F.E. Michael
03-08-2013, 03:09 AM
Okay! Juggling midterms, a problematic race car, and writing has slowed me down quite a bit. I've got my story to a good point to post a "Part 1", and I am chomping at the bit for it to be reduced to rubble in the form of feedback. So, you'll notice the revision bug hit hard. I busted my rear on this one so far, I won't be changing much. I like this version and I am fond of the direction it's going to take. Nonetheless, I want you all to have the chance to see it too.
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I turned her in. What else could I do?
The bitter dregs of humanity battled for a planet that was already inhabited. We were in orbit. When the “refugees” onboard caught wind, riots ensued. She was a stowaway, for a month she hid in my quarters. She wasn’t interested in violence; her family was dead.
When you served the Navy love was a crime. I was in love with an alien who’d just become my enemy. The kindest most beautiful foe I ever encountered. They’d probably push me out of the airlock.
I was on the line with Admiral Stone and he’d just issued orders. “Lock them up, Captain. Deadly force is authorized.” A passing patrol of guards heard noise in my cabin during rounds, so they tracked me down at the radio room to fill me in.
I slung the headset against the wall and bolted after them to my cabin. Odds were against me, but perhaps I could convince them that something had simply fallen.
It was too late. I rounded the corner as one of the men who stayed behind kicked open the port. There she was.
I lied like a cornered crook. “She… must have snuck in.” As if invisible I glared past her.
They dragged her away in shackles, her iridescent eyes wept betrayal. Thanks to me she was caged in the rotten gut of the ship, at the mercy of men who hated her.
A week later I still wasn’t sleeping. I had two hours before shift change. There was no morning anymore, no sunrise to warm your face.
She’s just a refugee, I thought, you did the right thing. I tried to put it all aside as I dressed, excusing myself for sake of duty. It wasn’t working. The guilt clung like a cold wet blanket. I knew I was a coward and it was too late for excuses.
“Christ, this has to STOP!”
My outburst must have stirred the Ensign next door, why else would she try to throw her boot through the wall? My stomach let a gurgle. It had been at least two shifts since my last meal.
The port groaned in protest to recent abuse as I shoved it open and headed for mess deck. I stalked past the closets full of snoring crewmen trying to be dead silent. They deserved their rest.
Silence soon gave way to boots of the night guard as they scraped against the grated deck. I kept a brisk pace, hoping not to run into them. Those guys would sacrifice a left nut for someone to jaw-jack with. I wasn’t in the mood. A small backlit sign led my escape. The galley was to the left.
Two kitchen attendants chattered as they pulled a cart of dehydrated eggs out of the freezer. I dined on bits of stale rolls and drank coffee. I heard the usual night attendant, Raul, he would talk to a broom; maybe even try to **(pork)** it. Tonight, however, he had a human partner. I tuned in to pass time.
As he shoved and prodded the decrepit utility cart it hung, two wheels dangling off the ledge of the freezer. The new guy gave the cart a tug, a second later it was rolling. “Thanks, Tim,” Looking grateful, Raul wiped his brow, “been hell since Ed transferred.”
The new guy didn’t fit the part, he was broad shouldered, probably forty, no sign of the trademark dullness shared by the night shift screw-ups. Casually wielding the egg cart he was already a few paces ahead, Tim looked back with a brow raised. “Ed?”
Raul had set the bait perfectly, a master angler. “Oh, Ed? He was the last **(poo)**-for-brains, stuck here for asking too many questions.”
With a nod Tim took the bait. “So that’s how it all works, then? Sounds right, FLEETCOM got skittish, slapped me with a transfer. I was aweigh before the ink dried.”
"Promoted to slinging trays, they say **(poo)** always rolls downhill, right?" Eyes alight; Raul was clearly pleased.
Tim looked down and rubbed his stubble. “Oh, I… won’t be here long. Once the Admiral’s report is through,” He was cutoff.
“Stone’s back already?” Raul pulled the line in, his catch greater than he’d imagined.
"Came in on the same barge,” Then he kept on,” anyways, I'm meeting with Capt. Simms for assignment soon.”
My mind wandered. Stone was back from HQ. Must really have a bug up his **(bum)* if he came to report in person.
A shiver erupted from my spine. Excitement or maybe fear, it didn’t matter which; I had my excuse. Now I could head in early, play it off like I was getting ready for the brief.
Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Nosiness had its benefits. I would excuse the night crew early. They’d probably be glad. If all went as planned I’d soon get back to my latest hobby: watching the cameras in the brig.
I made for the lifts at the center of the deck forgetting my trash at the table. The bridge was three floors up, aft of the lift system, no sweat.
I didn’t see it coming when I shoved aside the swinging mess hall doors.
There he was, six and a half feet of leathery skin, salt and pepper beard, and freshly pressed Navy blues. Admiral Raymond Stone was a barrel-chested behemoth.
I was average height, heavy in the midsection, but officers tended to be. Staring at my distorted reflection in the livery hanging at his chest made me feel tiny.
He peered down at me, looking every bit the description of his name. “Getting an early start, Captain?”
“Aye, sir, hoped I might get the worm this morning.” I prayed it sounded natural.
“Well, looks like I’ve beat you to it.” And with that he called the lift.
The second of the three doors whirred open. Stone gestured to me, “After you son.”
The Admiral followed me as I stepped inside. I let a sigh breach the thick dampness. Without thinking I muttered a half-thought under my breath, “Why does every elevator in this tin-can smell like **(poo)**?”
