She is Rose

Chapter 4

2008-03-04T20:55:00.001-08:00

4. Confusion

None of it made sense. Over a week of sensor readings from the Bright Hope and the data from each visit may as well have been taken from different ships. With a groan Mark straightened in his seat; a series of popping sounds going off in his back like gunfire,
“Enough, I've had enough”, he muttered and reached for the power switch of the monitor he had been examining. Coffee, thats what he needed. Stumbling to the kitchen with his mug, he inserted it into the dispenser,
“Coffee”,
“Dispensing” responded the female voice of the artificial cook politely. Mark guffawed to himself at the thought of calling a program a cook and took a groggy swipe at his mug as the machine ejected it. He always felt a little foolish drinking from a mug that looked for all the world like a toddler's Mr. Tippy. Mark mentally cursed the low gravity that necessitated such a juvenile precaution to prevent spilling.
“Bridge, please”, even after so long serving on ships he still couldn't break the habit of using 'please' and 'thank you' when addressing the computer. A moments silence then,
“Bridge”,
“Don its Mark, how are the boys doing?”,
“Just finishing up Cap'n, should be back on board in 10 or so.”,
“Good, get them to upload the readings then take some personal time, we can examine the data later.”,
“Aye”

As much as he wanted to switch off, Mark still held out some hope that he would be able to piece together the discordant assortment of data and was certain that the sudden illumination would... well thats as far as he could imagine. There was a part of him that was certain that there was hidden significance in the endless stream of figures, yet a larger more rational part of him insisted it was simply faulty equipment. After all, wasn't there hundreds of ways that the ships portable sensors could have been damaged? But all of them? He had trouble convincing himself of that one in a million chance occurrence. Unless it was intentional.

He cut off the thought short, shaking himself out of his introversion and took a gulp of his drink. Immediately he uttered a spluttered curse as he gagged down the now cold coffee; just how had he been sitting here anyway?
“Cap'n”, a voice interrupted his thoughts from a speaker overhead,
“Here”,
“Sir, I've lost contact with the Lieutenant and Seaman Evans, they should have been back fifteen minutes ago and i can't raise them on the radio”, alarm bells began to go off in Mark's head and he sat bolt upright,
“Prepped a probe?”,
“Aye”,
“Deploy and monitor...”, a loud beep cut him off and he slumped back in his chair,
“That'd be the doorbell Don”,
“Aye Cap'n, sorry for the false alarm”,
Mark brushed off the unnecessary apology, “Send them straight to the workshop Don, I'll meet them there”

***

Lieutenant Alfred Iverach, Medical officer of the Ventura, lay on one of the two beds in the medical bay, his face stark white and a horrified expression on his face, even in sleep. Mark sat at his bedside bent nearly double at the waist with his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced behind his neck, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, thoughts spinning wildly through his head. What had happened? He couldn't piece anything together from the fragments Alfred had told him. Worse, he believed the lieutenant's strident claims that I don't remember anything!
'Where is Evans?',
'I don't know!',
'What happened?',
'I just remember... black! Mist... I don't know! Alice! Where is he Alice?!?',
Then nothing. Shock, catatonia, finally sleep. That was over a day ago now and still he lay there unmoving. Miranda and Wesley, the crew's second Seaman: a young, irritable boy barely out of his teens, were both searching around Evans last known position, Don was again on watch on the bridge. Slowly Mark straightened and stood; made his way through the empty corridors of the ship towards the bridge. He always found the absolute calm and silence of the ship eerie when there was no one around to pollute the atmosphere with the bustle of habitation, and it was even worse now knowing he had already lost a crew member without a trace. With that thought, he picked up speed as he rounded the last corner, descended into the sunken area of the bridge and collapsed heavily into the copilots seat next to Don.
“Still nothing?”, Don didn't bother to respond, Mark knew all too well that he would be notified as soon as word came in. there was a moment of silence before Don turned his head towards Mark,
“There wasn't anything else you could have done lad”, Mark suddenly felt the crushing weight of despair full upon his shoulders and he dropped his chin to his chest,
“The ship is enormous Mark, if he wandered off somewhere and hurt himself it could take us weeks to find him”, anger flared momentarily in Mark's breast and fled just as quickly. Although technically Evan's suit could still support him for another 12 or so hours, Mark knew as well as Don that the chances of finding him were beyond slim and flirting with nothing. Still,
“They might find him Don.”,
“Aye lad, they might”, but his disbelief showed in the tone of his voice. Mark sighed deeply.
For Don, “You're right”, then for himself, “you're right.”, he reached for the radio,
“Miranda, Wes, come on back.”,
Miranda's panicked voice, “But Sir! He's still in here some..”,
“I said come back Miranda.” Mark repeated firmly. A defeated 'Sir' came through the radio and Mark leaned back into his seat again, a single tear framed his eye and slipped down his cheek.

