Flash Fiction Friday: Starting with a Bang

This week's Wendig Challenge is deceptively simple: start with a bang. Interpret liberally, but the story must start in the middle of the action. Sounds to me like Xavier Xanthum is on the loose again (go here to find previous stories about the intrepid space explorer). Because if there is one character I've invented who is apt to be in the middle of a big bang, it's Xavier Xanthum.

In just over 1000 words, I present...

To Be, or Not to Be

“Emergency posts. Assume emergency posts at once.” The computerized voice, flat and unemotional, was the strongest warning the starship Wanderlust could produce. When there was time, Larry liked to put emotion into the voice.

Xavier Xanthum, Space Explorer, grabbed one of the straps along the wall and hung on, wasting no time or energy asking Larry what was wrong. He was still trying to fasten the buckles when a light flared through the ship, and a shock wave tossed the vessel around.

“Larry! Report!” Xavier had to wait for his eyes to recover from the flare, but he could feel that the ship was hurt. 

Larry didn’t respond.

Swearing fiercely, his abused eyes streaming tears, Xavier fumbled with the straps, released himself, and pushed off the wall, aiming for the pilot chamber by feel and habit as much as sight. He pulled himself into the navigation chair and strapped in, blinking rapidly and squinting to focus on the readouts in front of him.

No breech of the hull. That was the main thing. But no sign of Larry, either. “Larry? Report?” Xavier tried again. Still no voice, no glowing eyeballs. A line of plain type appeared on the screen.

“Solar flare. Extensive damage to computer core. Shutting down all but essential systems.” The line of type faded, and Xavier slumped. Larry was gone. All he had was life support and basic propulsion. He was on his own. A small noise at his feet drew his attention, and he looked down.

Not quite alone. Somehow Comet Kitty had survived the blast. Now there were two lives to save.

He could mourn Larry later. And maybe the AI would be back after repairs. It didn’t matter right now. Xavier needed to focus on getting out alive.

He’d passed all his astrogation classes back at the academy, but not by much, and that was a long time ago. Xavier had been in space for longer than he cared to remember, and now, staring at the instruments, he knew he’d gotten lazy, leaning on the much more efficient computer.

“Well, Comet, it’s time for a refresher course!” He glanced at the cat, which jumped onto his lap, curled up, and began to purr. She had confidence in him. Xavier wished he shared it, as he began the tedious process of manually determining position and locating the nearest planet with spacer facilities.
#
Three days later, the planet they approached sent a terse command. “Spaceport Bartleby calling unknown vessel. Please identify.”

So the automatic beacon had been knocked out, too. Or shut down. Larry might not have considered that essential, and Xavier started to sweat again. He’d relaxed as the trip went smoothly and his astrogational skills returned. That Larry had shut down the beacon scared him, because it was the last “optional” function before life support and directional control. It had been close.

What if they had to completely replace the computer system? Xavier had consoled himself for the loss of his friend by believing that, once the computer was repaired, Larry would be able to come back from wherever he had hidden himself in the depths of the computer. But if the whole thing was burned out, Larry was gone. A new computer wouldn’t have the sense of humor to manifest itself as a pair of glowing eyeballs. Or to play jokes on him, or recreate a Christmas morning, complete with a kitten in his stocking.

Would he want to go back to voyaging alone?

Xavier negotiated a docking contract with a maintenance station, and maneuvered into position, feeling lower and lower. And how could he explain why he preferred to repair the current computer at all costs, rather than upgrade to a brand new and no doubt more powerful machine? If he started talking about Larry, they’d lock him up as another spacer gone space-crazy.

Maybe he had.

He’d still rather have Larry.

#

“I’m not made of money. Repair, don’t replace, unless there’s no hope.” He’d found the one reasonable explanation for his desire to retain the original computer, and backed it up with the second most compelling argument. “I don’t believe in waste. I always repair things.”

The technicians eyed the well-worn shell of the Wanderlust, nodding, and Xavier blushed in spite of himself. He knew what they were thinking, and they were too right. He made enough from his explorations to pay for the next trip, as a general rule. Nothing left for fancy upgrades. This repair was going to put him in a hole, too. He’d better hope to find a planet worth discovering, and soon. Though he’d write up the experience of the flare and his trip to Bartleby for Explorer’s Magazine, and rate the repair dock, too. That would bring in a little cash.

