime as the blinking lights began cascading toward the exit and the countdown began. Ten. A pre-recorded message played on every screen thanking the "intrepid" and "selfless" employees for their service. Six. The tiny hatch doors far down the muzzle of the corridor broke open as titanium curtains. A black wall unveiled. The magnetic repulsion lifts rumbled beneath their soles and the electric purr rose indefinitely behind. Three. They leaned back. His claws vibrating in his gloves. Two. Don't close your eyes, don't even blink. One. An instant away and the corridor was gone and nothing was left to hold them. Like ammunition jettisoned they surfed on trajectory alone with the countless perforations their only bearing.
The screens went blank and stuttered and reanimated again with the sights around them. The station shrinking in their wake like a top incandescent as ivory. Jupiter to their left, the size of a golf ball and candy striped. What cadre of ships that surrounded were distant and unseen though they looked for them. The sea went on and on. An hour later and their craft was the one solid object, a thin shell of metal and plastic floating with two soft bodies encased within. The high of liftoff had quelled, the achievement of it. Gorth stood and investigated further the innards of the ship, committing the processes and patterns to his sharpened and deliberate mind. His partner had not graced his thoughts. Though the apprehension was there still there was now no room for doubt. It was set aside with measured readings on gravity reproduction and hyperdrive settings. Now was the time for action, for trust if it could be brokered. When he called it good enough he left and passed the hatch to the cockpit. In the round doorway Barry was there, helmet removed, still in his chair, still pointed forward and silent. He recognized then there was nothing of greater importance to this man than what had just transpired. The departure, the voyage. A kind of rapt awe he might've once had but forgot. Of diving into the cosmos head-first and back peddling among the stars and their infinite, belated promises. He approached. "Is it what you expected?"
"It's more."
"Your passion is admirable."
He seemed surprised. "Thanks. Not a whole lot of people get it."
"I think I am starting to."
"It's just so hard to believe."
"But you must. The mission depends on it."
He straightened his back and checked the control display again. "So what's our status?"
"With our rate of speed and positioning we're expected to reach the first gate within six days."
"Do you think we'll make it?"
"The statistical probability is in our favor."
"But do you think we'll make it?"
He considered it. "Yes, I do. With your guidance."
"Teamwork, Gorth. That's what it'll take."
"I agree."
He nodded. "Off to a good start then. Better than good."
Though their ship sailed lonesome as an island in the void there was camaraderie inside. Small as it was there was an understanding between the men and with it an adherence to a common goal. They braced for their prolonged journey together on the shoulders of stars and the all expanding horizon. A boat upon stellar tides.
There they were, a family of them sequestered by a docking station. The actual pronunciation of their names was impossible for the human tongue and they themselves could only communicate through voice modulators affixed to the collars on their suits. For their speech was a guttural and moist clack without analogue to any other race. But still they had a relative ease with the other patrons about the port, even if they found little reciprocation. The small one, the runt of his litter, trimmed the multi-hyphenated litany of apostrophes and accents making up his name to Gorth. A single syllable easy and applicable for the humans. When they asked for it that's what he gave and they handed to him a pass detailed with bar codes and an image of his green and yellow face, his mohawk of bone and fin barely contained in the square.
He hugged his father and mother and bid them some goodbye native to his homeland and followed the attending lady down a corridor and into a sterile terminal accosted with rows of waiting chairs. The white and spotless decor disrupted by the black and monolithic window expanse toward him. Sitting by it and watching out into the inky ocean was Barry, unaware that his partner was just brought before him. The first thing Gorth noticed was the amount of purple the man wore. Most would call it excessive. A purple jacket and matching pants. The shoes were a different shade, something closer to lavender, and the socks were a mauve glimpse. Though he could barely see it the shirt he had on underneath was much paler and when Barry turned and introduced himself Gorth was staring at it.
"Hi there. I'm Barry."
"I-My name is Gorth."
"Nice to meet you Gorth. I think we've been paired. We're going up."
"Up?"
"I mean, uh, out. We're going out to Neptune."
"That is correct. I have been trained to operate this shuttle. As I trust you have."
"Trained, yeah. But this'll be my first real expedition."
He paused. "This will be my second."
Gorth hid doubt behind practiced pleasantries. He was confident in his skill, appropriately so. He had been the first in his class of several hundred and was reared by a mother who at one time was a pilot considered near-legendary in his planet's navy. But this Barry person. He was certainly enthusiastic, aggressively so, but it counted for nothing when one was in the seat, controls at hand, life or death at the turn of a wrist. Still, out of all possible candidates they had been paired together. There had to be something to him, something equal.
They were directed to where their suits were stowed and they were briefed, again, of the protocols. The keywords washed over them as they were fitted and they stepped and latched into protective, form-fitted equipment made distinct for their bodies. A length in the backside accommodated for Gorth's tail and the helmet shaped similar to a chicken egg. Barry's was purple, of course, and slim. They followed their supervisors to where there was mission briefing and preliminary tests to be run. Physiological record keeping involving wires and mechanical synchronization. Barry was restless now, eager for the terminal open and his seat to be occupied. The endless gulf opened to him at last.
There needed to be a training session completed and passed before they could begin proper. A simulation they had each done scores of before but never together, never with the goal so close. They called it a measure of symbiosis. A chamber they were paired in that enacted for them an itinerary of expected scenarios; docking, landing, maneuvering, etcetera. There a frequency on which they could work in tandem was first discovered. Whether forced by necessity or a preternatural chemistry they excelled such that even when they failed they did so not as individuals. A shock to both men but especially, and secretly, to Gorth.
