Three Short Stories
This work of fiction was published in the June 1994 issue of
Writers' Workshop Review (Wilmington,DE).
Father's Day
"Well, you should have asked me!" I was furious. The scene
was none to grizzly for me, as a fine layer of dust settled over
everything.
My son stood his ground. "You'd never understand. Besides,
it was fun."
I didn't mind that his car had been destroyed, or that he'd
gone driving without my permission, but the test my mad scientist
for a kid put the car through was quite enough. "Just wanted to
see if I could catch some air. The landing needs some work." I
suddenly wondered how Evel Knievel's father felt after his son's
first crash.
The car was headlong into the ground, with a surplus US Army
supplies parachute bolted to the frame which was blowing in the
breeze and making little whipping sounds. Towering above was the
type of cliff you'd see divers testing their fate. It was testing
mine as I stood there, but I couldn't think of a thing to say.
My son seemed to be waiting for something from me, like the
explosion you see in movies after a car crash that gives the driver
just enough time to walk away. I knew better.
"Well," air, rushing out to finally form words, came out of
me. "I guess you'll have to find a bigger cliff. Obviously, this
one didn't kill you."
He just looked at me. Dazed, bewildered, and growing with a
slight impression of annoyance, like these weren't the words he
lived for. Just as suddenly, wry smile took him over. "Okay, dad.
So what are you going to tell mom?"
I returned the smile. "What do you think?"
His face once more contorted into Cuisinart(R) mode. Finally,
stopping at a ghastly expression, he queried,"I don't know."
I chuckled slightly. "Neither do I."
(c) 1994 David I. Brager...
Life in Limbo
"You'd think there was a point to all this madness," he bellowed from
above the bar. Rudy wasn't much of a person, but he could mix a mean
drink, toss out a mean drunk, and come to terms with nearly any question
asked for advice. But these days were different. "I have no idea what to
do." It was a bad life for all of us.
The year was 1995, and though it didn't necessarily matter, it was mid-
fall. Luck had all but run out for most people. Now, as luck would have it,
nothing was going right, and depression seemed to be the best investment
for the oncoming winter.
I ran a shoe shop. Shoes, being what they were, really don't change
much in function. They come and go, and if they could talk, would probably
have as much to say about life as the overstuffed toes and stinking bodies
that towered above them. However, for the shoes, life generally stunk.
I was not a cobbler, thank God. My father was, and relied upon the
knowledge he learned from years of tooling, stitching, and rendering his craft.
As for me, the most nimble work my fingers did was flexing their way through
a catalog or yanking open new boxes of merchandise.
The family business was on the southwest side of town. In the old
days, it was the bustling business center. But now, as I look out the window
to places like "Sin City Bookstore," I wonder why I hadn't moved out before
all this scum moved in. And yet, it wasn't scum. Just old, worn out buildings
surrounded by old, worn out people. The air, though chilly, stunk much as
it had for years.
Within a two block area, the population of winos and weirdos was
about even. Even the gangs avoided the area, not because they didn't like
turf, but what's the point in threatening people who didn't care if they died
anyway. The hopelessness was stagnant and everyone knew it.
Just before closing, last week, I heard sirens. Too common an
occurrence, I just ignored them. I guess they probably sounded close, but
I actually had a customer, and was preoccupied making a sale. All at once,
the customer turned flush, screamed, and ran out the door. Looking round
the room, I saw fire was seeping in through the walls. It felt so unreal.
So now I just sit and drink at Rudy's. He's good company, and the
place is quiet enough. "Rudy, the point is simple. No matter what you do,
nothing really matters." I'm just glad I was insured.
(C) 1993/1995 David Brager
As published in the Premiere Issue of "Little Green Men" magazine...
Of Moonmetal and Men
by
David Brager
"Can you give me a reading on flux line 27? The meter has been giving a
straight reading of zero, and some weird noises off the shuttle area
have been reported." True to his word, the needle stood limply at zero.
I stared at it for a moment to see if there would be any flutter or
blip. Then, using a technique perfected in the stone age, I hit it, and
the scale, once again, buckled in and returned to it's normal upright
position. Isn't technology a wonderful thing?
"Bill," I said, unhooking my moorings from the seat,"I'm going to the galley to see if I can find
some food." I headed back down the long hall just to hear Bill chirp in,"I'd like a breakfast tube,
if you can find one."