“We’ll do what we can for your computer, but it’ll take a few days. Might as well head dirtside and enjoy yourself,” the head tech said. He eyed Comet, who sat like a queen in Xavier’s go-bag. “How long since the cat was dirtside?”

“It’s been three months for me, six for her. Our last port didn’t like cats.”

“Reckon she’ll pass,” the man said with a shrug, and Xavier entered the elevator.

“Keep me posted about the repairs.”

#

Xavier held the wake two days out from port. The auto-pilot was working perfectly. Everything was working perfectly.

There was no sign of Larry. It was time to accept that the flare had burned him out of existence.

Xavier poured himself another drink.

“I’m gonna miss Larry,” he told the cat, and started to cry.

“Don’t get maudlin. You’re drunk.”

Xavier sat very still. The voice had come from all around him. It didn’t sound like Larry, not exactly, but…he looked at the cat. Comet had gone to sleep. If she wasn’t talking to him, that left only one possibility. He turned around slowly, and stared.

A pair of eyeballs glowed back at him. Xavier would have sworn they were grinning.

###

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Science Fiction: Second Star, by Dana Stabenow

 

Title: Second Star

Author: Dana Stabenow

Publisher: Ace, 1991.  208 pages.

Source: purchased ebook 

Summary:
Star Svensdotter is in command of the first self-sustaining (almost) space colony, and she is committed to keeping it safe and getting it ready for the first round of colonists. She's pretty good at fending off human threats, but that may not be the only kind out there.

Review:
Given the 1991 publication date, it's no wonder that this book has some interesting historical anomalies (a lot has happened in those 23 years), but the story is still good fun space opera. As the somewhat retro (even for 1991?) cover suggests, this has the feel of classic SF of the Asimov-Heinlein era, which just happens to be the stuff I grew up on and loved.

The story starts a bit slow in some ways--there is probably a bit too much explanation and exposition and character development--but it moved fast enough into action to keep me engaged, and then picked up speed until action was coming at me like a field of space debris. I detected echoes of other books (though I can't actually put my finger on which), but again, nothing that distracted from the story.

Recommendation:
I stumbled on this while looking for inexpensive ebooks to add to my Nook for our summer travels.  How could I pass up some 99-cent SF from a favorite mystery author?  Second Star isn't a piece of great lit, and it's dated as SF, but it's still a fun read, and there are characters I'll be happy to revisit in the 2nd and 3rd books of the trilogy. SF fans who want a good strong female lead will enjoy Star Svensdotter.

Full Disclosure: I purchased Second Star with my own money and of my own volition, and received nothing from the writer or publisher in exchange for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

Friday (just barely!) Flash Fiction: Millions of Cats

I wrote the first 200 words of this story for the 200 word challenge back in November.  But even though the story got carried on and finished, I kept wanting to write the story I'd had in my mind when I started.  So here it is.  It's a little long, at 1169 words, but I couldn't cut any more.

 

Millions of Cats

Things never work out according to plan when there are cats involved.  I knew that, and I should have known better than to take the job.  But Keelan made it all sound so easy: we just had to pick up the consignment from Alpha-Centauri 4 and take them to Exilion 17.  Four days, max, and two of them in hyperspace.

“What could go wrong?”  I should really have run when Keelan said that, because I know darned well that anytime those words are uttered a disaster is sure to follow.

Unfortunately, we needed cash, and the cat people had it.  So we went and picked up the load of cats.

That was where the trouble began.  They were supposed to be crated, sedated, and ready to be stowed in the cargo hold.  But when we arrived, a team of cat-wranglers was still chasing them around a pen.  We had to wait an extra three days for all of them to be properly prepared for flight.

Once they had them ready, things seemed to look up.  The crates were loaded, and all was quiet.  The cat people promised that they would not wake up before delivery, as long as we made delivery inside four days.  They gave us the base payment, and assured us that the farmers of Exilion 17 were desperate for rodent-control mechanisms, and would pay a bonus for prompt delivery.

The trouble began almost as soon as we left orbit.  Not only did an odor start to permeate the atmosphere, but I began sneezing.  We’d never smelled that odor before, but we knew what it had to be.  I contacted Feline Solutions and asked about it.

“Oh, yes, they do excrete some while in the sedated state.  It’s at a much-reduced level and should not be any problem in the short time you will have them aboard.”