When it was finished and they were evaluated and granted the penultimate blessing they did not interact directly with each other. Did not speak or exchange any inkling otherwise. Chalk it up to nerve. For Barry it was a thing bordering on paralysis that had stung his mind. The excitement had fallen through to the reality in which he currently lived, where in a dozen minutes he would have accomplished the only thing he ever truly longed for in his humble life. The rebuttal to a hundred rejections he heard since the word "astronaut" could be pronounced out of his mouth. How did this happen?
Gorth entered first the extended corridor that once they were in position would retract back into the station and the ship would be untethered and at their mercy. A small craft. "Economically designed" was the exact phrase they used, which when translated meant it was a ship just big enough for two and some change. Not a big investment so the risk was negligible and the liability mitigated. Ships such as this docked and departed by the sheaf on a weekly basis and the routine cadence of the proceedings was not lost on Gorth. The station's staff grinning and rotating with the rehearsed automation of theme park attendants.
They went through the hull of the ship and to the living quarters and the compartments for the engines and life support systems. Four rooms in total. Segregated by a rolling hatch and short spinal causeway. The cockpit the beak of the eagle. White trimmed with yellow and black paneling, the investor's gaudy logo plastered beneath the view ports and labeled on the ration boxes. Their beds folded into the hull away from the kitchen and above storage for personal affectations. Ensconced washrooms behind. With a checklist they examined each piece of hardware and confirmed every operation was running. The whir of technology, the little green lights blinking. They checked their stock of food and fuel and equipment and found it plenty, enough for the months at hand.
As they surveyed the interiors an operating system referred to as Dorothy introduced itself to them. A standard-issue artificial intelligence there to help manage the myriad of the ship's systems and to supplement and assist the pilots. It was never to replace, the salient point stressed several times during the corporately mandated spiel that it rolled out with its feminine, digitized voice. No form to it save a touch screen with a cartoonish simulacrum overlaid with data lines and winking. Hello Dorothy. Greetings. The engines are primed. Navigation systems online; course is set. Take off is imminent. Gentlemen, when you are ready.
The facing window was divided into four quadrants inlaid equally and subtly curved. Two large panes in front and the smaller ones at the sides in the shape of acute triangles. Their edges were rounded and they were spaced far enough apart that the full breadth of the aimless vista could not be seen without the upholstery blocking it. It showed now the divided neon of the launch bay, a long chamber tracked as a rifle barrel for propulsion. The seating was low, adjustable, slightly staggered. Barry's seat closer to the front, Gorth's straddled on the right. A waist-wide gap between them. Still close; a reluctant intimacy. Meters, switches, and buttons in panels at their arm rests and on the ceiling just above their eyeline. Luminous screens on the steering controls and the dashboard and on their visors reflecting the grid maps and star charts. Barry knew them already. He approached and took the chair with a reverence like a monk at an alter. His head bowed, mute and still. Was he praying? Strange human ritual. The steering mechanism a mobile console on a gimbal with two vertical handles that moved all as one with fluidity. Barry took the twin sticks with their knobs and triggers and maneuverability. He smiled.
"How about it?" He said.
"It is... functional." said Gorth.
He chuckled.
"Are you ready?
"Yes. Yes I am."
"Affirmative." He flipped some switches and turned the lever forward and the ship rose and steadied prime as the blinking lights began cascading toward the exit and the countdown began. Ten. A pre-recorded message played on every screen thanking the "intrepid" and "selfless" employees for their service. Six. The tiny hatch doors far down the muzzle of the corridor broke open as titanium curtains. A black wall unveiled. The magnetic repulsion lifts rumbled beneath their soles and the electric purr rose indefinitely behind. Three. They leaned back. His claws vibrating in his gloves. Two. Don't close your eyes, don't even blink. One. An instant away and the corridor was gone and nothing was left to hold them. Like ammunition jettisoned they surfed on trajectory alone with the countless perforations their only bearing.
The screens went blank and stuttered and reanimated again with the sights around them. The station shrinking in their wake like a top incandescent as ivory. Jupiter to their left, the size of a golf ball and candy striped. What cadre of ships that surrounded were distant and unseen though they looked for them. The sea went on and on. An hour later and their craft was the one solid object, a thin shell of metal and plastic floating with two soft bodies encased within. The high of liftoff had quelled, the achievement of it. Gorth stood and investigated further the innards of the ship, committing the processes and patterns to his sharpened and deliberate mind. His partner had not graced his thoughts. Though the apprehension was there still there was now no room for doubt. It was set aside with measured readings on gravity reproduction and hyperdrive settings. Now was the time for action, for trust if it could be brokered. When he called it good enough he left and passed the hatch to the cockpit. In the round doorway Barry was there, helmet removed, still in his chair, still pointed forward and silent. He recognized then there was nothing of greater importance to this man than what had just transpired. The departure, the voyage. A kind of rapt awe he might've once had but forgot. Of diving into the cosmos head-first and back peddling among the stars and their infinite, belated promises. He approached. "Is it what you expected?"
"It's more."
"Your passion is admirable."
He seemed surprised. "Thanks. Not a whole lot of people get it."
"I think I am starting to."
"It's just so hard to believe."
"But you must. The mission depends on it."
He straightened his back and checked the control display again. "So what's our status?"
"With our rate of speed and positioning we're expected to reach the first gate within six days."
"Do you think we'll make it?"
"The statistical probability is in our favor."
"But do you think we'll make it?"
He considered it. "Yes, I do. With your guidance."
"Teamwork, Gorth. That's what it'll take."
"I agree."
He nodded. "Off to a good start then. Better than good."
Though their ship sailed lonesome as an island in the void there was camaraderie inside. Small as it was there was an understanding between the men and with it an adherence to a common goal. They braced for their prolonged journey together on the shoulders of stars and the all expanding horizon. A boat upon stellar tides.
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