Holographic displays surrounded Captain Hobbs, illuminating wrinkles earned from a lifetime in space. Information regarding the ship’s systems, paired with occasional audible indicators, dwarfed compared to the ranting of his customer. On the viewscreen, a man’s broad chin and white streaked hair scowled with every lamentation. Half listening, Hobbs rubbed his stubble - a nervous habit that became more common as the years progressed. Especially since he converted his ship from moving dry goods and provisions to the more lucrative live cargo.
As the captain of the Centurion Class freighter, Halifax, James Hobbs had to decide: should he bang his head on the communication terminal or turn the ship into a direct vector towards the star? Either option sounded good.
“What do you mean, you're running behind? How much time are we talking about?” his customer demanded.
“Assuming no more distractions, the delay shouldn’t be more than two days. We—”
“Two days!? That’s unacceptable. Our agreement was to have this batch delivered by Thursday.”
“I apologize, but pirate activity in the area has gone sky high, and forced us to chart an alternate route —”
“That's not my problem. If I don't get them by Thursday, I will have your ass… And your ship.”
The captain sighed, burying his head in his hands, hoping to restrain his desire to unleash a litany of expletives. But this was his customer. No matter the circumstances, he is in charge and never wrong. Bullshit.
“There's this guy they call Isaac Newton; he says this ship can't move any faster… Other than that little law of physics, I'll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Captain Hobbs, I will make sure you never fly—”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t hear you,” Hobbs shouted, banging the side of the monitor. “There’s some interference with our comms. Probably radiation coming from Uranus.”
He switched off the communicator, silencing the angry man.
“He sounds pissed.” The ship’s first officer said. Her soft voice filled the flight deck with an aroma of lavender and coconut. Andrea plopped into the pilot’s chair, setting her long brown hair into a loose bun, still moist from a recent shower. Hobbs found the smell comforting, a change from the usual odor of grease and sweat.
“He'll get over it,” He shrugged. Showing signs of annoyance.
“You said that last time, and the company took a ten percent pay cut. The crew won't be too happy about that if it happens again.”
“They'll get over it.”
Andrea put the finished touches on her hair, covering it with a navy-blue baseball cap adorned with Prism’s logo. It matched her coveralls with a rainbow-colored triangle embroidered on her right shoulder. Above the pockets marked her name, Petrovich, and the ship’s name, Halifax in white.
She crossed her arms, giving the captain a fake smile. “Why do we need to get this cargo to Denebola in such a hurry? After all, it's just a small freelance mining operation. How can they lose so many chimeras in such little time?”
Hobbs shrugged. “I don't know. I agree, they haven’t been this bitchy for being late before.” He glanced aside at his first mate with a hint of desperation in his eyes. She knew the Halifax’s capabilities better than anyone and he would never question her judgment. “Is there any way we can shave two days off our trip?”
She turned to her navigational computer. A few taps on the keypad brought up a map filled with thousands of tiny dots representing stars. They spun and swept aside in unison as Andrea focused on their position.
“When we get to Arcturus, I could do a burn to slingshot us around the gas giant. This might save us a day or so.” She showed Hobbs the route on her navigational display. “The planet has a hell of a gravity well. It may shake the ship apart and we'll all die, but at least we'll get there quicker.”
“If that's what it takes.” Captain Hobbs rubbed his temples as he leaned back in his chair. His head throbbed; the pulse similar to the musical beat coming from the galley.
“What you need is a distraction, and it sounds like the crew is brewing up one as we speak.” Andrea placed her hand on his shoulder. “Come on; Let's go get something to eat. I'll buy you lunch.”
Hobbs looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. The image of them sitting down to a fine meal was a pleasant thought. Not in a crusty old galley tucked within a freighter, but in a fancy restaurant where they could sip vintage wine and recollect on good times. A dream, but one that eased his tension until a crash of steel pots cut it short, hitting the deck.
“Your right. We better check on the rest of the crew before they disassemble the entire ship.” Hobbs said, rubbing his face again.
