Journey's End
25 Nov 2016Kyla Emmerich
Previous LogEverything is dark. I hear muffled voices, but I don’t know if I am in a dream. Slowly, my eyes open. The room is dull, grey and blurry. I am lying down on a bed and my body aches. I don’t know how I got here. Immediately I try to sit up, but my arms are restrained and I’m in a hospital gown. The voices become more clear and I see a silhouette of someone looking back at me. I squint to try and make out their features, but I cannot see more than a blur at this time. Their voice becomes more clear. It’s a man’s voice, deep and calm.
“Doctor, she’s waking up,” the man calls.
Another silhouette approaches me. I move my lips and try to speak, but no more than a light groan leaves my mouth. A voice responds, female this time.
“Welcome back. You’ve been out for quite a while,” she says. Her voice is confident. I attempt to speak again, it feels like all of my energy is going into it, but again, barely a groan. “Yes, you might find it difficult to speak for a little bit, and no doubt your vision is hazy- a side effect of the sedative.”
A while passes, my vision starts to clear. The female doctor is still standing above me, jotting down notes on a datapad.
“Where? What’s going on?” I finally manage to ask, my voice is just above a whisper. “Why are my arms restrained?”
The woman turns to me, she has medium length, dirty blonde hair, and her white coat passes down below her thighs, and her ID card dangles off a lanyard around her neck.
“Just a precaution,” she tells me. “You hit the landing pad pretty hard. You were delirious and out of control when ground crews tried to help you. We had to sedate you. The drugs are similar to that of a stasis pod, which is why you’re feeling the way you do.”
The woman smirks as she places her datapad on a bench next to me. “Don’t worry, though. You wouldn’t be the first case of space madness to come through here. You’re quite mild compared to some people we’ve dealt with.”
I dart my head around as much as my stiff, aching neck will let me. “Where am I?”
“You’re on Amundsen Terminal, and I’m Doctor Walters.”
I’ve now regained enough consciousness to feel frustration. “Okay, well… Can I have my arms back now?”
The fair doctor smirks, picking up her datapad again. “Once I am satisfied that you aren’t a threat to yourself and others, and aren’t still having conversations with toasters, you’ll be free to go.”
How the fuck does she know about that?
“I better not be some kind of science experiment,” I remark aggressively. I am getting quite agitated by this point, but I do my best to remain calm.
“Not at all,” the blonde Doctor says, “but you must understand that space madness can drive people to do drastic things. Like I said, you were mild compared to some. I must tend to another patient right now, but I will return to assess you again. The fact that you are quite coherent leads me to believe that you will be fine.”
She strolls off out of the room, and her male colleague follows closely. I stare back at the ceiling, trying to recollect how exactly I got to be in this predicament.
The last thing I remember is… I try hard to think back… I was just finishing my last jump. I approach a tiny planet and then… Nothing.
I sigh. There’s no way to pass the time while strapped to an infirmary bed. I am once again alone with my thoughts, though the sound of another human voice, regardless of the context, was soothing.
My throughs drift to Moon Shot. I don’t know what state my ship is in, but the doctor says it was a rough landing. I’m hoping the damage is fixable, but I am dreading the thought of the 5 kylie trip back home. I have made my decision. I won’t continue to Colonia, even though I had hoped I’d make it to show that I was capable of great things.
But instead I am giving up, because I cannot bear the thought of several more weeks of complete isolation. I had almost lost my mind, and the thought of me needing to be sedated terrifies me.
It isn’t me. I am not a long distance explorer, and 23 kylies is a stupidly long way to go for a joyride. I was in over my head.
An hour passes and the doctor returns, once again carrying her datapad. She sits down on a chair beside my bed and looks into my eyes.
“How are you feeling?” she asks me, with the same confidence.
“Achy, thirsty, bored,” I reply. Agitated, anxious, lonely.
The woman nods and prods the screen of her datapad. “Understandable.”
She reaches below the bed, and I feel the restraints loosening from my wrists. I lift up my arms and stretch them out, then sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“So, that’s it? I’m free to go?”
“You’re free to go. I believe you’re still mentally sound. I have to say, though, that it was rather foolish of you to endeavour on a trip to Jacques with no experience. Isolation can do horrible things to the human psyche.”
I sigh, looking down toward my feet. “Well, I still have to fly back.” A shimmer of fear mixes in my words.
“Not entirely,” the woman reassures. “There is a transport that can take you back to the Bubble. You have the option to be put into stasis for the journey, and your ship can be delivered to the destination, for the right fee of course.”
I look back up at the doctor, and I feel a wave of hope. “I don’t care how much it costs,” I reply. “I just want to go home.”