Chapter 3

2008-01-15T14:06:00.001-08:00

3. Intuition
Mark slapped the green button that would open the airlock door with an open, eager palm and turned slowly in his suit to be greeted by a inrush of grey mist that silently poured through the widening crack in the reinforced steel door. Fumbling with the suit's controls on his wrist, he turned on his external microphone and all at once his silent world was filled with a loud hissing sound.
“Well it held its atmosphere Cap'n, thats really something.” McIvan's thick Scottish brogue twisted the familiar words into something almost unrecognisable.
“Get some readings Don” Mark prompted gently,
“Already on it Cap” Don responded equally as gently; Mark flushed a little,
“Sorry, just a bit jumpy”,
Don rested a hand gently on Mark's shoulder, “Don't be silly lad, tis fine.”, except his accent made it more 'tis fyn'.
Don was the only crew member on the Ventura that Mark would let get away with such informalities, and at times like this he was glad to have the swarthy engineer around.
“Ok”, Mark breathed to himself then louder, “Date logged as 13th January, 2652. This is the preliminary manned survey of the ship tentatively identified as the Bright Hope. The entry team is formed of myself, Commander Mark Edmonds, Captain of UEN ship Ventura; the Ventura's Engineer Lieutenant Donald McIvans and Seaman Lincoln Evans. The hatch of the Bright Hope has been opened; we are proceeding inside.”
With that, Mark made good on his word and stepped through the half open doorway and into the airlock of the Bright Hope, his magnetic soled boots clunking as they attached themselves to the steel grating. A wan beam of muted yellow light filtering through the door behind him illuminated a thin strip of steel, slick with a nearly completely opaque layer of ice.
“Temperature is at exactly absolute zero Cap'n” Don confirmed Mark's expectations, yet still his heart fell a little.
“Well I guess thats a negative on survivors Cap”, the previously silent Seaman said as he followed close on Don's tail into the derelict ship.
“A truly masterful observations Evans.” Don's dry sarcasm brought a grin to Mark's face, nevertheless he couldn't let it slide.
“Don.” he warned without turning his head to face the two,
“Aye Cap'n.” he didn't sound a bit fazed and indeed he wasn't, Don knew as well as Mark that he was just doing it By The Book. Don's notorious temper had often previously combined with Evans stubbornness to explosive effect and Mark had stepped in the last time to ensure it wouldn't happen again.
Mark touched a thickly gloved finger to the controls on his wrist and his helmet mounted flashlight speared a shaft of white light through the gloom of the airlock to reveal a fantastically shimmering square room; the frost threw back hundreds of sparkles of light that his suits helmet amplified till it almost seemed he had stepped out of the Ventura and into a child's fairy tale. Another brief touch to the suits controls summoned the utility robot he had prepared for the task of 'facilitating' their entry. Two more flashlight beams from behind him lit up more of the airlock and played around the room, revealing little more than Mark's had. A short status update scrolled across the pane of Mark's helmet just as the utility robot trundled into his peripheral vision.
Mark punched in a short series of commands and hit the execute button on his wrist and watched as one of the robot's many arms unfurled and a glimmering saw whirred to life and made contact with the door in front of him. Mere moments later the saw ceased its forward movement and began to trace a vertical line up towards the ceiling, the blade cutting a clean line through the thick steel; it was far too cold to produce sparks.
Soon enough the three were facing a small square hole in the door in front of them, their flashlight beams lost in the gloom of a long corridor carpeted with a thick mist of near frozen atmosphere which had stood perfectly still for almost two hundred years, but now was kicked up into swirls and eddies as the differences in air pressure between the airlock and corridor came to a suitable agreement.
Mark again took the lead; crouching to fit he stepped gingerly through the small hole. Straightening up he slowly looked around, left to right, ceiling to floor. An odd thought intruded on his consciousness, so still, so peaceful. A white hand encrusted with ice thrust up from the mist a mere metre in front of him and Mark uttered a strangled yelp and staggered backwards before the spectral limb drifted slowly apart and he recognised it for what it really was, just another tendrils of mist. Don barreled through the gap and shoved Mark to one side before hesitating, then turning his helmeted head to face Mark. A sheepish grin tugged at the corners of Mark's mouth and he shrugged his shoulders and much as his suit would allow,
“Sorry Don, overactive imagination.”,
The big Scot let out a visible sigh then muttered reproachfully under his breath, “Too many darn spiced sausages Mark, told you to lay off din I then, ey?”,
Mark knew better than to reply and simply nodded before straightening up just in time to see Evans shadowed form step into the corridor.
“Right, enough fun then, we've got a lot to do”, Mark ordered brusquely in an attempt to cover his embarrasment.
“Aye.” Don offered his assent and with a touch to his suits controls ordered the utility robot to follow him as he strode confidently into the mist.