They weaved through Halifax's corridors toward a rumble of laughter and music. A card game attempted to fight the never-ending boredom of life in space. Plastic chips piled between plates of chicken bones covered the stainless-steel table separating the three men. All wore similar coveralls, the same uniform as Hobbs and Andrea, but with different degrees of oil stains and fading. An over-sized mechanic sat across two deckhands. His narrowed eyes focused on their cards.
“Billy, what is this ancient crap you’re playing?” Dennis said to the ship’s mechanic. He pointed to the music like something tangible floating in the air.
“This ‘crap’ is the greatest musician that ever lived.” Billy scoffed. “They call him ‘The Man in Black’. I don’t remember his real name but it had something to do with money.”
“It’s ‘Ring of Fire’ by Johnny Cash.” Greg blurted without taking his eyes off his cards.
Billy and Dennis stared at him in a silent amazement that this skinny little kid knew the artist and title of a song written four hundred years ago.
“Well, I don’t like classical music. There’s nothing better than the sweet tunes of an Eridanian electroharp.” Dennis said.
No crew were as varied as the five members of the Halifax. Dennis had the graying signs of age from years of service. While Greg’s tenure started a few cargo runs ago. He still tried to fit in, as this was his first voyage on Halifax.
Billy studied his hand of cards, trying to keep a perfect poker face. He pulled a card from the deck as his eyes shifted between the two opponents. “Well…” He glanced at his cards, giving an exaggerated sigh. “Three of a kind!” he crowed, slamming his cards on the table. “That's what I'm talking about!” With a wide grasp, Billy pulled the pile of chips toward him.
“Billy, you're an asshole. I'm out,” Dennis muttered, tossing his cards face down.
Captain Hobbs interjected from the adjacent dining table. “You two should realize by now that Billy knows the front of the cards as well as the backs,”
Billy raised an eyebrow. “Captain, are you calling me a cheater?” He said, feigning a disgusted face while dealing with the next hand.
Hobbs approached, leaning close to Billy, before looking around the galley with a knowing smile and shifting eyes. “You see there?” He pointed to the reflection on the oven behind the two deckhands. “I see the King of hearts, five of diamonds, five of clubs, and three of hearts.”
Dennis looked behind where Hobbs pointed. When he looked back at his cards, his eyes narrowed. “Billy, you really are an asshole.” He lowered his hand to show everyone the cards were just as the captain said.
The table erupted in laughter as Billy held his hands up in the air. “What can I say? Guilty as charged.”
Dennis shuffled the deck to start a new game. “Hey Captain, do you want me to deal you in..?”
“No thanks, I’ll sit this one out—”
An audible alarm interrupted Hobbs. Somewhere on the ship, a system needed attention but only received rolls of complaints and profanities around the table spat at the interruption. Despite their annoyance, no one jumped to attention at it.
Andrea sighed, more aggravated by the crew’s hesitation than the alarm. “Don’t bother getting up, I’ll check it out.” She said, dropping her fork onto her tray with a metallic clank.
Hobbs' eyes remained fixed on her as she disappeared toward the cockpit; a nudge from Billy interrupted his attention.
“So Cap, are you ever going to get her into the sack?” Billy asked.
Dennis and Greg leaned forward to hear their captain’s response.
Hobbs blushed, not embarrassed by the question but at its abruptness. Andrea was a beautiful woman and an excellent pilot. Even now, he could not help thinking of her green eyes. That, and it was none of their damn business.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I don't date my crew.”
Hobbs spoke outward with a tinge of authority, yet his internal voice reverberated doubt.
“What?” He said to his three crewmen who gazed back like he just grew an extra head.
“Captain, you're a complete idiot,” Billy muttered. “You know she's 'in to' you, right? I mean, wake the fuck up. She's been working with you on this crappy-ass ship for three standard years. Hell, even Greg thought you guys were a thing on his first day.”
Hobbs shook his head in disagreement. “I would like to have you know—” His rebuttal cut short when Andrea entered the galley. Everyone ceased to speak and sat up straight, trying to appear innocent. Andrea rolled her eyes, knowing she was the subject of their conversation. Not to mention Hobb’s red face.
“I need someone to churn the hydrogen tanks,” Andrea said.