She pokes her datapad then turns it toward me. On the screen is what looks like a timetable.
“You missed the last transport, but there will be another in two days. The facility should have a few things to keep you occupied while you wait.”
I smile my first genuine smile since I left Aymifa. “I’m just happy to hear another human voice again. What about my stuff?”
“Stored in a locker, come with me,” she signals me to follow.
We enter a small locker room, and the doctor reaches into the pocket of her white coat, then unlocks a locker in the corner.
“I will give you some privacy as you get changed. The exit is to your left and straight down the hall.”
“Thanks,” I say as I grab my clothes from the locker.
“Good luck out there.”
For an outpost out in the middle of nowhere, the amount of people is surprisingly high. I expect that there is a reasonable amount of traffic, with long-range traders passing through, ferrying supplies and personnel to Colonia.
I am now in the central hub of the outpost, and all I want right now is something to eat, and a drink. The hub is the size of a medium starport terminal back in the Bubble, and about half as populous. People from all corners of the Bubble are going about their business, stretching their legs and mingling with other travelers as they rest from their long journeys. Most of them look pretty content, but I suspect most people make the trip with a crew or in a wing.
I find a little tavern off to the side, it’s small, the lighting is a dull brown, but the atmosphere is cheerful, and best of all, as much as it’s strange for me to admit it, I am surrounded by people and I like it. That will probably change when I return to the bubble, but for now it is nice to not be alone.
I order a drink, a pint of whatever beer they have on tap and find myself a table. A few patrons give me a weird look, I must look rather out of place here. They eventually go back to their business as I take a seat. I have no interest in conversing with these people, but I am happy to cheekily eavesdrop on conversations around me.
Someone a couple of tables over mentions a ship that went missing - Magellan Spirit, the Asp Explorer I ran into not long after I set out. I listen closer. A man in a long, brown coat is conversing with a friend. From what he is saying, it appears he does not know the fate of the ship, and the occupants were friends of his.
I pick up my now half-finished beer and head toward the pair. I figured I am here for a couple of days, so I might as well do something good. Besides, I know nothing about the ex-wife of the deceased pilot, apart from that she is named Ashley and lives in Altair. The other pilot was named Janey, but I know little of her as well.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. The men turned to me. The man in the coat has a dark scraggly, unkempt beard, not uncommon among long-distance travellers and his eyebrows are bushy. His companion is bald and cleanly shaven, and wears his pilot suit.
The bearded man grunts in a deep, raspy voice. “Can I help ya m’am?” he asks. His accent resembles that of a farmer from deep within the Federation.
“Yeah, actually. I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about the Magellan Spirit.”
He stroked his beard and frowned. “What do you know of it?” His frown turned into amusement. “Wait, ain’t you that newjack that slammed her Cobra on the docking pad and went crazy?”
I furrow in response. “First - I am not a newjack. Second - I found the ship on my way here.”
“I’m listenin’,” he says in a calm tone.
“I have their datacore. I found the ship tumbling in an icy ring. Neither of the occupants made it, and I suspect they had been dead for a while by the time I got there.”
“I see,” the bearded man begins in a suspicious tone. “Indeed, the ship has been missing for months. What do you intend to do with that datacore?”
“I intend to take it to the poor sod’s ex-wife and daughter. I was hoping you might be able to help with that.”
“Ashley, you mean? Yeah, I know her. Nice woman. She was good friends with Janey as well. If you’re going to take the datacore to Altair, make sure Janey’s family know what happened as well.”
I nod. “Well, yeah. But you’ll need to tell me how to find them.”
The bearded man gives me a wide grin, then grunts lightly. “Well, then I think you’ll have to join us for a drink. Nothin’ weird. Would just like to get to know ya a little. After all, I’m not entirely comfortable giving away my friends’ contact details to a complete stranger.”
Do I really have to? Fine… I’m here for two days, I might as well enjoy some company. I pull up a chair and sit down with the two men. “Sure. I suppose I could use the company anyway.”
“I heard you caught a mild case of space madness,” the man in the brown coat mentioned. “Name’s Jim, and this is my pal Arthur.”
I offer my hand, “Kyla.”
“An Imperial I take it?” Arthur questions, shaking my hand. His voice is smoother than Jim’s, but he has the same accent.
“Indeed. Born and raised in Aymifa, but unlike a large percentage of people from there, I’m not a poncy twat.”
The two gentlemen laugh. “Twat! That’s one I ain’t heard before. You hear that, Arthur? I like this gal already.”
Jim signals the bartender for a round of beers. “So, why don’t you tell us about your trip over here then?”
Oh boy, this is going to be a long day.