Science-Fiction

Retsina flipped her long, black hair behind her. She looked around at the empty, quiet bunker she lived in. Once it was filled with the joyous shouts of girls, but now only deafening silence reigned, echoing off the stone walls. Girls here on Matia 3 were expected to raise large families, but ten years ago, one woman had changed all that. Sloran, Retsina’s role model, had entered StarCor and trained as a Space Cadet, shocking the entire world. Today was Retsina’s last chance to become a Space Cadet. Trainees were allowed four tries at the test, and she had failed the last three, coming in the top three places all three times. But that wasn’t good enough. Only one could pass the test at a time, and it had been a boy every year. But today, oh, today she was going to show them all. She had trained an hour longer than any of them every day, and started an hour earlier. A grin sprouted on her too-narrow face. One of the reasons she had chosen to go into StarCor was because she wasn’t pretty enough to be married off and improve her family’s landhold. To do that, you had to be exceptionally beautiful, and she was only middling, a short, small girl with coarse, somewhat shaggy black hair and black eyes. Footsteps rang off the walls, and Retsina knew that Sloran was back from patrolling in her hovercar. The older girl entered the bunker with an air of fatigue. “It’s Testing Day, isn’t it?” she asked Retsina. Only one could pass the test at a time, and it had been a boy every year The young girl nodded. “The last one of the year.” Sloran smiled in that distant, icy way she had. The years were taking their toll on the young woman. She was, what, twenty-three Matia standard years old? Most died by forty-five. “I know I haven’t been the best of roommates, but I just wanted to wish you good luck.” With that, she drew Retsina into an embrace. Retsina pulled away, backing slowly out the door with her head bowed; the proper status for a woman of Matia. “Hey!” Sloran’s voice rang out. “If you truly want to be a Space Cadet, walk like one!” Retsina straightened her shoulders, smiled into Sloran’s eyes, and ran out the door. *          *          * “Mark three . . . two . . . one!” The trainees ran around the course set for them. Grisnom, the head trainer, watched their progress with a smile. He had produced a fine crop of Cadets this year, even with that “pesky” girl thrown in. To be honest, he liked her, and considered her a hard-working, intelligent young lady. It was a pity only one from the Elite class was allowed to graduate a year. The finishing tone sounded, and he looked up to see who had won. The girl! The weakling Retsina had won the race. This was her worst area, discounting wrestling. This put her in the lead, with Alsen, a boy her age, right behind her. He walked over to congratulate her. “Well done, Retshine al Tuesel,” he said, using her respectful full name. “Thank you, sir,” she managed in between sharp intakes of air. She looked around her. Alsen was glaring at her for beating him, for there was only one more activity, and only those two would be competing. She paled, and seemed to withdraw for a second. Then she stood up. “I am ready whenever my worthy opponent deems fit,” she said respectfully, with a bit of challenge thrown in. Grisnom nodded and led the way. *          *          * Retsina paled as she saw the last test. This was the one that had caused her to remain in training for two years. A long, wide, rocky cavern that held a pool of water was the setting. The challenge was to swim the entire length of the cavern, about two kilometers, and scale the cliff face with no safety equipment, fresh out of the pool. The first one to the top graduated, the other went home in shame, or re-applied to the council to allow another two-year training period. Retsina dropped to her knees to allow her long hair to be twisted into a hairstyle that would not fall out. Alsen was doing the same, for none of the trainees cut their hair until they graduated. Retsina could almost taste the nervousness in the air as she stood at the side of the water. “Mark three . . . two . . . one!” The starting tone sounded as she dove into the water, to start swimming automatically. The stroke required was extremely difficult, but it was the fastest. It involved twisting every four stokes to grab the knee, where a propulsion button would be, swim under the water, breathe, mid-dive under, and repeat the process. They were not given propulsion systems, but had to swim the entire length by themselves. Alsen finished up first, starting to pull himself up the rock face, when Retsina pulled the move she had been planning for three months now. She lined her small feet up on a ledge under the water, and pushed, making herself shoot out of the water. She grabbed an overhanging rock, and pulled herself upwards, her feet seeking dry purchase. Alsen looked up the few feet that were between them, blond head thrown back. She spared him one glance as she continued upwards. When the simulated earthshake vibrated the cliff face, she was already at a ledge that other students had proved “safe,” and waited it out. In the course of two minutes, it was over, and Alsen had been thrown into the water. He did not give up, however, but started climbing again, hand over hand, even faster than before. Retsina, however, was almost at the top. With a mighty heave, she threw herself on the ground, having reached the top two yards ahead of Alsen.

