Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness by James Gerard (best romantic novels in english TXT) 📖

Ignition

Timothy was suspended, silent, floating before the wheel and observed the light show.  He quickly discovered that by focusing and holding the eyes motionless, freezing the impulse to blink, the colors blended into a kaleidoscope like spectacular of ever changing hues and shapes.  He smiled at the sight of the colors mixing, separating, and overlapping in cycles of greenish and reddish and bluish hazes each lasting but a moment in time.

 

The smile broadened, froze in position as thoughts of the journey ahead stirred within the mind.  The many eyes of others watching would soon be a memory in time.  And as far as he was concerned, his once futile existence would wither and the zeal for life would blossom in his new world set apart from the old.

 

Timothy looked to the computer terminal, observed a display pulsing the current time, which signaled the need to secure his body for the launch.

 

He glided away from the colorful glow of the terrarium to the reality of the corridor, which offered only a view of static plastic walls absorbing the white light from above.  Though it appeared to be a safe setting, he was well aware that on the other side of the sterile, plastic sheathing was the cold, hard shell of the exterior.  Exposed to the harsh environment of space, the outer shell was vulnerable to penetration by foreign objects, tearing the skin with violent jabs, inflicting painful gashes, and leaving scars that would forever be reminders of violent forces.

 

With one hand wrapped around a support, the other securing a firm grip of the pressure door, he rotated around to the view of the garden and closed the surreal image from sight.

 

Maneuvering through the sleeping chamber, he made sure both doors were securely shut, then secured them so as not to avoid a scolding, but rather as a precaution against the violent force of the engines.  Once fired, they would release their pent up power.  The engines would thrust the ship forward with a force.  Robert told him the force would shake and quiver the ship like a frightened child terrorized by shadows of demons lurking in the bedroom, poised to devour once the parents were fast asleep.

 

The mid-deck’s chair, with its net of belts and straps to restrain movement of limbs and torso, waited to pin him down.  He pulled himself onto the chair, tugged the belts and straps as tight as possible over ankles, thighs, waist, and chest in an attempt to simulate the comfortable sensation of gravity pushing him into the chair’s cushion.

 

Safely nestled, Timothy gazed at the multitude of stars and wondered if any blue planets secretly orbited the brilliant orbs of light.  He imagined what it would be like to live on a planet where he would stand out.  Different, he thought.  Strange.

 

Remembering childhood moments, Timothy wondered if they would be like what state sanctioned writers of science fiction stories and movie scripts had depicted in their vivid and strange imaginations.

 

He thought if the life forms he would encounte might be in the form of intelligent creatures that had evolved from reptiles or plants or insects.  Maybe they would appear in an energy form, possible void of matter, able to transform themselves into pleasing images to foreign aliens around them.

 

Pale, brown, tan, green, blue, yellow, purple skin?  The color of their blood—if they had blood?  One eye, two, three, no eyes, or maybe the ability to see with their minds?  Do they have noses on their faces—maybe two or three or four or they take in air through pores?

 

Do they have heads, bodies, one leg, five arms, an extra heart, kidney, the ability to absorb energy by consuming matter through a mouth, an orifice in their limbs?  Do their young hatch or gestate?  Do they cultivate their young?

 

Eyelids dropped while waves of comfort washed away the pangs of hidden tension throughout the body.  And what of their society? he thought.  Do they have a government?  Is their society structured economically with a system of selling and trading goods?  Do they have a monetary system using paper money?  Do they use precious minerals and metals that are exchanged between nations, states, or communities?

 

What about the customs, morals, and ethics that define their behavior with one another?  The possibilities were endless.  He was certain, however, regardless of what their lives and society would be like, they probably came from a planet of blue and brown and green—“After all, they…they made contact with Earth and….”

 

In a matter of seconds a violent force squeezed the body and head into the chair.  Timothy struggled against the attack, but he could not break the hold of the force that had him pinned down.

 

Panic sent terror rushing in.  Heart pumped fear through the body.

 

“Stop it,” pleaded Timothy.  Hands shook and fumbled about the straps and belts.   A desperate attempt to remove the restraints and free him from the attacker was failing.

 

“Hurry,” he screamed as he fled the attack.  Hands clutched the computer terminal and pushed his body towards the door.

 

Legs pedaled frantically in the air, but could not speed up the momentum of the escape.

 

Arms lunged at supports near the sleeping chamber door in an effort to flee from the attacker.

 

He saw the door.  Safety waited.  Hands stabbed at the locking mechanism.  The attacker had a grip on him, was trying to yank him backwards.

 

“Let me go,” he cried as the door opened, but it would not slam shut.  Hands trembled.

 

Voices called, but Timothy could not unscramble the sounds of garble.

 

“Leave me alone,” he shouted.

 

The attacker whacked the grip loose and threw him against a wall.

 

Rapid breaths accompanied a heart racing out of control.

 

The scene suddenly transformed as he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings.  Draughts of whirling air flowed across the face then penetrated the hearing.  The attacker ceased the violent assault.

 

“Where?” whispered Timothy.  “Where?”

 

The scene was recognized.  The strange objects and the eerie colors spinning around and around came into the mind’s focus.

