Futuristic The Black Divide (Paused)

[Cartoonicat]

Coffee, always coffee. It's hard enough waking early, so I'm practically the walking—very irritable—dead without a decent boost of caffeine, which tea never seems to supply with just one cup.

Reading through the report with tired eyes, I wonder what I'd do without Oscar's help. He makes the technical side of captaining more manageable, for sure.

 

[ArcticFox]

Captain, at the moment we're a week or so ahead of schedule.

Supply update: we're actually doing really well. I don't think you'll need to focus on supplies on Beta.

Our fuel levels are good: no worries there.

Roshan's update on the ship: it's in pretty good condition, and as far as I'm concerned, the others are pretty happy.

Let me know what I can do for you while we're docked on Beta. I can take point on the ship so you can unwind: you're working hard too. You deserve a break.

- O

"Attention," Eira's voice sounds through the ship-wide comms, "we're coming up to dock at Martian Beta, berth thirty-one-one. Captain Centrich, we're at your disposal: we'll follow normal resupply procedures unless you order otherwise."

Except for Dylan, this is no one's first rodeo aboard the Eleos. The crew each have their assignments: Shiori, Roshan, and Dylan will disperse around the station and work with wholesale suppliers, other ships, and market stalls to find the best priced, or highest quality, supplies. Oscar will stay behind and oversee the process, and the technicians that come aboard to do the regular maintenance paid for by Beta docking fees. Eira, a navigator and pilot, has assigned herself the task of networking with other docked ships and their navigators, especially ones returning to Earth, to find out everything about the coming route.

You're here for thirty-six hours. You have two days and a night to spend on Martian Beta.

- Order the crew to work hard.
- Order them to work and try to relax.
- Tell them to relax.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I can't help smiling as I read over the report. "Don't worry too much about the standard protocol, we're good on pretty much everything," I respond after finishing my report, casual as usual. "Take some time to relax. You guys have earned it."

 

[ArcticFox]

"Aw, shucks," Roshan says over the comms. "You're a peach! How about you?" He asks, his own curiosity burning clear over the comms. "Going to hit a club and get laid? Blow off some steam?"

"Oh my god, you can't just ask that," Eira snaps. "That's totally out of order."

Regardless of Roshan's comment - Eira seems happy enough to deal with him - you know that some spacefarers do prioritise hooking up with a suitable candidate, or candidates, when they hit major ports.

- Not you, you want commitment.
- Not you, you are too involved with work.
- That sounds great.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I'm glad for the push-to-talk function on my comms because, without it, the entire crew would hear me nearly choke. "Haha, um..." I'm glad Roshan feels comfortable enough to be frank and forward, but it still caught me off guard. "A club sounds fun; I haven't gone dancing in a while," I say, neither confirming nor denying the latter part of his inquiry. Not because I have any plans or an aversion to making some, but because... well... I haven't actually given the topic much thought in quite a while.

While becoming captain has granted me a wonderful found family, it's also taken up most of my personal time. When was the last time I actually talked to someone without the responsibility of being captain influencing my actions?

 

[ArcticFox]

That leads you to a greater question about what you do with yourself. You can help with the ship, you can look after your own career, or look after yourself.

What you do tomorrow is, well, a matter for another day. What will you do today, while your crew is working?

- The libraries and training facilities of Martian Alpha are legendary. You want to improve yourself.
- You can't rest while the Eleos needs you. You'll see to the state of the ship.
- Martian Beta's a station designed for maximum stress relief as quickly as possible. You are going to have a good time.
- De Rege Technologies has a major outpost here. You want to find out more about them by talking to Victor's bosses.

 

[Cartoonicat]

If the crew is working, so am I, and the situation with Victor and De Rege Technologies has not been settled yet. If the DRT rep won't tell me what I need to know, then I'll just go above him and perform my own investigation.

As I make my way towards the outpost, however, I have to remind myself to be cautious. There's a reason Captain Schultz went to extremes to hide her findings from DRT and, while I don't know everything about the situation, I'm better off listening to logic than my gut (which likes to tell me everyone is friendly, trustworthy, and on my side).

