Reanimated_Terminal Misery

  AREANIMATED

  Book I

  TERMINAL MISERY

  By Jon State

  “Original and modified cover art by NaCDS and CoverDesignStudio.com”

  ‘Time is an illusion created by man, envision the possibilities but live the moment—breath and awaken.’

  Catalino Vega

  Disclosure

  The names, places, and characters in this novel are a work of fiction. No one person has inspired any character. No situation was used from any known individual.

  Chapter 1

  Lystra

  Lystra, International Space Station

  July 26, 2065

  Samuel glided into the hatch, arched his body into another narrow corridor, and pushed off the gym, yet into another tube. His practiced hands and eyes were dexterously maneuvering through the cramped space. The cumbersome emergency oxygen helmet adding to the pall that hung between each connection. A can of Foam-Plug hung loosely on his hip. He hoped this would be a quick fix. He had a vid-chat planed with his family at 1100 hours. An undetected meteoroid had penetrated the tech room and needed to be sealed.

  “You doing alright there, space jokey?” a man in a throaty Russian accent asked.

  “Yup. I got used to up being down, and vice versa, a long time ago in zero G, Franco,” Samuel said, his voice echoing in his helmet.

  "Sam's a show-off. You know that.” A woman with a heavy Latin accent said over COM.

  “Eat your heart out, Eva. I am this good, and you know it. I'm here to save the day while both of you sit nice and perky in your heated bunks,” he said chuckling. “Okay, securing rear hatch.” He left the COM open, and they could hear his shallow breathing. "Shit, I'll need the spill kit. I have a hydraulic leak here,” he said.

  “I’m on my way, Sam,” a man in a southern drawl said. “Do you need the vacuum?

  “Affirmative. It’s a support line. We’ll let Franco and Eva gather the cleanup box and get to work.”

  “Oh no, space cowboy. You volunteered, so I’ll get you the sanitation box, and you clean the mess," Eva said and laughed.

  “Do I have to pull rank here, Lieutenant,” Sam said, suppressing a laugh himself.

  “You can pull rank all you want. But not when it comes to sanitation.”

  Sam grunted as he worked panels away. “I sense mutiny in the vacuum of space,” Sam teased.

  Yes, we mutiny to clean oil for certain," Franco said.

  “Sam, pressurizing half-hatch,” Tom said. “See me, brother?”

  "Roger that." Sam put down another panel. "Found it," he called out and contorted his weightless body to get a better look at the damage. " The good news is, the projectile stopped when it hit the steel pipe; the bad news is oil is surrounding the puncture, and I can't seal it yet. Tom, I have ten on O2 remaining?”

  “Negative, that’s not enough time. Come out and use my mask,”

  “No need. I’ll do a quick swap. Put your helmet in with the tools,” Sam said, peering down the hatch at Tom.

  “You’ll lose quite’a bit of O2 that way, my friend?” Tom said.

  “No worries—I got this,” he said, giving Tom a double okay with both hands. He heard a chime. The panel light went from red to green. He opened the hatch and retrieved the tools, and watched the extra helmet drifted out. He caught it before it spun away.

  He used a hand-vac to siphon lingering hydraulic fluid—little black marbles that spun in wayward directions.

  “Warning, oxygen level at five percent,” intoned a friendly female voice in Sam’s ear.

  Sam squeezed Tom’s helmet between his thighs and reached for the actuators besides his helmet. He took a deep breath, and in one swift movement exchanged helmets. A refreshing swish was heard across the COM signal, as oxygen spit across his head. The spandex silicone melded to the skin around his neck.

  “You good?” Tom gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Yup, like warming up moon pie,” Sam mimicked Tom’s accent.

  Sam cleansed the hydraulic smeared puncture, then foamed it, cutting away the excess foam, then used a patch that clung to the foam like armor.

  “Franco, can you pressurize the compartment so I can clean up this mess.”