Chapter 2

2008-01-15T14:05:00.000-08:00

2. Going Down with the Ship
Blaring sirens jerked Johan from his semi-daze. Distractedly he muttered,
“Alice, didn't I say to suppress any further alarms?”,
“Sir, and I informed you that it's against my basic programming to do so.” replied a female synthesized voice,
“Yes, of course.”
Johan blearily rubbed his face feeling several days stubble and ignoring a sudden burst of lunacy that insisted 'you must shave IMMEDIATELY!'
“It's the air sir” said one of the voices.
Johan thought it was the one he'd heard called Wes. It didn't matter. Not even the voices concerned Johan anymore. All he could think of now was the rapidly approaching end. The doctor had assured him that suffocation was a relatively painless death, a fact that had barely registered with Johan at the time; he had far too many other things to think about. Until now.
The air had been off for a few days now, and it was a testament to the size of the ship that what was contained within it had supported the several hundred crew who had not been frozen for this long. Most had gone to sleep long ago though, knowing full well they wouldn't wake up. Johan refused to go out like that. According to the official log he was staying awake as watch in case of a last minute rescue. A rescue that he knew would never come, no ship could catch up with them now. Indeed no one would realise something had gone wrong until the distress signals reached earth, which according to the computer would be on the 19th July, 2532: 52 years from now.
No, Johan just couldn't let himself lie down and sleep, he had too much of what he liked to think of as 'crusty old sea captain' inside him; an immeasurable quality that was part nobility, part stoicism, part foolishness. A wry grin twisted his lips as he wondered which of the three was at the fore now.
“Death wont have you, Johan, don't fear”, Johan sat bolt upright, this was a new voice, and none of them had ever directly address him before,
silence,
“Who are you?” Johann asked, proud to notice he successfully kept the stammer out of his voice he had felt building up.
Again, silence.
The doctor had warned him that strange things may begin to happen as the air quality lowers, that he may see or hear things. Johan was almost certain the voices were something more than that however. After all, when they first showed up the air was just fine, right? But this voice... by an immense force of will, he quickly convinced himself he could chalk it up to bad air and over tiredness.
Johan slumped back into his chair, “I need a coffee” he muttered to no one and slowly resumed his semi doze. Shortly after this beverage revelation, the bridge door slid open almost silently, and Johan turned his head to see one of the Arbie's trundle in with a tray containing a pot of coffee and two porcelain cups. He suppressed a chuckle and said,
“Um, Alice sweetie, why are there two mugs?” for a supercomputer she somethings did the strangest things,
“For you and your friend.”
“Ahh, my friend. You do remember that everyone else is either in the deep freeze or snoozing don't you Ali?”
“Sir, I'm afraid a food freezer and a cryogenic freezing tank are two very...”
“Yes, yes Alice, I wasn't being literal.” he stopped her mid sentence, “Please have the Arbie pour me a cup as take the other away.”
“But sir, your friend”, Alice insisted.
“There isn't anyone here Alice” Johan replied, becoming exasperated.
“Respectfully sir, she's right behind you.”
a block of ice settled in Johan's belly, and slowly, slowly, he turned his head to see... nothing. A wave of relief washed over him.
“If that was your attempt at a joke Ali, it wasn't funny.”
“Sir, I intend no Joke sir, she's right there.”
“You gotta learn when to let it drop Ali.” He mumbled as he concentrated on taking the offered cup of coffee from the Arbie. It was getting harder and harder to complete such menial tasks as the air got worse.
“Of course Sir, my apologies”,
The thought of a computer apologising required another chuckle to be suppressed, “It's fine Alice, don't mention it. Had I the time I'd gladly teach your a bit about human humor.”
But thats just it, isn't it. There's simply no time. The thought sent a shudder up and down Johan's spine.
“I did what I could.” he murmured, suddenly melancholy,
“there was nothing else to be done.”
Johan sipped the coffee slowly, and closed his eyes.
“I tried...”
a tear slowly slid down one cheek, “I tried so hard.”

Chapter 1

2008-01-15T14:03:00.000-08:00

The thick, rose coloured clouds slowly rolled across Mark's vision, lethargy encasing his limbs as he struggled after the half glimpsed figure drifting steadily away from him into the mist. “Wait!” his cry shattered the stillness, “please, stop!” tears were streaming down his face as his mind cried out one desperate need again and again 'I must know who she is!' Of course it was a she, he was sure of that but everything else was obscured by he fog. Then just as his leaden limbs slowly began to disregard his desperate mental commands, the thickening clouds threw back a haunting echo: 'Rose'

She is Rose.