 

[ArcticFox]

You let your crew know what to expect from you for the day, and pack a travel bag that will suit your needs: transit permits for the shuttles to the surface, your personal computer that holds the electronic contract with De Rege, and your identification.

By the time you're ready to leave the ship, Oscar is pacing back and forth in the galley, already in full negotiations with the docking authority over your berth and maintenance fees. It's a wonderful performance: there's scowling at the comms, hands slicing sharply through the air, he squares his shoulders and interrupts the bureaucrat to say, "I didn't ask what you normally do, I'm telling you what you're going to do for us."

But that's not your role, today: you know what you're going to be doing with yourself.

--

The docking ring is loud, busy, and hectic. There are dozens of ships attaching and heaving off at any moment, and day labourers clamour to be hired for cheap maintenance and retrofits. Adverts shimmer on the walls, throwing rainbow colours over the tired faces of the transport staff - the people hired by markets and stores further into the station to move their goods and load them onto the ships before they leave. As you walk past, street vendors jostle for your attention: spiced kebabs, cheap kegs of iodine water to disinfect your aquatanks, contact cards for hotels and spas further in.

It's the same as always: a total assault on the senses that you ride out like a relentless tide.

- Elbow your way through.
- Buy some supplies and food.
- Head up, back straight, make your way through the crowd.
- Try to slip through the easier spots.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I've always felt for the people who earned a living marketing wares on the street rather than in a big corporate building, so I do my best to steer clear of any vendors that might pull at my heartstrings—and, by extension, my wallet. I focus on the easier spots, hoping to slip through relatively unseen.

 

[ArcticFox]

The transit station to catch planetary shuttles is just outside the docking berths, so you don't have to go far to continue your journey, and you slip through the crowd like you're a stone skimming over water. It's easy.

The transit lounge is a wide, low-ceilinged space filled with metal benches and vending machines, advertisements crawling across the walls in garish technicolor. You key in your identification into the waiting system, and it spits out a number: at least three shuttles' worth of people ahead of you. The T-PES clerical officer at the reception desk gives you a weary nod as you head in.

It's busy here: there are merchants in your situation, captains and their officers on errands, business-people tapping their feet in irritation as a scrolling message reminds them that all chartered shuttles are cancelled, a bunch of yard-workers who've obviously been here for a while, going by the overflowing trashcan near them, and the weary looks on their faces.

As you watch, one of the business-people stomps up to the weary receptionist and demands they get the next shuttle, the workers' tickets be damned, the T-PES officer relents and bumps the workers to the back of the queue.

- Pull rank to get on the next shuttle.
- Calmly wait.
- Help T-PES to get everyone on their transport smoothly.

 

[Cartoonicat]

The wait is inconvenient, but nothing's more disappointing than watching the T-PES receptionist get hounded by and eventually cave to the demands of an impatient business-person. Workers are not only the backbone of society, but they're just as human as any office-holder or bureaucrat and, thus, should be treated with the same respect.

"Excuse me," I step up to the receptionist and try for a soft, reassuring smile. I'm not there to give them a hard time. "Things look pretty backed up. How can I help?"

 

[ArcticFox]

You know how to work with people without making them feel like their authority is being undermined. The T-PES officer shakes himself and snaps his fingers at the business-people, ordering them back where they were, and a murmur of relief runs through the group of tired, back-broken workers.

Finally you get on your shuttle down to Alpha: Mars's first colony, and the hub for Martian surface travel for the entire northern hemisphere. The shuttle is small, cheap, and the walls vibrate with atmospheric entry, but the glut of skilled engineers on Mars means these shuttles are built to last and maintained well. You know you're safe.

The journey takes less than half an hour, all told. You peer through one of the small curved windows and watch the nose of the shuttle glow, the clouds part, and Martian Alpha grow steadily larger up ahead. You can see the mess of high-rises and tenements, the green spaces nestled up against shining chrome spires, and the dust hanging in the air, motes swirling as shuttles and government vehicles slice through the air with glowing engines. Apparently Martians like this city, but it doesn't feel right. The buildings crowd around each other, all designed by different architects and built by who-knows-who, the sheer variety of look and of quality is dizzying. Everything is covered in red dust, and the sunlight is weak and dry. If you crane your neck to the west, you can see the so-called "corporate quarter": all the buildings gleam in the morning sunshine, not a speck of dust in sight, and green grass soaking up a city block's worth of water just to show off the wealth here.