The handholds in the hallway helped in getting through the zero-gravity corridor. Like most ships
in the fleet, the bridge (though we called it "The Nose") was weightless, while the center region of
the ship had extended bearings which allowed a circular region, like a spoke wheel, to spin. The
spin created an artificial gravity (approx. 1/3 of earth's gravity) for those who walked along the
extreme inside circle of the spin. As time would have it, eventually I would have to come back to
the center, and what traces of gravity would often disappear with my lunch. Let me tell you,
vomiting into zero-gravity is gross, not to mention rather exciting as it can propel you in the
opposite direction. (Damn you, Einstein. If you could have lived to see such wonders...)
Lunch has pretty much stayed the same since the Space Program began a hundred years ago,
but now some of the food is actually grown here in space since we carry plenty of water. I
appreciate that in some ways, but still hate the fact that everything is ground into a paste to keep
us from chewing (to avoid dental problems).
Our engines actually run on water which is heated by a nuclear reactor furnace we have
on-board. Once it is approaching a plasma stage, it is reduced to the vacuum of outer space,
unleashing an incredible punch of expanding energy. This is more than enough to kick the ship
around. The reactor itself is cooled with liquid sodium, which is far more effective than water at
these tempertures.
The water is doubly efficient. The crew uses some for drinking, the oxygen is also extracted from
it, and any waste water that cannot be repurified is used for the early part of the thrust sequence.
It may sound bad to you, but it's very efficient with our resources. Besides, the EPA hasn't
expanded their wasted energies to space.
I took my meal tubes with me, and after the gut wrenching climb to mid-cylinder (called Center
One), I took a tube to Bill, then retreated to aft quarters in the shuttle park area. Actually, "aft
quarters" are halfway from stem to stern, but besides outpost one (which is at the end of the
hallway), only the engines are beyond here.
Looking out, there are three shuttle attachment ports here. Of them, only one is currently in use,
and that shuttle has been retrofitted as additional sleeping quarters for this mission, as well as
emergency vehicle and storage room. It's also got a complete lab on it for testing and such, but
overall, it's a as close to escape as we're gonna get.
We are currently in orbit around the moon of Earth. After all the years of ignoring it, need for
minerals became great enough to actually dig a little dirt off on one planet and send it to another.
The product of the dirt is a rare ore that is used to produce "Moonmetal" (trust me, that's what
it's called).
As I entered the shuttle, I heard a noise. Looking around the turret of windows, I spied what
appeared to be a ship trying to dock. I waved at the window and pulled out a hand torch and
tried to signal it. There was a brief moment of darkness, and then I saw a hand torch winking
back in morse code. I then relayed the distress code to the crew.
The centrifuge section houses four main function chambers: A sick bay, library, galley, and
sleeping quarters. In about ten minutes, we had two space walkers out looking at the other ship,
and guiding it's flustered captain, or whoever that was at the helm, into an emergency docking
formation. Considering everything was silently relayed through morse, it took about an hour
before the ship actually ported. Then, as the depressurizing continued, it was nearly two hours
before they got inside.
For space travellers, they looked terrible. One tried to gasp out an explanation, but our staff
physician went "Shhhh!" and that was that. After a while, I went down to see what was learned.
Tess was the only physician on board. She'd been with this ship since it's maiden voyage, and
had actually designed part of it. She was, by far, the most intelligent of any of us, and she was
puzzling over our visitors.
I never was anything more than blunt on all occasions. "So, what the hell happened that you
couldn't radio us or something?"
The guy, who had blipped to me from the bridge in morse, spoke up as the other two appeared
to be asleep or in a coma. "I was at Moon Unit #11. For a new outpost, it was great to see, as
everything was clean. But the complex was built entirely out of Moonmetal, and apparently
something happened that no one expected.
"There appears to be something of a anomaly with the metal. Moonmetal works perfectly well on
earth, but there is something that, I hate to use this word for it is probably not technically correct,
rusts it. Anyway, the place, after installation, basically disintegrated in about a week. We slept on
the sixth night since installation, and before the next morning, we were awakened by alarms and
stuff. We lost seven people in one section when the walls developed holes where the metal had
faulted. Luckily, the seals held for the rest of us, we got out of there as fast as we could.
Unfortunately, of the seven dead, one was my flight captain, and I have very little piloting skill.
"One other thing that I found out was that our radio was somewhat made out of Moonmetal, and
it winked out about twenty minutes after our ohm's burn. So, radio free, I was hoping I could
gently bump one of you awake without killing us all." Well, that was news. I hit the system
dispatch for all frequencies on-board. "Attention, this is Captain Marshall Franklin. Apparently
there is something on the moon which has the ability to destroy Moonmetal. At this time, I do not
know if it is a viral or chemical reaction, and until I do, I want everything on this ship which
employs this substance to be kept as sterile as possible. If you can, please preclean yourself
before beginning this task. Whatever you do, stay away from the attached second vessel and
don't come to sick bay unless you must."
