Young Writers Society

The CNS was the meat of the ship. the crew quarters, the cafateria, the rec-room. These were the things that enticed the station inhabitants. After about a month of viewing their new environment with wonder, they began to live again just live, and zero gravity was less than an ideal place to do so. The space man loses touch with his dream, and floats in an atmosphere all to familiar. His senses are dulled and his passion abated.

But too a first grader? With unfullfilled dreams of his own? The black and white halls of the CNS were more than a cliche. And afterall this was where the ship did its work, and if there was one thing that an astronaut would learn from public relations it was that they always wanted to know the ship and where it could take them, not the privileged men and woman who ate slept and worked on the forsaken chunk of metal. But when the CNS fails, judgment is left up to the weary traveller, unaware that he would be called upon for decisions, and more often than not unwilling.

Corporal John Paul Walker cringed as a half dozen reverberations drew through the silicone-alloy composite of his cabin walls, nitrogen met oxygen, and AWOL took control. John silently cursed the proud engineers of Absent well object locomotion, wich was, as anyone keeping the ship under control would confer, was anything but absent.

This meant, he thought, as he climbed horrizontaly towards the central nervous system of the ss spiteful, that the cause of all his trouble could be anything from a renegade sack of potatos, to a screaming chunk of rock and ice, capable of pearcing the hull and anything within, at twice the speed of sound. After three weeks of freeze dried leeks he didnt know which he was more prepared for. "Stop those potatoes space cowboy" Kevin spat flatly across the network. The nickname, as much as John despised it , cleared allot of nuance between John and his chosen few. And Unlike the carneys, the mechanics christened by spiteful personnel after one was witnessed tightening a screw with thumb and forefinger, his nick-name endeared him to his crew.

Cutting the frantic speculations of the half dozen marines posted foolishly on the ship, he replied "defcon 3" those galoots better be battle ready within 6 hours".

As he cleared the latch of tunnel 4 he was overwhelmed by a familiar scent. Mingling with the dried sweat, burnt mesh, and bodily fluid humor of the communal air, was a sharp tinge of cartridge primer. He was struck with an odd sense of releif at the new ambience, before spotting a limp pink form clad in a unitard positioned hellishly , straining against the console." am I witnesing the first homicied in inner-orbit?" He thought outloud, before his emotions reeled him in hard. He realized that he didnt even recognize the body, although the rifts spaced evenly by the trajectorys of the small lead-polymer bearings spaced regularaly across the console would have made it hard to place a name to his own mothers face. Piles of floppy disks floated freely from a wood furnished glass cd case just behind the fiberous grey chair.

Cacophony on the line followed by"I take it the potatos are alright?". The comment was meant to be light, a thin mask for dread. Skipping the explanation he cleared the the air "Do you know anyone who had airforce or commercial travel expierience?". He said eyeing the sig-sauer 9mm. The load was ten.... Now 7, silver glazer safety shells. Picked up by the US government in the 60s, the light barrage of lead is what keeps passenger and aggressor alike, seperate from the damning nature of vacuum. " three backgrounds in air recruitment ringing true". Kevin knew when the knowledge of his superiors succeeded his own, and that was one of the facets required for his position as the Johns proffessional fact cheker.

Pocketing the weapon and placing a guiding hand on the port rim he pushed gently propelling himself in a vector coinciding with the reactor housing. The classic white of the metal stood in stark contrast with the empty wardrobe of space. The thick partitions of Wire mesh and mylar tubing gave the many indestinguishable tunnels of the ship the appearance of arterys. If these tunnels were arteries than the heart of the vessle was the reactor chamber. Ironic. Esspecially since a brief lapse in the cooling proccess could allow lethal doses of radiation to spew through the access tunnels, leaving any organic matter close enough a ticking timebomb.

Wondering at his anxiety, John pulled murder back into priority. "We can narrow this down to two players. Glasers were decommisioned in 1979". "Great to hear" said John " have those names posted". Twelve oblong screens in twelv access tubes sputtered to life, throwing the names "Sarah Patrick" and "Jim Buxley" over anyone willing to listen. The two outfits were martyred by a pair of nlinding red flashers on either side of the monitor. Catching Jim on the monitor, he expierienced momentary surprise at his second in commands name displayed prominently in bold foreboding typeform. " Im on approach for the engineering via tunnel four". " alright Im

Clamping down on 8 other rat holes" the numbers appeard in plaintext across the screen. That was another of kevins positives. Instinct.

As he approached the engineering room, he noted that they were at the apex of thier orbit, just above north Africa. In the nuclear chamber he found another ragdoll floating aimlessly. It was morbid to john that bodies in zero-g maintained the last position from death onwards, remaining a testament to whatever goofy action they had been performing prior to termination. This gal, Sarah Patrick, had been wretching on a cyanide pill, evident from the abundant froth, product of the bodys fruitless efforts to purge itself. He winced as he got his next thought "first agent to seal her lips with a death pill". Peering at the empty eyes, the face contorted in surprise at a fight it wasnt meant to surrmount, knowing he wasnt the only one having a bad day, and thinking of his crew, he checked the radiation levels for a spike. luckily the agent hadnt been vindictive and the geiger set into the matte black of the one way glass pointed towards hades.

He tried to feel sympathy but suddenly the red flashers were saturated by a low belch and a cascading blue light. " defcon racheted up to 5" said Kevin, nearing panic. A level skipped meant some heavy shit must have gone down within the last fifteen minutes. " captain", keving scratched. John replied as stoicly as he could manage " get the orbital bombardment assembly ready, and get the marines below decks. Stabilize orbit and cut the movement". John checked the targeting equipment on his pager and got back nothing. He let loose a pithy sigh" Kevin", he warbled" could you get our weapons-tech down to the battery stat". "Affirmative". With all of the other frightful firsts today, he hoped vehemently that he wouldnt be getting money shots of a global nuclear conflict from 28000 feet up.