“I thought I set that piece of crap for 'Auto'?” Billy growled.
“Apparently not. There's a cryo warning on tank two.”
Greg gave Billy a questioning glance. “What's the big deal about the hydro tanks?”
“The ship can't carry several months' worth of water because the extra mass would make it too damn heavy.” Billy said, readjusting his pot belly from between the table and seat. “So, we store the much lighter hydrogen and oxygen in separate tanks. When you mix the two, you get water… Simple.”
“Problem is its incredibly cold stuff, and it ices easily. If we don’t churn the tanks, the gas turns to slush, clogs up the system, and we all die. Understand?” Andrea added.
Greg nodded his head. “Yeah, I understand not to ask any more questions.”
“Who are my volunteers?” Hobbs said. The crew fell silent except for the hum of the ship’s engine.
As if Hobbs, Billy, and Andrea were thinking the same thing, they peered at Greg and Dennis. They both stood, sighing with acceptance of their fate. “Where are the hydrogen tanks?”
“On the second deck near the engine coolant transfer station,” Billy answered. “It's on the backside of the cargo deck. You can't miss it. Large power switches with big words that will say, 'Hydrogen Recirculation'. You can read, right?” Billy smirked.
“I can read better than you. Over four words, last time I checked,” Greg countered.
“Well, get to it. Chop, Chop,” Billy said, clapping his hands.
“Wait, why don't you go?” Dennis protested. “You're the mechanic.”
“Me? Nah. Short of a fire or a catastrophic failure, you won't catch me dead in there. Way too creepy.”
“What's wrong with the cargo bay?” Greg asked.
Billy gave a curious look. “You haven't been in the cargo bay yet?”
“No. I arrived after the load up.”
“What's the fuss about? It's just a bunch of chimeras. You've seen plenty of them before,” Andrea said, digging through a tool locker near the galley’s entrance. Her tone hinted at impatience.
“Yeah, but not these guys. They're real nasty looking,” Billy interjected.
“What's the worry? They are all on ice.” Andrea handed Greg a tool kit and flashlight, unaware Billy was mimicking a chimera attacking her from behind. “Here, you might need this.”
“You sure you don't want to give them a gun instead?” Billy asked, amused.
Dennis grabbed Greg by the arm before the young man made another protest. “Come on, let's get this over with.”
The two men exited the galley and headed to the cargo bay, leaving Hobbs, Andrea, and Billy watching them depart.
“Looks like we are going to need another two deckhands.” Billy teased, earning a playful slap on the shoulder from Andrea.
The two men navigated through the ship’s corridors lined with crew cabins and maintenance panels. Overall, the ship’s interior was well lit, except for a few places. A broken light or two was never deemed a priority on Billy’s “To Do” list. At the corridor's end, and up a short stairwell, was the entrance to the cargo bay. The massive steel door stood ominously, dwarfing them. Yellow and black caution tape with warning signs adorned the threshold, showing where the living area ended, and the cargo bay began: If an emergency were to happen, the ship could separate at this point. These types of decorations made Greg wary. There was a reason for the posting, and it was almost always in reaction to someone dying.
Dennis paused at a terminal next to the door. “So where are you coming from?” He asked, hoping the small talk would quell his companion’s nervousness. The anxiety clear from his wide-eyed glance.
“I was working out of Sirius on a gas freighter for the last couple years.”
“What made you decide to join this piece of shit? Or should I say… What law did you break?”
Greg chuckled at the notion, “I got tired of riding around in space on a ticking time bomb. It’s bad enough to deal with interstellar debris, radiation, and pirates. Imagine doing all that on a ship filled with volatile gas.”
“I hear ya. Whatever pays, right?”
“Right.”
Before pressing the last key, Dennis looked back at Greg and grinned. “Welcome to the cooler.”
Loud sirens with rotating yellow lights announced the door started its opening cycle. A frigid blast of air rushed through as they parted to reveal a massive room shrouded in darkness. The cold, churning fog drifted downward to settle over the floor like a swirling white blanket. Greg gasped at the sight. Hundreds of countless cryogenic capsules stood erect in neat columns and rows. An eerie blue light radiated from within a glass lid covering each pod. The contents hidden beneath a layer of shimmering frost.