Stone uttered a rumble I’d come to realize was laughter. “I’ve must’ve asked myself the very same a thousand times.”
I hadn’t even realized I spoke aloud. Tense as I may be, it seemed the Old Man was in good spirits.
Part 2 coming soon...
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I turned her in. What else could I do?
The bitter dregs of humanity battled for a planet that was already inhabited. We were in orbit. When the “refugees” onboard caught wind, riots ensued. She was a stowaway, for a month she hid in my quarters. She wasn’t interested in violence; her family was dead.
When you served the Navy love was a crime. I was in love with an alien who’d just become my enemy. The kindest most beautiful foe I ever encountered. They’d probably push me out of the airlock.
I was on the line with Admiral Stone and he’d just issued orders. “Lock them up, Captain. Deadly force is authorized.” A passing patrol of guards heard noise in my cabin during rounds, so they tracked me down at the radio room to fill me in.
I slung the headset against the wall and bolted after them to my cabin. Odds were against me, but perhaps I could convince them that something had simply fallen.
It was too late. I rounded the corner as one of the men who stayed behind kicked open the port. There she was.
I lied like a cornered crook. “She… must have snuck in.” As if invisible I glared past her.
They dragged her away in shackles, her iridescent eyes wept betrayal. Thanks to me she was caged in the rotten gut of the ship, at the mercy of men who hated her.
A week later I still wasn’t sleeping. I had two hours before shift change. There was no morning anymore, no sunrise to warm your face.
She’s just a refugee, I thought, you did the right thing. I tried to put it all aside as I dressed, excusing myself for sake of duty. It wasn’t working. The guilt clung like a cold wet blanket. I knew I was a coward and it was too late for excuses.
“Christ, this has to STOP!”
My outburst must have stirred the Ensign next door, why else would she try to throw her boot through the wall? My stomach let a gurgle. It had been at least two shifts since my last meal.
The port groaned in protest to recent abuse as I shoved it open and headed for mess deck. I stalked past the closets full of snoring crewmen trying to be dead silent. They deserved their rest.
Silence soon gave way to boots of the night guard as they scraped against the grated deck. I kept a brisk pace, hoping not to run into them. Those guys would sacrifice a left nut for someone to jaw-jack with. I wasn’t in the mood. A small backlit sign led my escape. The galley was to the left.
Two kitchen attendants chattered as they pulled a cart of dehydrated eggs out of the freezer. I dined on bits of stale rolls and drank coffee. I heard the usual night attendant, Raul, he would talk to a broom; maybe even try to **(pork)** it. Tonight, however, he had a human partner. I tuned in to pass time.
As he shoved and prodded the decrepit utility cart it hung, two wheels dangling off the ledge of the freezer. The new guy gave the cart a tug, a second later it was rolling. “Thanks, Tim,” Looking grateful, Raul wiped his brow, “been hell since Ed transferred.”
The new guy didn’t fit the part, he was broad shouldered, probably forty, no sign of the trademark dullness shared by the night shift screw-ups. Casually wielding the egg cart he was already a few paces ahead, Tim looked back with a brow raised. “Ed?”
Raul had set the bait perfectly, a master angler. “Oh, Ed? He was the last **(poo)**-for-brains, stuck here for asking too many questions.”
With a nod Tim took the bait. “So that’s how it all works, then? Sounds right, FLEETCOM got skittish, slapped me with a transfer. I was aweigh before the ink dried.”
"Promoted to slinging trays, they say **(poo)** always rolls downhill, right?" Eyes alight; Raul was clearly pleased.
Tim looked down and rubbed his stubble. “Oh, I… won’t be here long. Once the Admiral’s report is through,” He was cutoff.
“Stone’s back already?” Raul pulled the line in, his catch greater than he’d imagined.
"Came in on the same barge,” Then he kept on,” anyways, I'm meeting with Capt. Simms for assignment soon.”
My mind wandered. Stone was back from HQ. Must really have a bug up his **(bum)* if he came to report in person.
A shiver erupted from my spine. Excitement or maybe fear, it didn’t matter which; I had my excuse. Now I could head in early, play it off like I was getting ready for the brief.
Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Nosiness had its benefits. I would excuse the night crew early. They’d probably be glad. If all went as planned I’d soon get back to my latest hobby: watching the cameras in the brig.
I made for the lifts at the center of the deck forgetting my trash at the table. The bridge was three floors up, aft of the lift system, no sweat.
I didn’t see it coming when I shoved aside the swinging mess hall doors.
There he was, six and a half feet of leathery skin, salt and pepper beard, and freshly pressed Navy blues. Admiral Raymond Stone was a barrel-chested behemoth.
I was average height, heavy in the midsection, but officers tended to be. Staring at my distorted reflection in the livery hanging at his chest made me feel tiny.
He peered down at me, looking every bit the description of his name. “Getting an early start, Captain?”
“Aye, sir, hoped I might get the worm this morning.” I prayed it sounded natural.
“Well, looks like I’ve beat you to it.” And with that he called the lift.
The second of the three doors whirred open. Stone gestured to me, “After you son.”
The Admiral followed me as I stepped inside. I let a sigh breach the thick dampness. Without thinking I muttered a half-thought under my breath, “Why does every elevator in this tin-can smell like **(poo)**?”
Stone uttered a rumble I’d come to realize was laughter. “I’ve must’ve asked myself the very same a thousand times.”
I hadn’t even realized I spoke aloud. Tense as I may be, it seemed the Old Man was in good spirits.
Part 2 coming soon...