1. What a Find
The demanding keen of the emergency deceleration alarm blew away the clouds and launched Mark back towards wakefulness a fraction of a second before he was hurled from his bunk, his body making a meaty thud as it slammed into the steel decking. The shock of such a sudden awakening stopped any reaction to the pain of the collision more sophisticated than a dull grunt. It however did serve to sufficiently clear the cobwebs from his sleep addled mind for a stab of concern to push itself to the forefront of his consciousness. 'Whats going on?' and close on it's heels, 'Why has the ship stopped?'
“Miranda, whats going on?” Mark voice was sharp over the intercom,
“Not sure yet Cap” replied the distracted pilot. Her hands flew desperately over the keyboard trying to discover just why the autopilot cut power to the ship's wormhole generator.
“Looks like some kind of proximity alert” she suggested in a puzzled voice, “real close... and big, some kind of asteroid I think.”
“A what?!?”, Mark stiffened disbelievingly, “an asteroid? Thats crazy!”
“Well thats what it appears to be sir, high metal content, no active electronic syste-” her voice trailed off,
“Miranda? Whats going on?” Mark asked nervously,
“Sir I've just started reading massive amounts of electronic activity, it looks like... a... ship?” the disbelief showed in her tone, “We're being hailed sir.”
Marks facial expressions whirled through confusion to disbelief and finally to determined calm, “Sir?”
As he grabbed his pants and began to carefully pull them on, wincing at the bruises that he had already begun to feel from his rude awakening, Mark ordered,
“Ok Miranda, I'm coming to you now, wait till I'm there to accept the connection.”,
“Sir”, came her curt reply, accompanied by a short beep as the intercom connection was cut.
In his rush to reach the bridge, Mark was careful to think about how he was moving; placing his feet slowly, and not pushing off too hard. In the low gravity that existed aboard the Ventura even such a simple activity as walking required careful planning. He was told that generally you got used to it after a few days, but two months into his latest tour of duty and Mark still had to focus to avoid bashing himself on walls or door frames as he navigated his way around the ship. The first week he felt like an overripe banana and was still rarely without a good bruise or two, a fact that provided no end of entertainment to the crew- though mostly behind his back.
Rounding the final corner before the bridge, Mark saw Miranda's head bobbing around just above ground level as she monitored the ships systems from the pilot's sunken console. Her head turned as she heard his boots clunking against the steel deck, then at his nod she accepted the hail and posted it to the main viewscreen. A black square appeared in center view and green text began to scroll across,
“Magnify it lieutenant”, she complied, and Mark began to read the message,
“Its nothing sir, just computer jargon”
Mark was about to agree when the text ceased printing and the last three words caught his attention: 'automated distress call'. The square disappeared and was replaced by a haggard looking man with thinning blonde hair. On each shoulder of a creased uniform he had 2 grimy looking stars, announcing his rank of captain. Staring straight out of the screen he began to speak in a weary monotone.
“Greetings, I am Captain Johan Walker of the Bright Hope” - Mark's heart leaped in his chest - “the current date is 24th September 2480. I am requesting emergency assistance from any ship that receives this message. The Bright Hope is finally running out of juice and we have sustained severe damage to our solar panels and so are unable to replace it fast enough. In short we're dead in the water. In fact we can barely spare the power required to keep this emergency beacon active so I'll have to be quick and direct. Our engineers have exhausted every possibility for survival bar one: long term hibernation. We have managed to scrounge together enough materials to provide hibernation support for 3000 of the crew and passengers. Unfortunately that leaves some 400 of us out in the cold, regardless this seems to be our best and only hope. According to our calculations, the solar panels should still provide enough power to keep these sleepers alive for some 100 years which may just be long enough for help to arrive. Of course thats assuming that long term hibernation is even possible, all our knowledge on the subject is purely theoretical.” at this he looked down and heaved a pain filled sigh, “Should anyone ever receive this message, please, help those of us who may have survived.”,
he straightened his head again and for just a second Mark saw a glimmer of fire in his eyes.
'This is a man of extraordinary strength who has been pushed to the very edge' he thought,
“Please, we need your help... Captain Walker. Out.” he snapped a smart salute that belied his weary state, then reached forward to terminate the recording. The screen went black.
Silence. For a moment neither Mark nor Miranda spoke. Then,
“Did he say...” Miranda's voice trailed off as her mouth worked soundlessly, displaying her shock
“He did.” confirmed Mark, “the Bright Hope... what a find.”

Welcome!

2008-01-13T17:16:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the "She is Rose" blog!

Due to the restructuring of J-Walk (more to come on that later, see www.ccecyouth.com sometime in the next month or so for details), She is Rose will be posted here monthly as well as in J-Walk. In fact if I have a fit of writing fervour it may occasionally be more often.

Please feel free to comment / suggest / speculate / argue over any
of the chapters! Fair warning though, I've already got a pretty good idea of the direction the story is going so most suggestions will more than likely be ignored. Don't let that discourage you from trying though!