They announce landing procedures over the staticky intercom, and after a couple of minutes it touches down with a hard clunk, the Martian gravity pulling the craft down to the ground.

--

​

The reception area is slick and impersonal. Your footsteps echo on black, glittering marble, and live plants shiver in the climate controlled air, near the elevators there are body scanners and blank-faced security personnel checking staff ID badges and bags.

As you walk up to the reception desk, a visitor signs in, placing her hand on a scanner and staring unblinking into a red light so her biometric data is on file. Near the body scanners there's a sign in red:

Warning: Upper floors are secured with biometric anti-intrusion measures. Trespassers do so at their own risk.

A video plays along one glass wall, somehow projected to be the right way around from both sides of the glass, espousing De Rege's diverse biotech interests: medicine, green technologies, community engagement, colonisation efforts, and more.

"Good day," the receptionist says, his slick dark hair shimmering in the fluorescent lights. "My name is Bradley. How can I help you today?"

- Be sweet.
- Be stern.
- Be calm.

 

[Cartoonicat]

Noted, I think, reading the red warning signs. My intention today isn't to step out of bounds; rather, I'm here to ask around a bit and hopefully get some answers, even if I have to listen to a thousand corporate hotshots spin stories like Victor did. Someone is bound to slip up at some point. I just have to be patient.

"Hi Bradley," I greet him with a sweet smile, as I'm prone to do with anyone, "I'm looking to speak with someone about my contract with DRT. Is there anyone available?" To quicken the process, I hold up my means of identification.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Of course we can help you," Bradley says, giving what's either a genuine smile, or a very well-trained fake. "I've pinged Director Chadwick, she'll be expecting you, and one of our fantastic security team will escort you to up to the eighth floor so you know exactly where to go. Good luck!"

A member of the security team, a muscled woman with one brown eye and one bright blue that speaks of expensive cybernetic enhancements, walks you into the elevator and stands as a silent sentry while escorting you to the floor for Executive Asset Management. You're handed off to a perky blonde secretary, who stashes you in a bright, airy meeting room with a cup of very excellent coffee.

And you wait.

And wait.

Finally a woman enters, slick and dressed in feminine scarlet. She's the oldest person you've seen so far: she sports crows' feet, lined forehead, and knuckles swollen and shiny with age, though she still walks with the vigour of Earther ancestry or genetic enhancement.

"I'm Dr. Michaela Chadwick," she says in a low, warm voice. "I'm the Director of Executive Asset Management, and I'm Mr. Palladino's supervisor. It's good to meet the captain of the Eleos. I understand you have some questions?"

- Ask away.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I appreciate Bradley's cooperativeness, get the feeling my escort doesn't want to talk, and offer thanks to the secretary bringing me such great coffee. It's better than anything I've tasted in quite a while, so I don't mind the wait at first. Rarely do I splurge on small luxuries like expensive coffee or extravagant sweets, instead opting to buy cheaper and in bulk for the sake of staying sane on long voyages. This is a treat and, best of all, it's free.

Eventually, I drain my cup down to the dregs. Impatience sets in, tolerable only in the beginning. By the time the door opens, however, I've strummed my fingers against the table in several off-beat versions of popular club songs and tapped my feet to the imaginary bass in my head, throat humming half-remembered lyrics.

I yank my hands into my lap the moment she walks in, smiling perhaps a bit too much to be natural. If she saw my means of killing time, she didn't comment. I should be in the clear. Hopefully.

"It's great to meet you, Dr. Chadwick," I rise to shake her hand, not bothering to introduce myself. She already knows who I am. Instead, I nod, resolving to stand until she takes a seat first; Dr. Chadwick is my elder, after all. "I do, yes... ah, so..." I realize only now that instead of pounding out tunes during the wait I should have prepared a speech—or, at the very least, a mental note or two. I have no idea where to begin.

