Chapter 4 – Enter Harvest
Deployment +170 Hours:00 Minutes:01 Seconds (First Lieutenant Banga Mission Clock)/
CMA Argo exiting slipstream space—arrival at Harvest
Revived; Stimulated...Barely. Cold and unnaturally dry.
Miniature ice crystals were pent up around the edges of Brad's waking vision, slowly retracting towards the periphery, and then evaporating. He could feel his extremities. His sight was on-off-on-off. Eyelids flickered and cheek muscles quivered. Now he was awake—thawed out so to speak. He wiggled his joints a few times to reacquaint with the sensation and felt the blood rush once again.
A transparent wall was heaved upward by servo motors, revealing the cryostasis deck in front of him. He laid there at ease, knowing his weakness as wisps of fog hung stagnant in the air around him. After a few minutes he clumsily pushed himself up and out of his cryotube, dragging some of the mist with him. He took a look around as if something might have changed while he was in dreamland. Nothing had. Nothing but green LEDs on all the monitors—heart rate, respiratory, alpha patterns—all good. No setbacks.
He proceeded to supervise the automated wake up sequences for his crew and immediately sensed something was wrong. He could feel something bubbling deep inside him, making him lurch forward. He had the wall monitors in sight, but they grew hazy. He tried to approach them with an outstretched arm, accomplished about two steps, and was thrown forward by a sharp gag reflex. He tried not to fall as he doubled over at the waist, coughing until a clear string of fluid stretched to the deck from his open mouth.
No one ever looked forward to this part of cryogenic stasis. The bronchial-surfactant protein complex simultaneously cleaned and infused vital nutrients into the digestive and respiratory tract during prolonged periods of hibernation.
He tried to take his first full breath in one week as he stood hunched over, watching the mucus-like colloid seep into the deck.
He got dressed, wiped up the mess, and prepared a high-protein meal and once ready, strode to the command deck. He stepped down ladders, crawled through tights hatches, and rounded sharp corners. Carbon-dioxide scrubbers, temperature rheostats, and high-voltage power supplies hummed and submersed the hull in a well of radiating loneliness.
He sat down and took a deep breath, taking a moment aside and made a conscious effort to feel his extremities again. They felt good, but still sluggish. They always did after cryosleep. When the body was cooled to these absolute temperatures, the nerve endings receded further into the body in accordance with basic laws of nature—cool equals condense and hot equals expanse. Lately, his nerves were on edge…no pun intended. So it felt good to move around and experience a dulled perception of sensation.
He sat down, logged in to the ship's onboard computer, and recalled his electronic portfolio—his mission and its objectives. He bent his head lower so an optical receiver could scan his retinal signature. Pulse lasers picked up tiny blood vessels behind his retina and sent an equivalent binary-encoded serial bit stream to the security buffer. Once his true identity was confirmed, a safe was unlocked. He opened the miniature vault under the console and pulled from it a translucent tabulate with strange markings. As instructed, he set the material atop an optical character scanner. He let the electronics take over and looked up and out the front view port. The black void of slipspace was gone, as he anticipated. A splash of stars were thrown about the black velvet of space, glittering and twinkling with business. They were his only companions for the moment.
Dufraine was apparently the next to be revived.
"Hey, Brad," he greeted. "Sleep good?"
"Sleep was fine. It's the waking up part I'm still having trouble with."
"Got that right, man." He eased his stance and leaned up against the side bulkhead, placing a bent arm over his head to catch his weight while his hips relaxed. "What's going on here?"
"Just making preparations for the final jump."
"Final jump? You mean we're not at Harvest yet?"
"No. I've been instructed to stop at a pre-determined distance from Harvest, wake the crew, then make the final jump."
"Why?"
"I don't ask. I just follow. But my guess would be so that we don't jump right into range of Harvest and then wake up."
"That's a good take on it. Cautious. So we don't wake up face to face with some aliens."
"BINGO."
"But why not send a battle group under some gung-ho captain out here. I still can't figure out...why us?"
"Think about it from the big picture, from HighComm's picture. Better to send a single scout crew instead of a battle group, right? Better to lose one small ship and one small crew rather than half a fleet, huh?"
"Wow. I never thought of it like that before. You have a military mind."
"Don't say that. I'm trying to avoid anything military at all costs, or at least have been trying to. Now this."