  “Copy that.”

  Sam heard the compartment’s pumps whine to life.

  Tom entered the hatch holding two oxygen bottles he’d retrieved from another compartment in case Sam ran into any trouble. “You know, I’m the cowboy in this outfit, right,” Tom said, eying Sam.

  “C’mon. You know there’s not much to it.”

  "Pure O2 intake over CO2 exchange can leave you lightheaded or make you sick and then you'd be breathin’ in digestive liquids,” Tom said, watching Sam wipe oil droplets off a chair, ignoring his reasoning.

  "I swear, you're the worrier of the bunch. We've been in this tin can for six months; some excitement breaks up the monotony."

  “Correction. You’ve been here for six months. We’re going on nine months and going home in five days,” Tom said, gliding back through the hatch.

  “Yeah, well, Lystra and I have become pals, and we will have fun either way,” Sam said.

  Lystra had grown to half the size of the moon, her constant growth a sign of the growing need to keep a vigilant eye in space for signs of alien activity, among other things. The Bisonon aliens that had visited Earth fifteen years earlier had been silent all this time, but the USC and its partners took no chances. Space had become a busy place as humans redoubled their efforts at conquering their solar system.

  Sam would have the metal giant all to himself for a few days while the exchange took place. They’d drop thirty-two and send a comparable amount of astronauts, along with fresh supplies and further projects. Sam would return to Earth with completed projects in three months.

  **********************************

  A few hours later, Sam pulled himself down the shaft that barely allowed one soul. He maneuvered around supply bags and items he still couldn't identify. The shaft ended in a transparent bubble. Sam reached for a handle and flipped to a sitting position. This see-through wonder was his favorite spot because it felt as if you were sitting amid space, overlooking Earth, like a god surveying his domain. Everyone called it The Eye.

  He missed Angela, the kids, and Boston, his golden retriever. Sam celebrated his forty-fifth birthday before coming aboard. Angela had already grown used to having him around and indeed minded when he accepted another mission. She’d had enough after the Mars project, which lasted more than a year. NASA said they were desperate, since Captain Mazer had caught a bug, and most other captains were recovering from their last mission. NASA and other space agencies were expanding space exploration beyond Mars. The programs developed faster than training competent astronauts. Space was a sinister place for human anatomy, allowing for only short periods of exposure, followed by an extended recovery.

  He promised Angela that he’d hang up his space boots after this one. She’d seemed pretty melancholic at the airport. Her misty eyes lingered in his mind’s eye, her face as beautiful as the day they’d met.

  “Missing your family, Sam?” Eva said, from above The Eye.

  He regarded her with his eyes only. “Yes, I do—very much—but there is something else. This is my last mission and I feel the loss already. No matter how many times I tried to convince Angela that this is only a job, she senses my attachment to space, to something most would consider prison time.

  "I know what you mean. This is my last mission, too. Puerto Rico has limited resources for space exploration," Eva said, gliding to his side.

  Sam noticed her sugar brown skin and large chocolate eyes. Her Indian-Spanish heritage made her look exotic. “Do you miss home?�
�

  “What an odd question. You need to visit. The United Treaty of 2050 turned ‘mi islita’ into a true vacation paradise. I used to teach engineering at the University of Puerto Rico, and I loved it. I think it’s time to go back, but I will miss space, though,” she said, her eyes settling on the lazy planet below.”

  “I might take you up on that. Angela would love it.”

  “Then you are my quest, and I will show you the loveliest places, and give you some privacy, too,” she said smiling.”

  “You better.”

  Silence fell over the orb, as they both surveyed the cloudy, blue planet below them.

  Sam would miss this, but he’d had such great experiences these past fifteen years. He’d met Angela following a two-year divorce standoff, and life had been grand ever since, living one day at a time. Despite his age, he still felt just as invigorated as when he was twenty, but mirrors told no lies. He’d had seven missions and had commanded the last three, which included his Mission to Mars.