I headed back to the shuttle area. "Brad, I need you to seal off the craft. Close the hatch and
then re-suit up as if you are heading out for another space walk. Finally, walk down to sick bay.
I know that thing weighs a ton in the gravity wing, but if this is a contamination problem, you are
probably contaminated already."
Brad's a good fellow, and hard to his guns. "Aye, Cap'n. Say, were there any women on board
that craft?"
Strange question, as the answer was no. I chose not to answer him for a moment. "You looking
for a date for the Moondance this year?"
Brad sputtered,"No sir. This ship reeks with an odor of something sickeningly sweet, but I can't
put my finger on it." His glances seemed to scan the now closing hatchway. "Sir. I recognize
having smelled something like that once, but I have no idea. From the looks on your face I would
guess the answer to my question about women is 'No.' I would like to investigate the craft with a
remote probe that is in the shuttle's lab."
I nodded my approval. One thing I've learned in management is to let the wheels turn and get
away from the engine. "Brad, one more thing. If you turn up that the odor is from an organic
breakdown or decomposition, I need to know immediately."
Brad's face took on the look of shock. "Captain, I know what that smell is. You ever go into the
house of a really old person. My great grandma's house smelled that way. The house had the
smell that is actually their body getting old and decomposing while they are still alive..."
I cut him off and turned on the full crew intercom. "All personnel, remote intercom tac two." Each
member of the staff is equipped with a personal intercom. It allows us to hold full or partial staff
discussions without having to meet in the same room or stop doing our duties.
"Crew, I am convinced that the people on board the craft are deteriorating, and whatever is
causing it is may have contaminated us. Immediately, I am setting course to Omicron Three for
rendezvous. Please be aware that all of us are in danger until we know what we are dealing with.
"I want each of you to identify yourselves, your location, if you have opened or accessed central
quarter yet, and if not, how much time has elapsed since you have eaten or used outhouse one. I
am here with Brad in the shuttle area. Tess, please report."
I could hear strain in her voice. "Tess Alexander, Sick Bay. The victims are here. Or at least
that's the way I feel about them after your announcement.
"Three men found in the craft, one is awake, one is asleep, and one is dead. The one that died
was alive at the time of arrival, and his symptoms, signals, and patterns have been saved in the
main computer for reference. Apparently, he just died in his sleep, but the pattern does suggest
old age. The skin is tallow in color and his features are hollow and gaunt. His identicard says he
was 44, but he looked to be in his 60's when he died. I am sealing the body in a vacuum bag."
One thing we never run out of is vacuum. When you're in space, you have a lot of it, and you're
either resourceful, or you're dead. The vacuum bag system simply opens a vent out and lets the
air pressure from within the bag flow outside the ship, which will take all you give it.
Electrolux(R) never had it so good. "Thank you Tess. Rick?"
"Richard Alexander. Galley. I came in here about the time of the aliens arrival. (nervous laugh)
Sorry sis." Rick really was her brother as well as our other maintenance person. "Frankly, I just
woke up."
I smiled at Brad. We always have someone getting rested. My turn never seems to come. "Okay
Rick, stay there and I'll fill you in later. Bill?"
"Billion Dollars in the casino..." The intercom gags with Bill's laughter. "Sorry, sorry...I thought it
was funny. Bill Sevic. Nose. It's all clear with Omicron Three. They are having us dock and then
they are going to handle each of us into separate walking vessels, and having us bathe in them."
A common groan went up from the assembled intercom. Bathing within a washsuit means they
have us in a zero-gravity bath. The suit is filled with water and air and we bathe within our
bubble. It's no fun.
Bill continued,"I've been in here with the door sealed since you left me breakfast, and although I
could use a rest stop, I think I'll try to wait the hour to 'O-3.'"
I finalized the conference. "Tess will tell you what she needs. I'm going to go brief the survivors.
Folks, this meeting is over. If you need anything, please use this line and none other. I want to
keep our passengers out of the way, even if I have to withhold the truth for an hour. Captain
Franklin out."
I, like Brad, put on a space walksuit, and then we drudged our way down to the centrifuge.
Most people can usually climb down fairly well. But for just such emergencies, they also have,
from center one to sick bay, something like a fireman's pole. Once you grab on and begin sliding,
the increasing momentum can pull you down in a hurry, and all you have to worry about is
breaking your legs if you land too fast. I went first and let Brad follow, so I could slow his
descent.