"Eh, I guess I'm just better thinking about details."
"You sure are and that's where we need you."
"So why would anyone want to wipe out Harvest. It's not a military zone. It's one of those 'prospect' colonies. The more I think about it, the less likely these so-called aliens are hostile."
"Okay then, why don't you tell the higher-ups that? I'm sure they'd care what you would have to say in the matter." He turned from Dufraine and placed his attention back to the equipment.
As usual, nothing much fazed Dufraine. "So what are we waiting for? HighComm's blessing?"
"We're waiting on Selonke to confirm the coordinates."
"Speak of the devil."
"I'm gonna hunt down the man who invented that wake up juice," grunted Selonke as he strode into the cockpit.
Dufraine moved out of his way. "Sleep good too?"
"Yeah right. Okay then, let's do it," Selonke said as he crashed down into the navigator's chair. "Loading in coordinates. Authenticating…processed. We're good. We can make the jump, Brad."
"Shortly. I want everyone here for a briefing first."
Dufraine spoke into the wall-mounted intercom and his voice resonated through the ship. "Everyone, to the bridge."
While the rest of the crew was busy shaking off the lethargy of deep sleep, Brad reflected once more before it was time to hit the grindstone. He bent his head lower to the console and he thought about his last words with his wife. No...
Last words wasn't the right thing to say. He would surely see her again, no matter what happened. He'd be there for her. He remembered how he'd sometimes just lay in bed with her, before his career took off as a pilot, just doing...nothing. Things were simpler then and they lived a life without any doubt. What happened to those days? He had to relive them again. He had to get through this deployment. Then he thought of his crew. They had to be going through the same thing, but they sure as hell didn't show it...just like him.
"Sir, they're all here," Dufraine whispered over Banga's shoulder.
Banga swiveled in his chair to face the men.
"This is it. One final jump and we're in Harvest. Anyone have anything to say?"
After a brief pause, "Just wanna say that it's been a great ten years," Selonke started. "We've been through a lot, you know. We've had some pretty scary times, but we've always made it home. This last ten years has been like…playing with fire and not getting burned. If we can make it through ten years of bombing, we can get through this."
A kind of silent understanding drifted among them.
Pryor shifted his stance. "If there's any crew out there for this, it's us. That's why we're here; because they know we can pull through, whatever the outcome. Hell," he said as he slapped a hand against a bulkhead. "This baby alone will get us through."
"Anyone else?"
Everyone stood at a finagled parade rest with their hands clasped behind their backs. Brahm stared back with nothing in his eyes. Holmes stood firmly in place, simply ready to do the job. Pryor and Selonke already spoke their peace, and Dufraine was just as casual as ever with that same old twig in his mouth.
There was nothing more to be said, really. They knew each other well. They were ready and they each held in their own apprehensions under the surface.
"No matter what happens out there, we're a team. We'll pull through. For this mission. For the CMA. For our families."
Banga spun back around in his chair to face the cockpit. "Countdown to normal space: T minus fifteen seconds. Everyone to your stations," he ordered.
Banga read the countdown. :10
He prayed everything would be alright—just a mix-up. :09
Not for just the crew and their families. :07
There was much more at stake. :06
The fate of all Humanity. :01
:00
"Alright, Selonke," Brad began, "Get hardware and software systems ready to transition to atmospheric parameters for the moment we're ready to descend. I want a seamless transition." Brad then swiveled his chair to give himself a straight look at his co-pilot and navigator. "And make sure it's a covert trajectory."
He swiveled back.
"Well, we're here." Selonke told him.
But Brad didn't reply. Selonke glanced at him. The mission commander just stared ahead.
"We'll get through this quick, Brad. Don't worry."
Selonke then spoke into the ship's internal comm.. "Everyone: We've arrived at Harvest." He looked up through the view port, saw Harvest. It didn't look much like the Harvest they saw in MISSION PLANNING back at Reach. It must be some heavy solar wind distorting the view or something. He looked back down at his equipment and threw on his glasses. "Running exit diagnostics for slip space drives. Sending exit coordinates back to Rea—"
He stopped himself short and realized what he just saw—what Brad was staring at.
His heart skipped a beat and adrenaline raced through his cold blood. His eyes widened. He stared at Harvest—looked to Brad—back to Harvest.
"Oh. My. God."