 

“The ship.  I’m on the ship.”

 

He realized everything was okay, that he was safe.  The panic in the dark was nothing more than an episode of a running nightmare experienced many a time in the past.

 

The overhead lights provided clarity to the damage.  He observed the oozing blood from scratches and scrapes inflicted by panicked movements about his hands and face.  Throbbing pain ached in the arms and shoulders.  Timothy looked to the spinning wheel.  “Just great.  I’ll kill myself yet.”

 

After allowing the emotions to settle, the wounds to dry, Timothy floated to the medical facility.  The health analyzer was waiting to diagnose and treat the self-inflicted wounds.

 

The analyzer provided a stack of antiseptic pads by which he dabbed the wounds, removed the brown crusty blood.  He noticed that one of the scratches had crossed the scar on a wrist and was reminded of battles past.

 

If he was not tired before, he certainly felt it now.  And though it was not time for the rest period, the body and mind yearned for sleep, for the energy from the adrenalin rush drained fast thus trading the excitement of the past hours and weeks and months for pure fatigue.  But thoughts of a long slumber would have to wait.

 

A voice that may have been shrieking for minutes finally penetrated the hearing.  It was the voice he had heard so many times during training.  The computer was calling.

 

Reluctantly, the attention turned to the terminal, to the sound of the cold and monotonous voice instructing him to appease its demands: “System check…system check…system check….”

 

As much as he desired to ignore the persistent command, he could not.  The only way to silence its shriek was to give it the attention it required—whether it needed it or not.

 

“Okay,” shouted Timothy, “shut up already.”  But the stereophonic clatter continued: “System Check…system check…system check….”

 

“Why do I have to check?”

 

The computer did not respond—it could only continue to function in a prescribed manner void of mercy or compassion.

 

It would not stop blaring its demands until it was answered.  He slipped his feet out from under the restraints of the health analyzer and snatched its electronic clipboard from a slot.  “Transfer to clipboard.”

 

The computer cooperated with the request, flashed lines of blue letters onto the screen.  He scanned the list, seeing the only problem caused by the vibrations from the launch had to do with camera twelve.

 

With the clipboard held securely in hand, he focused on the spot of its screen where the global and fault tolerant networks would issue their commands to resolve the problem.

 

“Look, I’m tired.  Hurry up.”  Timothy tucked the clipboard under an arm.  Hands, acting as mufflers, cupped the ears.  “Shut up.”

 

The voice finally ceased its persistent ranting and instructions were transferred onto the screen: Check the cable connection to camera twelve at your discretion.

 

“You bothered me for some non-priority problem?”

 

Timothy was well aware the interior cameras were mainly of no use.  The computer had its own system of spies hidden from view, watching every system and subsystem with a keen eye to make sure order was maintained at all times.

 

He rotated around to the terminal, rammed the clipboard back into the slot.  “Is it okay if I get some sleep now?”

 

The computer responded with silence.  “Not programmed to accept personal remarks are you?”

 

No matter, he thought, whether it cared or not, the sleeping chamber awaited his thoughts of sleep.

 

Secured in the wheel that would spin him to sleep, the eyes closed.  A hand groped about the control panel to the side.  A finger tapped the activator button, but the wheel would not commence the rotation.  “Start already.”

 

Realizing the timer had to be reprogrammed, fingers diligently tapped the pad to inform the computer his desire for rest.  It slowly started the rotation.  A finger flipped off the switch to the chamber’s lights.

 

Just as the mind reached the border of slumber land, an alarm shrieked to interrupt the nighttime journey.  “What now?”  A finger flipped on the lights as the eyes squinted in reaction to sudden brightness flooding the chamber.  Squinting, he looked at the blue letters above and deciphered the command.

 

Intake of replacement fluids required at this time, it read.

 

From the hold within a compartment, Timothy removed a large bottle of what he was told was water enriched with sodium and potassium and calcium.  He sealed the straw’s intrusion into the mouth and sucked up the cloudy concoction.

 

“Yuck!” he exclaimed.  “I hate this stuff.”  Timothy yanked the straw out of the mouth.  I have to endure this for ten years, he thought.

 

With the liquid settled into the belly, eyes leered at the screen.  “Anything else before I go to sleep?”

 

The computer was silent.

 

“Good night then.”

 

*                            *                            *

 

An alarm sounded.

 

“I’m still tired,” mumbled Timothy as he groped about for a snooze button that would allow extra time to lie comfortably in the wheel, but there was not one.  “Come on computer, just ten more minutes.”

 

The alarm, however, continued to blare.  He threw the straps off.  A bloated bladder signaled time to start the wake up routine.

 

With the help of a stream of air, the morning ritual was over in a matter of a minute..  A small sample that streamed into a small vile to the side was detached and readied for the health analyzer.

 

Though the brain was signaling it was now time to face the new world, the new life, the eyelids and body said otherwise.  Still, he knew it was best to just start the routine.

 

“Oh yum, more replacement fluid,” he whispered.  “Couldn’t you’ve included a coffee flavored version of this stuff?”

 

He questioned the reasoning behind drinking so much fluid before going to bed just so most of it could be expelled in the morning,