Dennis hesitated at the door. “After you.” He said, motioning to Greg to go first.
Curious, Greg approached one capsule and wiped the frost off the glass to expose a hairless, gray-skinned face. At first glance, there appeared to be little difference from any ordinary man. Strong muscles wrapped around a sturdy frame gave the creature a sculpted appearance, like a stone statue chiseled by the finest artist. Although its eyes were closed, the grimaced scowl gave it a menacing look.
“Holy shit!” He shuddered.
“What? You've never seen a chimera before?”
“Yeah, just not this close.” Greg moved to another capsule and cleared the glass from ice. “They look so much alike. Are they all male?”
“As far as I know, they are. I was watching a documentary about them the other day. Apparently, the 'Y' chromosome is a necessary component in the engineering process. Without it, the resulting embryo never develops.”
“Well, that sucks… Not having any girls to bump fuzzies with, I mean.” Greg said somewhere between joking and sincere.
Dennis gave Greg a sideways glance. “They can't do that either. They are all eunuchs.” He studied the chimera, trying to peek down into the capsule. “At least I think they are.”
The two continued their stroll between the cryogenic forest. Their breaths left puffs of frozen vapor lingering behind them as they spoke. “They are so big. How tall are they?”
“About seven feet, I reckon. They’re much bigger than your garden types, stronger too. From what I know, we are headed to a polonium mine in Denebola. It's damn dangerous work. Polonium is so radioactive, it would kill a human in seconds with the tiniest amount,” Dennis explained.
Greg started shining a flashlight from one chimera to the next, trying not to imagine one of them waking up at any moment. He heard stories about the chimera’s supernatural strength. One his size could throw him like a Frisbee. One could only imagine what these towering creatures can do.
Dennis continued at a slow pace like a museum curator giving a tour. “These guys can take a ton of the radiation and still live long enough to finish their shift. Problem is the mine is so hazardous that even their life expectancy is low.”
“How low?”
“Very low.”
“That's disappointing for them. I thought I had a suck-ass job.”
Dennis turned back to see Greg stopped at another chimera for a closer observation. “Whatever you do, don't touch them. If the captain found anyone messing with his cargo, he would jettison them out of the airlock for sure. These things cost a fortune.”
“Sounds like we’re part of a slave trade.” Greg noted.
“In a sense, we are. That’s all these things are bred for. To do the work we can’t.”
The two arrived at the cargo bay’s rear to find total blackness where the hydrogen tank controls should be.
“Hmm, that's weird,” Dennis muttered, reaching for the light from Greg.
“What's weird?”
“The power is out.” Dennis pointed the flashlight to a wall terminal, adding, “See, the monitor’s off.”
Dennis recalled the slight illumination of green data glowing from the display. Only the flashlight allowed the two men to see in this dark corner of the ship. Aggravated with the situation, he keyed the radio. “Billy, we got a power failure in the cargo bay.”
“Fucking piece of shit,” Billy snarled through the crack of static. “Will nothing work on this worthless ship? I bet that's why the hydrogen tanks won't automatically stir. Can you find the access panel to the power coupler? It should be next to the hydro-tank controls.”
“Billy, we can’t see jack-shit in here. All we have is one crappy flashlight.”
The radio crackled with static, followed by mumbling in the background.
“Y'all sit tight; I'll be there in a sec.”
Dennis searched the area and found what he was looking for - a junction box on the wall. He rested the radio and flashlight on the floor, jerking back on the door with all his weight. The light spun around like a strobe from an accidental kick to the flashlight.
Greg darted to catch their only means to see in the darkness. From the corner of his eye, a flashing red light caught his attention.
“What the..?” He muttered.
“Greg, hand me the flashlight.” Dennis commanded, still working to open the junction box.
“Wait. I see something.” Greg responded.
Dennis scanned along the flashlight beam. “Yeah, I see it too. Let’s check it out. It’s probably something else broken.”
They walked carefully to find the source of the flashing light. On the side of one capsule, on the outer row, were the flashing red words, 'WARNING: POWER FAILURE'. Greg shined the light in the capsule to find it empty.