“Why am I sneezing?”

“Some people do suffer allergic reactions to cats.  If your ship air system is working properly, this should not be a problem.”

I wanted to argue.  Our ship’s systems worked just fine, and not only was I still sneezing, but my nose was running.  My eyes itched, too.  Further, we had only just left Alpha-Centauri 4 and already the cats were “excreting” in quantities that made the whole ship smell.  There was something fishy about this deal.  At least we’d checked the crates; they really were full of sedated cats.

Keelan and I talked it over.  All we could think to do was to make the delivery as fast as possible, and hope the bonus would be enough to pay for a thorough cleaning of the ship.  The base payment wouldn’t cover much more than costs.

We spent the next day getting clear of the Alpha-Centauri system.  I spent half the day in the auto-doc, getting allergy treatments.  If you think that’s fun, you’ve never met our ’doc.  By evening, I was full of meds and we were ready to make the jump to hyperspace.  That was when the next problem hit. 

Keelan found anomalies in the booster tests, and we ended up spending the next four hours running diagnostics.  The smell from the cargo bay was making both our noses twitch, and every hour’s delay reduced the chances we’d nail the bonus.  When we finally got it all fixed up, it was nearly midnight, and we had to check the programming three times, we were so tired.   The allergy meds didn’t help.

I suppose that was why I didn’t catch my error.  Everything checked out okay, and with a sense of relief, we hit the hyperspace button.

For the next two days, I alternated spending time in the ’doc and trying to adjust the filtration and air recycling system to get rid of the cat smell, as well as whatever it was about cats that I was allergic to.  The only thing we didn’t do was enter the cargo bay and check on the crates ourselves.  We’d been assured that there was no need for us to do anything; the crates would keep the cats sedated—in something like suspended animation, really—until arrival.  There were no user-serviceable parts.

Just when we were due to drop out of hyperspace, leaving us just a day of impulse drive to approach the planet, we made two discoveries.

I made the first one, which was nice, since I’d made the mistake in the first place.  Fortunately, my miscalculation was only in a single digit five spaces to the right of the decimal point, so it just meant we’d be spending an extra six hours in impulse drive.  That was bad enough news, of course, since we’d lost a similar amount of time on the other end.  We could certainly kiss the bonus goodbye, and the four-day sedation window was closing fast.

Keelan and I exchanged looks, but neither of us dared to say anything.  I’d made the mistake, but he’d uttered the fatal words, “what could go wrong?”  Maybe just to keep himself from making any comments about my work, Keelan took himself off to look into the cargo bay.  He came back at top speed.

“The cats!  They’re awake, and they, they,” he stuttered over the words, “they’re making kittens!”

“You mean there are cats mating in our cargo bay?”  It was a bit much, but no reason to get hysterical.

“No!  They’re having kittens!  All of them!  The blasted fools at Feline Solutions gave us a load of pregnant cats all due to give birth!”

My first reaction was panic.  My second was to read the cargo invoice very carefully.  When I’d finished, I looked up with the first smile since the fiasco began.  It would also be the last until it was over.

“We are contracted to deliver 325 female cats and 50 males.  It says nothing here about kittens or a state of pregnancy.  I think we might make a profit after all.”  Even after the deep cleaning.

“We sell the extra kittens on our own account?” he asked.  “Is that legal?” 

“As far as I can tell.”

“Then those cats need a midwife, to make sure they all survive.”  We exchanged a long look.

“I’m allergic,” I pointed out.

“I know nothing about childbirth,” he pointed out.

I would have given anything to be able to say I didn’t either, but I’m his mother.  “Program the kitchen to make chopped tuna.”  I took down my emergency respirator and positioned it carefully on my face.  “I’m going in.”

That’s how I came to spend the last day of the trip running a maternity ward for felines while Keelan handled the docking.  By the time we were done, we had three times the cats we started out with, I had a rash that itched for a week, and we ended with a substantial profit even after the deep cleaning.

Even so, I will never, ever, take cats on board again.  Despite the cleaning, the smell lingers.  And every now and then I break out sneezing.

###

Author's note: I must state that I love cats.  I am also as allergic as the narrator of the story, and will never take cats on board my space craft.  But I don't think they are bad luck nor are they a curse on a ship.

Gratuitous cute kitten/cat photos!