"The Eleos has taken great care in regards to transporting cargo for De Rege Technologies," I start, speaking empty, useless words in hopes they'll spark enough inspiration to get me through this meeting without offending my client, getting kicked out, or worse. "And Mr. Palladino"—it feels weird calling him that instead of just Victor—"is doing his job well, but was unable to answer a couple questions in regards to the cargo we're transporting. Through no fault of his own, of course. I think. A-Anyway, I looked through the contract and couldn't find where it detailed exactly what kind of cargo we're transporting." I wait a moment for the words to sink in. I don't want to repeat them, because I'm not sure I'll be able to, the way my mind is scrambling for footing. "I, uh... Well, it's important to know what's on one's ship at all times."

 

[ArcticFox]

Partway through your explanation, Dr. Chadwick's smiling secretary brings refreshments: juicy, fresh strawberries dipped in dark chocolate and pralines speckled with gold dust, intricate flaky pastries filled with saffron-spiced vegetables. Everything is rich and obviously expensive.

It all makes you feel very important, and you calmly realise that Dr. Chadwick is manipulating you with non-apologies, and distracting you from her lack of information with delicious food.

Eventually Dr. Chadwick stops and holds up her hands. "You're putting me in a very uncomfortable position. I'm not going to undermine my own direct report to a client. However, I can see you're not happy with our policies, and I will do what I can to discuss the issue with Mr. Palladino."

- Persist.
- Leave.

 

[Cartoonicat]

The more I snack, the younger I feel, until I'm fifteen years old again sitting in a high-backed leather chair, separated from my dad by a long stretch of polished glass. His office had the best view of the lava flow, a series of streams that pinstriped throughout the city and kept everything aglow, even at night.

He gave me treats, too. Pretty things that tasted as good as they looked, often garnished with edible bows and sugar pearls to distract me from the important things.

Dad never liked my questions and, after too long asking them, neither did my stomach.

Feeling ill, I set aside Dr. Chadwick's offerings. "Sure, do what you need to, but I will not leave Martian Beta without knowing what cargo is on my ship. Whether it gets transported in time is up to you."

I stand, done here and done with DRT's games.

 

[ArcticFox]

As far as a brush-off goes, at least you managed to get one of their staff to admit they're not in the full and complete right is an achievement in of itself, even if you don't have answers.

It's time for you to leave the De Rege offices. Outside, it's late afternoon, and the wind has picked up the Martian dust to turn the sky a pale russet-grey.

Someone makes a small, querying noise: a petite woman, who'd been hanging around the entrance as if deciding whether or not to go in, has spotted you and trots over with a curious expression.

"Hi, Captain Zyrina Centrich, right? Of the Eleos? My name's Katja Klein. Captain Klein, but please, call me Katja. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, but… I heard you were on the Thorn Chaser. What happened?" She gives you a hopeful smile.

- Excuse yourself.
- Be friendly, but don't reveal anything.
- Be suspicious.
- Tell her everything.

 

[Cartoonicat]

I'm tired and irritated and I don't want to deal with anyone's problems today, much less those of a stranger. "I'm sorry, but—" The dismissive wave of my hand stills mid-air. "Thorn Chaser? Yeah, I was there... um..."

Things are too complicated to tell someone I barely know, but running into roadblocks and an uncompromising DRT left and right has worn me down. Maybe it's time to seek answers outside of De Rege Technologies.

"Talk over coffee?" Or water. My stomach still swirls from earlier.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Absolutely!" Katja smiles, and the two of you proceed to the nearest coffee shop. She watches you expectantly.

- Tell her about the Thorn Chaser.
- Ask her about her ship.
- Ask her how she knows about the Thorn Chaser.
- Flirt.
- Something else.

 

[Cartoonicat]

The walk from DRT's outpost to the nearest coffee shop, though it doesn't feel particularly long, clears my mind enough to want to order when we step inside. I'm a sucker for coffee; always have been, always will be.

I don't say anything until we find a seat inside the coffee shop, comfortably away from De Rege Technologies and their shady business practices.