  From here, he could sense God's hand spinning the mighty sphere. It was the peace of space he’d miss the most. The only other time he could feel like this was when he went scuba-diving or when he skydived.

  According to reports from NASA's NET, the bizarre worldwide weather kept disrupting everyday activities throughout the globe. They said the conditions would gradually pass, but so far they held. Sam noticed the abnormal cloud formation. An immense swirling cloud crawled across a quarter of the planet. “I thought that was a hurricane, but NASA says it’s a paradox, an immense cloud that’s hell bent on causing havoc to communications.

  “Yes, I had to look it up as well.”

  "The news is saying it's the first global storm in recorded history. They also said temperatures had dropped up to twenty degrees in some places."

  “In Puerto Rico, we are not used to anything colder than sixty-five degrees. My mother said she's wearing a sweater and it’s mid-summer.”

  “I hope this doesn’t affect your landing.”

  “Houston said it doesn’t matter much for our landing. Hope it doesn’t delay our replacements and supplies from coming up,” Eva said, giving him a quick glance.

  “I hope not. I ordered those new apple pie pastries NASA just approved. that would suck.” He felt his mood darken. To help, he tried to muster Angela's image, wondering what she and the kids were up to.

  Below, sparks of brilliant-white light disrupted the cloud's murky tint. Sam had never seen anything quite that large. It made him feel uneasy.

  Chapter 2

  Abortive

  Manta Ecuador, Rosa Mountains

  July 31, 2065

  The planetarium's 4-D reflectors displayed Earth hovering lazily above the projectors. The planet hid amid massive, swirling clouds.

  “Incoming call, David. It is Reed Cassavas,” his artificial intelligence device, or AID, said in a business-like manner. “He states it is an urgent matter, sir.”

  "I'll take the call, scramble ASCii2."

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  The doctor pressed behind his ear to activate the link. "Yes, Reed, what's going on?"

  “David, no one else is coming. Ecuador has shut down their airports,” Reed said, his tone grave.

  “We’re monitoring most feeds down here, but there are too many for us to handle,” David said, making sure no one was close enough to listen in.

  “Globally, there’s a lot going on, but they just made the determination. It’ll be on the news shortly.”

  “Damn it,” David muttered. “We’ll hold off as long as we can. There are fifteen hundred people left to claim pods.”

  “I know. I’ll see what I can do to persuade the authorities to open a window for our people. I’ll see if the Secretary can intervene, especially since he’s stranded, too.”

  “Do everything you can, my friend. Things are deteriorating fast, and we're short an entire leadership group, not to mention, civilians and children."

  “I’ll be in contact.”

  “Signal terminated on callers end. Would you like to listen to some soothing music, Doctor?”

  “No. Go to slumber mode.”

  “As you wish,” the AID said.

  David went back to his terminal, noticing how others scrutinized his movement. They wanted reassurances he couldn't provide. He turned to them slowly. "As you can see, these events are not random. The time, unfortunately, is drawing closer. We have pleaded with leaders throughout the globe to move as many people as possible to underground installations, or to alert the public so they may seek appropriate shelter," David said, eyeing them through tired eye sockets. He wore round, thick spectacles, which magnified his fatigue.

  “We should keep trying, David,” a woman with dark, sad eyes said.

  “Dr. Douglas sent a detailed package to several news agencies. He was picked up this morning from his hotel room in Manta by two uniformed men. That is why we are staying underground for the duration,” David said, eying the crowded room.

  “So this is it?” a tall blond woman said.”

  “I’m afraid so, Susan.”

  “How about the others—the children, the civilians—and the physical items, like all the artwork? We are mostly scientists, engineers, and facility personnel.”