“Ho-ly shit!” the two said in unison.
Fear engulfed the two men; they turned to run but soon froze: A seven-foot-tall chimera stood in front of them, skin gray like ash. The flashlight’s beam highlighted its bulging muscles. They stumbled backwards, tripping over each other.
The chimera grabbed Greg’s neck with a massive hand. As he flailed, Dennis swung the flashlight in erratic arcs, hitting the beast’s shoulder and chest - the bulb smashed in a shower of glass and plastic. Unphased, the chimera tightened its grip. A slight smile showed evidence of enjoyment, like a cat toying with a pair of mice.
Greg tried to break free using every ounce of strength, but nothing loosened the chimera’s grip. No amount of clawing and kicking made a difference.
Dennis made another attempt to free his shipmate. A combination of punches and kicks was met with a single push from the chimera's off-hand, knocking him to the ground. The attacker turned to face Dennis, allowing him to see the hate and fury in his eyes.
The large gray hand wrapped around Greg's neck, squeezed - snapping bones echoed throughout the cargo bay. A snarl and growl bellowed as the chimera dropped his prey like a rag doll, gurgling its last breath.
Still lying on the floor, Dennis tried to reach for his radio while shifting backwards. Panic froze his limbs, but the chimera grabbed hold of a fist full of his shirt, slamming him against the side of the capsule. Disorientated from the blow, Dennis rolled onto hands and knees to escape. His arms and legs shook, preventing any ability to crawl away. With a fluid motion, the chimera picked him up by his hair and smashed his head against the bulkhead, leaving a spray of blood against the wall. The puffs of Dennis’ breath in the cold air stopped as he fell to the floor, dead.
“Oh, fuck me!” Billy said. He froze at the sight of the massive creature standing next to his dead shipmates. In an instant, his worst fears turned into reality.
The chimera stood, proud of his work, until the light of Billy's flashlight flashed across his face, burning his eyes. Enraged, the chimera charged towards him.
In a pure reflex action, Billy darted toward the cargo bay entrance.
“I knew I should have brought a gun.” Billy mumbled under his breath as he dodged what seemed like every obstacle the ship offered. He passed through the cargo bay door, slamming the emergency close switch on his way out. The two massive doors moved together with a hesitant creek.
A couple of stairwells and a few corridors were more than the big mechanic could endure. Through labored breath, Billy reached the galley where Hobbs and Andrea sat a table eating lunch. Before he could shout a warning, a sudden punch from behind sent him to the deck. The chimera hovered over Billy and beat him to a pulp, spraying blood throughout the galley.
Hobbs paused his conversation in confusion about why Andrea stilled. She let loose a horrifying scream when her senses took to the reality of what just happened. Hobbs glanced behind, knowing it had something to do with his cargo.
“Get to the flight deck!” Hobbs shouted while pulling Andrea from her seat. He pushed her forward as she stumbled toward the door. “Don’t look back! Just keep running. Close the blast doors when you get there. I’ll be right behind you.”
Andrea did not look back. She ran through the corridor as fast as her feet allowed. The path to the flight deck was straight without obstacles.
Her hand flipped the switch to close the blast doors. Flashing green lights and an audible alarm gave her a tinge of relief. Designed to hold back the vacuum of space or an on-board explosion, there would be no way a chimera could enter.
“We made it.” Andrea said, panting.
She turned, hoping to see Hobbs. Instead, she saw the massive chimera gazing down at her. His gray skin speckled in red blood. No need to scream, since it was just her and the chimera. Andrea stood there, trembling, as the beast stepped toward her. He bent down close enough she could feel his breath.
“Can you fly?” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.
Andrea could only stare back, still panting.
“Can you fly?” He repeated with more insistence.
The cockpit filled with smells of fear and urine. She looked away from the brute and stammered with a dry mouth, “Yes.”
The chimera stood upright with slow and calculated movements. He stepped toward the navigational terminal. With a thick cigar-like finger, he pointed to the monitor still displaying the star map - “Then fly!”
She looked over to the monitor, looked at a small white dot barely illuminated on the screen...
Vega.
* * *