Have you found a landing site yet, Mallory?” roared General Landings, gray hairs bristling. In the close confines of the ship’s cockpit, the sound nearly blew my eardrums out. I gritted my teeth and said, “Not yet sir. I’m scanning as we speak sir.” “Well get on with it!” He turned away and I shook my head. Jeez, that guy was irritating. We had been in space for nearly five years Earth time, but some new, strange technology that gave me a severe headache whenever I thought about it, made it possible to make the trip in little over a year. However long we had been out there, though, the general’s ear-splitting commands were beginning to grate on my nerves. I flipped onto a different screen in my little navigation alcove. A high-res moving picture of the planet’s surface danced around in front of me. The glare was hurting my eyes and I squinted. “Jax,” I called to the pilot. “Yeah.” “Try HG-737,” I said, giving the coordinates for a possible landing site. Sometimes it took multiple tries to get a good site, and I hoped this one would work or the general would have a few choice words to say. As Jax began the descent, General Landings leaned over my shoulder to look at the screens. “Does this junk heap have any life?” he asked. The importance of the moment had made him talk in a civil tone and I was eager to keep it that way. I did some rapid typing and looked at the results, interested. About fifty yards away, half-buried in the dirt of a dry, dead planet, was a space shuttle “This place has been dead since time began. Not a spark of life.” The general sighed and rubbed his eyes. He snapped them open again and glared at the monitor. “Didn’t we send a probe here a couple years ago?” I asked. “We did. And the stupid thing sent transmissions back saying this was a good place for making a colony. Probes,” he growled, and added a few colorful adjectives. “This place will work,” I said, trying to keep the general in a good mood. The ship slowly had started to shake. We were going through the atmosphere of planet AE-51 and I braced myself. This was the part of the flight where I usually evicted some of my stomach contents. The gentle rumbles gave way to a violent throttling that felt as if a couple of giants were playing ping-pong with our ship. My teeth began to vibrate in my mouth and I clamped them shut. I’m not getting paid enough for this, I thought. The shakings got worse and worse and I thought I saw my life flashing before my eyes. Somewhere far away I heard Jax flipping switches and cursing. I was sure I was going to have a few more white hairs after this ordeal. We got rattled harder and harder until we suddenly seemed to hover and then all movement stopped. “We’ve landed,” said Jax with a trace of smugness. I closed my eyes, gave a long relieved sigh, and released my seat belt. “Good! Now let’s get out there!” said the general, so loudly that he nearly knocked me off my feet. I opened the door to the cockpit and walked into the cabin. It consisted of a few chairs and a big red couch, a coffee maker, and an entertainment system. The two other men of our team were sitting there. They were twins, and I couldn’t exactly remember why they had come on the trip. “Bob, Ron, we’ve landed,” I said. They both got up wordlessly. They did everything without expression, without emotion, and I couldn’t remember the last time they talked. I often thought that they didn’t even care if we landed or not. We strapped on helmets from the racks and, for no particular reason, stood in a line. General Landings strode briskly from the cockpit, snapped on a helmet and, with great relish, opened the main hatch. None of us went out at first. We simply stood dumb in the cabin until Jax boldly walked out, her shoulders hunched. Following her lead, we all cautiously left the ship. I stared out the visor of my helmet. The flat ground was a dusty orange color with small pebbles scattered about. A small wind gusted around our legs, pulling up some sand and swirling it in the air. I looked around. On all sides were straight, empty spaces, not a single hill or bump. But it wasn’t the depressing landscape that left me speechless. About fifty yards away, half-buried in the dirt of a dry, dead planet, was a space shuttle. Bob reached it first; I think it was the first time I had seen him run. The rest of us approached it slowly, like it would jump up and attack us at any moment. I ran a gloved hand lightly up and down the rusty side. From the amount of wear I guessed the ship to be at least five hundred years old; but the model was very similar to a new version that had been made in America. Jax was examining the underside and I heard her gasp and swear over the speaker in my helmet. “What is it?” I asked, running over to her. She wordlessly nodded to the metal. I looked. The ID number of the ship was USA 29845. The ship we had come in had the same ID. And two different ships never have the same numbers. I called over the rest of the team and we all silently crouched in front of the large black figures, like an ancient tribe worshiping some idol. Even the general was lost for words, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Ron fiddled with some wires and the main hatch opened. We all looked at each other. Following Jax’s example, I went into the ship first, with the team