  “We have sent out the alert. Unfortunately, the storms are disrupting the skies. Ground transit is the only method of Transportation, and even that's risky. The thunderstorms are unlike anything anyone has ever witnessed. They think it will pass when, in truth, it has come earlier than predicted," David said, noticing the gloom that prevailed throughout the room. It was almost palpable as if everyone wanted to say something, but the truth was too hard to accept—Earth was dying.

  "Dr. Spencer, I want the chambers prepped and ready. Use as many personnel as you need," David said, then spun to face a stocky man. "Polis, did you do another the headcount?"

  “Yes, we have accounted for 1,223 members, sir.

  No one had slept much during the past forty-eight hours. Most kept as busy as possible, so as not to consider what those dear to them faced in their respective cities. Despite not revealing the particulars of the project, everyone had to sign a contract. One clause in the contract stated—in bold—that they would probably never see their families again.

  Two days ago, category five tornadoes had ripped a new highway across North America, leaving the country stunned. Hawaii's Kilauea Island erupted, leaving the entire region in a blanket of dark ash. A massive tsunami ripped through Japan, and the Russian territory remained under a fierce snowstorm that spanned the whole continent.

  “We'll prepare 1,300 chambers for any late arrivals. I know this has broadsided everyone and you’re all exhausted, but…” He swept the room with a determined gaze. “I need everyone focused. I assure you, life will go on—there will be time to rest later.

  David's terminal began emitting an intermittent beep. He eyed his terminal and struck a few light keys, silencing it. He looked up at them, trying to keep fear from his eyes, due to what he saw on his screen. “I know our loved ones and friends are up-top, but we have been tasked to see this project through for the preservation of our kind. We will prevail, my friends and colleagues,” he said, pausing at each familiar face with his weary, clouded eyes. He nodded, and everyone returned to their tasks. The room enlivened by their renewed efforts.

  Chapter 3

  Forsaken

  Lystra, International Space Station

  August 2, 2065

  “What’s the word, Houston?”

  A minute's delay, and a few crackles later, Sam received a response. "Sam, sig— is faltering. Sit tight— Weather's worse— We—unable—launch Callisto. Www—" Silence ensued, followed by a piercing shriek.

  “Signal lost, Captain,” the computer said calmly.

  “Keep trying to reestablish a link, Gina.”

  “Captain, comlink window dissipating in twenty-four minutes.” Gina squinted with her holographic eyes.”

&n
bsp; “Understood. Keep at it.”

  Sam’s mood had grown dark, like the cancerous planet below. His teammates had left on schedule because landing presented only minor risks, while taking off from Earth, in its present condition, remained impossible. The storms enveloping Earth had grown worse. The last news feed Sam had received reported mega storms, various tsunamis, and scattered earthquakes, all occurring in the same instance.

  The visual-link was down, but at least Houston could get audio to work, if only in fragments. He had saved the last few feeds from Earth, due to the warning-vibe he’d felt. Houston assured him everything was under control, but the extreme atmospheric disturbances and unstable ground spoke for themselves—some catastrophic event was taking place.

  He prayed for his children, his Angela, his family, and his friends since weather.org reported a massive hurricane heading towards Florida's east coast. He'd spent the last forty-eight hours staring at static and those dreaded images. He felt so useless as he sat there safe, while everyone's fate was uncertain. Why did I accept this mission? I promised myself and Angela that I was done, he thought, strangling back tears. Sam vouched to end his space venture permanently upon his return, no matter how hard NASA begged. Space was for the young, and just about now he felt very old.

  Sam glided to the nearest port and stared at his reflection, slowly his image gave way to the unnatural cloud cover around the planet. He’d never felt alone, didn’t even know why so many people were so affected by solitude. Sam new some feelings meant insecurity and insecurities in space could get people killed, but the sensation he’d begun to perceive felt unnatural to him, like the instant shock that holds a person right before having an accident. Despair permeated his entire body and mind, yet he could do nothing about it. He felt like a hamster in a tube-cage, and his benefactors weren’t coming to fill his water bottle or his pellet tray anytime soon.