Tess took me aside. "Marsh, I need you to see this before talking to them. You know, Rick
wasn't too far from the truth. These guys are like aliens. They look like us and all, but their pulse
rates and pressures, even their breathing patterns just aren't typical for humans. What type of
vessel were they found in?" It was one of our fleet's newest passenger transports, with nothing
alien about it, I told Tess. "Well, whoever they are, they've had a hell of a flight. I don't
remember which one you talked to when they came in."
I looked around the squalid room. It was the dead guy. "Him."
"Oh!...Well!...That's interesting. He's the only one who had normal readings..." Tess stopped.
She turned her head slightly, rolled up her eyes, and then turned back to look at me and then
added,"...for a human..."
I was getting really sick of new information and wished I hadn't gotten up this morning at all.
Then I remembered that I'd been awake all night on some other problem, and never went to bed.
I opened the hailing frequencies on tac two. "Hello, fellow inmates. Tess just found something I
think is noteworthy. Based upon her data, the two surviving visitors may actually be alien life
forms.
I could hear my weariness over this whole situation in my voice. "Bill, please radio ahead and see
what 'O-3' suggests. Tell them that unless I hear from them in two minutes, I am going to put the
aliens back into their ship until we arrive. I am not too sure what the right move is, but I sure as
hell don't want to put us in any more danger."
"Tess, I'm pooped. Do you mind if I have some pure oxygen? I need to clear my head." Her
smile was warmth and kindness, and attached the hose to my walksuit. After a minute of the pure
stuff, I felt wide awake. Then I noticed something. "Tess, can you give me a reading of the
oxygen levels in this room?" Once more I saw the wheels turn.
At about the same time, Bill rallied tac two. "Captain, we have a problem. There is a failure in the
engines and something is happening to the electrical system. I have patched through a distress call
to Omicron Three. They are sending three ships. We're only 10 minutes away."
Richard came on the frequency. "Tess..." his voice sounded strangled. I walked to the next
section door and opened it. Richard slumped out of the galley door and to the floor. He looked
bad, and his skin looked worse. I noticed a sucking noise from the floor in the galley. "Holy God
Almighty!" Brad yelled as he rushed to seal off the door once Richard was in.
In an instant I realized that I may never get to sleep. In eight minutes or so, we would be docking
with the emergency vehicles, and being rescued. However, once rescued, we could be spreading
the most virulent problem to hit a ship, and that would mean that we could never be saved.
"Bill, I want you to warn the rendevous that we are all going into space suits and letting the air out
of here. Can you check the seals to the nose? Otherwise, I may have to bring you a suit, which
may contaminate you."
For the first time in weeks, Bill wasn't making any jokes. "Roger on that, Captain. We do have
that emergency suit in here. I am going to put that on, just in case, so when you stop in, I should
stay clean."
"Marsh, I've stabilized Richard's air mixture, and his suit checks out. I'm in a suit myself. I
recommend we transfer the patients into the shuttle just for safe keeping. It's the best way to do
what you are planning, since we are short on suits." Tess looked drained.
I reached for her face, but brushed her shoulder instead. "This is a hell of a time to ask, but are
you okay?"
She smiled, "I think so. Thanks for asking."
Brad came over tac two. "Sir, I am in a spacesuit. I have taken one to Bill, and he is in a suit
within a suit. The rendezvous crew is aware of our needs, and has agreed with your suggestion
of an air release. I've been talking to Bill on tac one, and the ship, I understand, is ready for
pre-docking. Sir, are you ready for the air release?"
I signaled for Brad to help me move the patients to the shuttle. Once done, we programmed
the shuttle for automatic control, and it, on its own, detached from the moorings. Then, in a
slow and deliberate way, we let all the air out of our ship.
After the rendevous at Omicron Three, our personalized washsuit baths, and a night's rest, did
discovered that the shuttle disintegrated after two hours and exploded. Luckily, it was in a
holding pattern several miles away from O3.
Our ship had all but stopped disintegrating. It was much later that we learned the aliens were
releasing something similar to cosmic rays, which we could neither see nor feel, but only watch
their decimation of all that was around us.
As it turned out, all of our shielding against radiation and other forces was on the outside of
our ship, as well as outside Moon Unit #11. There was never a consideration for something as
volatile or radioactive as what these aliens were creating from inside the environments. So,
science learns something new at the cost of another $25 million.
I walked into the room in which Bill and Brad were eating. Bill, unfailingly, was in the midst
of another joke. "...So the other guy says,'I don't get it." Then the first guy says,'Neither
did I!'" I looked at Bill quizzically, tilted my gaze at him, and smiled broadly. I didn't get the
joke either, but I sure as hell wasn't gonna tell him.
(C) 1993, 1996 David I. Brager