He then stooped over the body spotting an empty holster, and flipped it over, belly down. Unzipping the navy blue single, and checking for bruising. Fourhundred foot pounds could put you on your ass on earth if you wernt carefull, and it could do a lot more if you lacked the reinforcement of gravity. But despite the clutteres scene in the cabin, Sarah didnt have the marks to go with it.

With this, his last troubled thought for now, he turned his back to the gleaming chrome cylinder of a heart, and oriented his body towards valve 5. "Jim I'm on my way to the pns". The peripheral nervous system of the ship was where Jim recieved input from the tactile senses of the workers onboard.

Jims monotone found his reciever "Whats going on? Any casualtys on this ship and we can look forward to the cold shoulder from the national treasury". " two actually", "listen you need to stay put" "whats this about?" Asked Jim. " safety concerns" said john before cutting jims communication access. Pulling himself along sturdy steel bars, John began to feel more and more claustraphobic, a part of this body, and nothing more. A steady static network was playing in the background as he reached the next intake valve bevelled against the swelling port.

Then the static was pierced by the voice of the tech (was it jacob?), he found it difficult to keep track of the 38 inhabitants of the spiteful, even with nametags.

This made him think acerbically of the fact that the only two people he had seen since the routine outer atmosphere maintenance were dead." Uh, the issues are varied and numerous, but Ive been able to fix most of them", John let loose a silent blessing for his faceless technician, " good work, listen....", the tech cut him off nervously." Your going to have to load the gun manually", John witheld his frustration.

Manuall loading entailed a lengthy outfitting process, followed by at least half an hour of lugging, admittedly weightless sabot round, to and fro.whatshisname the tech " we need your guidance for this one". John cursed the double edged sword of specialization.

John tapped his lapel, noting to kevin the location of Jim and which ports to plug. In the meantime he assembled a team on a four tile template on his pager. The names he favoured were martins, boer, and paige, all of whom had trained as space station personell, and none of whom could do any good on board the ship. With that he adjusted his trajectory back toward the heart.

As he passed the body he strapped it down in a wall mounted stabilizer, feeling disgust at his flippant response to death. After waving his pager over the barriers interface, he walked through a pleasent breeze as the hatch disapeared into the wall. He then passed hodgens on his way to the vac-lock who questioned him on the lockdown, to wich he replied " a lockdown entails silence and civilian abscence," before pushing him into his cabin and sealing the valve.

He nodded to each of his charges as he assembled and donned the thick composite vacuum suit. No one spoke unless nescessary. It was probable that they were expecting an imminent hall breach, and speaking wasn't worth the air. Once each man and woman was suited up and harnessed safely , john let the greedy nothingness steal thier air with a prolonged hiss, and pulled himself around the rim of the lock with the help of a maintenence rail.

He reached a hand out for the first then second clamps of the shell cradle. he was about to sneek a peek around the corner, then thought better of it when paige yelled"careful with that!! You may not be much on earth, but up here you could break us easy", followed by his targets muttering. The slack gave up when the first of the tungsten rounds settled in their new home. John placed a mindful hand on one side of the carriage and pulled gently, martins taking up the fore, and though about the damage 9.8 m/s of acceleration could do with the heavy chunks, without the artillerys help.

Wrenching open the breech and filling the magazine, he felt a tinge of

vertigo, and realized that the ship was still rotating. Opening the line up to kevin he voiced his concern, but the once comforting static held firm.

Jim stared at his handywork, the threatning mess of mylar, alloy, and chrome mesh. A few strands of plasma and blood cells hung limply from the frayed edges. After bandaging his hand and commending himself for his strength, he pushed off of the wall, and frantically stopped himself with unpracticed arms, before landing soundly in the engine room.

Shaken by the less than graceful landing, he tapped his pager mic expectantly, hoping to dislodge a cloud of food particles, or right a faulty connection. John hadnt answered his question but what worried him was he wasnt answering to anyone. He may have been the commander on the ship, but thier safety was nothing without communication.

Nothing came through. He staggered through the valve, unsheatthed his bristol bulldog, and palmed Hodgens door, confused by the sudden loss of contact and isolation. Hodgens started to say something but Jim clamped a hand over his mouth and cocked the hammer. "This is the vac chamber" kevin blurted over the network, hoping that conformation was all Jim needed. Steeling his nerves, Jim strode through the lock and came face to face with...a vac-suit clad Sarah Patrick? That was what the nametag read. The figure raise. Thier hands in what could have been surrender, but the sig-sauer they were packing hyped up Jims fight or flight stance further.

He let loose with the trigger, quickly producing a silicon meat pattie blasted out of the back of the targets head. Hollow point rounds were his preference as he had always shirked the safety slugs as unreliable. He didnt have time to ruminate over his decision, as a pre-recorded message popped up on the monitor, suggesting indiscriminate bombardment given the loss of targeting capability.

Faced with a moral dillema of epic proportions, he left the body for someone else to find, and tried to contact kevin in order to seal the vac chamber. Getting nothing but useless speculation from the marines over the appearance of president Nixon on their monitor, headed back past hodgens into the targeting room. Kevin stood, his back to the door.

As kevin turned to return Jims greeting, he recoiled with bitter somatic regret and gripped his back in pain. They both agreed that the only thing that would be drawn from a day like this would be a change in protocol. Communication. Kevin looked relieved. They shut off the instruments.