"So... I guess we'll start with how you know about the Thorn Chaser." I lift a brow. Katja is pretty—really pretty, actually—and seems like an open person. If she's affiliated in some way, maybe she could help.

 

[ArcticFox]

"I'm a ship captain and was headed in the direction of the Thorn Chaser. I have friend in the T-PES that notified me about it, warned me to change course just in case." She explains, drinking her coffee. It is a sweet smelling concoction of a bright pink colour that looks more like milkshake. "What happened to it, do you know?"

- Respond.

 

[Cartoonicat]

"I guess it pays to have friends in high places," I say into a sip of latte with probably too much foam than is good for me. "T-PES called me off-course to check it out. We didn't find any survivors—much less, anyone at all—and they almost impounded my ship."

Though, bitter as I feel, I know that had T-PES not directed me to the Thorn Chaser I wouldn't have known to be suspicious of DRT. In a way, I owe them... even if they aren't the kindest group around.

I refrain from saying more until I hear her reaction.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Wow..." Katja offers, giving you full attention as you speak. "I'm glad I didn't go that way, then." She smiles, finishing her coffee and standing up. "Thank you for the information, Zyrina."

She kisses your cheek, her painted lips warm and soft, and slips away before you can say anything.

--

You take the corporate transit line back to the shuttle station, it's not late enough to get any of the professional commuters, so you end up sharing a carriage with an unshaven, transient man who at first sleeps on the floor at one end, then slips out when a security guard comes to check the train.

By the time you're catching a shuttle back to Beta, it's approaching the evening. There are blandly spicy tofu curries for sale at the station, which makes the trip back rather aromatic.

Beta Station follows Martian hours, but with so many travellers and ships, it never really goes to sleep. At night, the activity shifts: less aimless appreciation, more hard-edged, purposeful work and play.

Your crew, even Oscar, will be pursuing their own interests by this time. What are you going to do with yourself? Will you spend time by yourself, or will you let yourself be drawn to one of your crew as your heart wishes?

- Check on Dylan.
- Hang out with Oscar.
- See Shiori.
- Call Eira.
- You can't find Roshan anywhere.
- You'd rather that Katja had stayed around longer.
- You want to be alone.

 

[Cartoonicat]

My brows lift and I watch her leave as quick as she arrived, the spot on my cheek burning with attention. Only when she’s gone do I realize what an opportunity I missed.

”Zyrina, you idiot,” I slump over my latte, pinching between my eyes. “She knew someone at T-PES.” If I’d spoken less about myself and asked more about her, I might have found some answers!

Wait. Katja... Klein. Was it Klein? Captain Katja Klein. I go with my gut and jot down the name. I hope it comes in handy.

—

I hardly notice passerby and passing things as I make my way back, mind engulfed in the mystery overhanging my ship like a dark cloud. Calculating how many hours I have let until departure terrifies me, because I hadn’t intended to bluff in front of Dr. Chadwick; I was, or wanted to be, completely serious when I said I’d find out the cargo contents before leaving Martian Beta.

Yet, after a day already spent, I feel no closer to an answer.

The sleepless nature of Martian Beta reminds me of home, an oddly comforting sight—I always loved the lava flows of Venus, even when home wasn’t particularly my favorite place to be. By time I get back, I’m tempted to reach out to Wynn.

But, as always, I stop myself. I abandoned her to a life of press releases and publicity stunts; to unpleasant blind dates and potential arranged marriages; to the whims of Mom and Dad, who haven’t bothered to call since I left. Would she even want to see me? Our parents certainly don’t. The thought makes me angry—something I try never to be, but has crept up on me slowly in recent events—both at myself and my family.

Now would be the time to relax with, perhaps even confide in, one of my crew members. We’re a found family of sorts, so I should be able to talk to them about how I’m feeling or, if not, at least find comfort in their company. Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked that way. At least, not for the serious stuff. I don’t recall ever having told anyone aboard my ship where I’ve come from; the only one who really knows me is the Eleos.

But, there is someone who has opened up to me. Perhaps a check-in would do us both some good.

Instead of contact my sister or contemplate the missing puzzle pieces, I head out in search of Dylan.