XIII
*NOTE – Hi everyone, it's me, TheManFromMudos, and I'm here today to bring you another chapter of 'Xena'. It's been a while since I've spoken to you in this fashion, mostly because I've been hammering through the chapters over the last few weeks. This weekend, though, I've had a little more time, so here I am talking to you now, and I'm pleased to announce that the statistics for last month are in. Only twenty-eight days after the first chapter was published, Xena has already totaled 4,063 views and 1,079 visitors. That's my highest month on record by a longshot! So, I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who has read the story so far, and to everyone who has given me advice along the way. Anyway, here is chapter thirteen, and I'm sorry, but it's filler again (Get used to it!) So, read on, and as always, enjoy. It's 'Xena'. THANK YOU!*
With the knowledge I required now in my possession, I got up to leave the room, and go back to my quarters before dinner.
"Oh, Matthew," Nathan began as I was about to open the door. "Before you go, I've got the results from your hypersleep test. 96%. Great score, mate."
"Thanks." I said, feigning interest. Honestly, the hypersleep test was the last thing on my mind right now.
"Yeah, it was almost perfect, actually," He continued, handing me my fully marked paper. "Only thing that let you down was Question 13: Name three Jovian moons whose names begin with 'C'. You put 'Callisto, Carpo and Clitheroe."
"Well, what's wrong with that?" I said, flicking through the booklet. Nathan sighed and shook his head from side to side.
"Clitheroe, for your information, is a small town in the Northwest of England." He explained.
"Oh, I've been there!" I exclaimed, thinking back. Suddenly, I found myself reminiscing. I remembered good old England: good old Earth. Back before I worked for Ashbridge Industries. And now that Nathan mentioned it, I did seem to remember the sleepy town of Clitheroe.
"I know you have," Nathan said, interrupting my nostalgic thoughts. "I used to live there. You came over for Jane's thirtieth, remember?"
"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" I nodded. "I'm sure there's a moon called Clitheroe, though."
"I'm guessing the name you were looking for is Callirhoe," He replied, correcting my mistake. "Other acceptable answers were Carme, Chaldene and Cyllene. Other than that, you got full marks. Well done."
Looking down at the incorrect question, I folded the booklet up and tucked it under my arm. I thanked Nathan for taking the time to mark it, and he assured me as I left that one incorrect answer was not enough to prove that hypersleep caused memory loss. In fact, he remarked that "If there was anything to worry about, we'd know about it by now." Anyway, paper in one hand, gun in the other, I walked out of the room, and strolled around to my living quarters, ensuring that the door was securely locked as I went in. The time was now 3:14, giving me about two hours to kill before meal time rolled around.
Slumping into my desk chair, I picked up a random video tape from the pile of clutter before me. The one I found bore the words: 'News: 14/05/2317-27/08/2317'. I asked Archie to pull up a monitor so that I could watch it. He did, and I slid the chunky cassette into the VCR which was built in to the device. The screen flickered to life, displaying a string of binary code as the system booted up. When it finally had, I heard the familiar theme of the Dysomnian News Network, one of the most popular news broadcasters in the solar system. As I continued to watch, the female presenter began to announce the news.
"Good evening," She said, fondling a stack of papers on the desk in front of her, "It's Thursday the 14th of May, and you're watching the Dysomnian News Network. Tonight: Are dogs becoming extinct? As less and less dogs are being allowed aboard spacecraft due to quarantine concerns, the Endangered Species Committee of the Solar System have expressed concerns that the dog population on Earth is dwindling. The RSPCA of Great Britain announced that last year alone, they received over two million reports of dogs which had been left in their homes as their owners traveled overspace."
"In other news," The woman continued, putting the first piece of paper from the stack to one side, "The Montreal Technical Association revealed last week that they were in the process of adding up the results from their Name-a-Ship competition, which they hosted last November. The company says they received over 237,000 entries from members of the public, but the winning name, with over 16 million votes, came from a Navigational Officer Matthew Jones, of the United Kingdom, Earth."
"That's me!" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering that I had entered the competition. "That was my suggestion!"
"Jones' suggestion for the name of the ship was the Survey, Seeding, Study and Supply Ship 'Solomon-Salvador-Simpkins' of the Sovereign States of the Solar System. However, the MTA ruled that due to the length of this name, and it's completely alliterative nature, the entry should be disqualified." I sighed, burying my face in my hands. Even though I had originally intended to enter the competition as a joke, I was slightly upset that my suggestion had been disqualified. And after it won, too! The announcer then went on to say that the 4 million dollarpound prize would go to the runner-up, from Fazestonia, Io.
"And finally," The announcer concluded, "Reports of rising tension between the Indo-Japanese colonies of Haumea and the Anglo-Mandarin settlements of Pluto confirm suspicions that the two minor planets could soon be at war. This news comes after a previous alliance between the factions fell apart when discussing ownership of the dwarf planet Makemake, which lies between the orbits of the two celestial bodies. The Anglo-Mandarin ambassador said that Pluto was 'prepared to take Makemake by force if necessary', however the Indo-Japanese ambassador declined to comment at this juncture."
After that, the woman said 'goodnight', and the outro theme played, before looping back immediately to the start of the next broadcast. I sighed, and leaned back in my chair. There was over three month's worth of broadcasts on this tape alone. But still, I sat there and watched that entire tape, to the very end, by which time it was almost 5:00. Mealtime. Whether we were safe to eat or not was questionable, particularly for Ryan, who was cooking that evening, and so would be floating between rooms with trays and plates and whatnot. Nevertheless, Alan had decided it was safe enough, and who was I to question the judgment of a man who had literally shit himself the first time he'd traveled overspace? Exactly, no-one.
Despite the wide variety of topical conversations that we could have partaken in during dinner, there was scarcely a word spoken. Everyone was tense, not just because we'd lost two crew members that day, but because none of us knew who was going to go next. As I snacked on the quite badly-cooked frozen pizza that Ryan had taken the liberty of preparing for us, I myself wondered who the Xenomorph's next victim could be. Nathan? Alan? ME? The chances of all of us surviving the sixteen-month journey back to Earth were infinitesimally small. In fact, based on the current rate of death, we'd all be gone within two more days. This thought was chilling, but it continued to bother me for the rest of my meal.
Eventually, everyone had finished their meals, and Ryan cleared our trays away in silence. It wasn't until after this that Alan finally broke the gloomy atmosphere in the room. Well, I say broke the gloomy atmosphere, but in truth, he merely built upon it. He told us that it was going to take a lot more effort than we first thought to hunt these things down. Clearly, our current struggle was simply not enough. I asked if there were any more weapons in storage, any at all.
"Actually…" He said, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on the table, "There may be a couple of experimental weapons in safe storage."
"Perfect." I replied. "Let's use those."
"Wait a minute, Jones," Alan began, shaking his head. "Experimental weapons are… well, experimental. The danger involved in operating such weapons is astronomical."
"Oh, right. I didn't realise that we might be in danger(!)" I said sarcastically.
"Matthew's right, Alan." Nathan told his superior officer. It was a rare moment when a fellow crew member stood by my side against Alan. "No matter what we do, we're all in danger anyway. Might as well break out the experimental weapons."
After a few more minutes of pressing Alan, he eventually agreed to give us access to the experimental weapons in safe storage. He simply couldn't argue with our reasoning. Whether we took the weapons or not, we were in danger, but at least if we had them, we'd have a slightly higher chance of survival. So, once the clock had reached 5:30, and our mealtime was officially over, Alan escorted us upstairs, leading us to 'safe storage', a dingy little secret storage room behind the mail room. As we stood outside to cover him, he stepped into the room, which in truth was little more than a cupboard. A couple of minutes later, he came back out, laden with a handful of large and highly dangerous-looking weapons.
"Alright," He began, holding the weapons out for us to grab. "Do these tickle your fancy?"