Chapter Nine: The Confessor’s Crew

It’s been four and a half days and six-hundred and forty-nine million kilometers since we left Titan's Threshold and engaged the Antimatter Rapid Acceleration Device, better known as ARAD. It was designed specifically for the purpose of rapid acceleration in order to reach velocities that the standard Ion Thrusters could not reach in a timely manner. This device can launch a ship from a steady seventy kilometers per second to a staggering speed of fifteen hundred kilometers per second. The acceleration itself was more than enough to cause the contents of a ship without inertial dampeners to turn into a homogenous soup. However, even with the dampeners, the acceleration is still incredibly uncomfortable. The twins tell me after we equalize that the ARAD has the ability to go much faster, but it has reached the 'Human' limitation.

Here’s an interesting but decisive way to describe a limitation. For as long as humanity has been around, we have had a set of overarching purposes. But one stands out above the rest: our never-ending quest toward transcendence. To constantly push the envelope of our limitations, never accept failure, and always come up with new creative ways to solve problems that used to be impossible boundaries. We have a knack for breaking things just to figure out how they work and how to make them better. It is truly one of our redeeming features and, at the same time, will probably be our downfall as a species. I often think about these things, about how close we have come in the past and how many times we reach the proverbial crossroad that can make or break us, and how, it seems, whenever we are on the cusp of total annihilation, something changes inside of us. We take the road not known to us, and the next thing we know, we are freeing slaves, ending the rule of a tyrant, landing on the moon for the first time, and spreading throughout our solar system. But even though we have achieved such amazing things, it always seems like we regress to the more barbaric instincts that dictate us—we are a paradox.

A display flickers beside me, showing Jupiter slowly growing, almost as if it was consuming the space of the display. The estimated time of arrival updates to a little more than a day from Callisto's Threshold, where we will have to slow down to a more manageable velocity. I tap the display, and it zooms in toward Callisto. I try my best to reassure myself that this looks like a better place than Titan. Of course, the colonies on the last Galilean moon have been around a hell of a lot longer than New Horizon. I'll practically be in the heart of the Sovereign Republic, which means I'll have choices, options that were never afforded to me before. I’ll get through this—on my own.

The last four and a half days have been more than my dignity can handle; let’s just say I have worked my debt off in full. My one and only reprieve from Nev and his ever-growing hatred for me are the twins, who amazingly took a liking to me, and a rather shabby tabby cat named Gremlin. The twins say that Grem just showed up one day out of nowhere and has since been a source of great strife, much like myself. I spend a lot of time with the twins, and I find myself saddened by the thought of leaving just when things are getting somewhat better. But I don't want to tempt my four-day streak of not having a gun pointed at me, so I’ll try and leave quietly.

I let out a long sigh as my Aug begins to buzz annoyingly. I look down at my forearm, where 05:00 is blinking incessantly. I immediately stop it with a simple flick of my finger. "Time to start another glorious day," I say aloud, rising to my feet and stretching.

I inspect the makeshift bed I threw together from some boxes lying around. The Confessor has space in the crew quarters for me, but according to Nev, only the crew gets to sleep in the crew quarters, and since I'm not part of the crew— So naturally, I tried to sleep in the passenger quarters, but Nev snuffed that idea saying the passenger quarters are for paying customers and since I'm a worthless stowaway I don't get such luxuries. Prick. So instead, I found a nice secluded walkway watching over the illicit cargo, which I have honestly considered destroying just to piss Nev off, but that would bring the wrath of Captain Rickard down on me, who, in my so humble opinion, makes Nev look like a stud field mouse.

I crack my neck and grab the few toiletries some of the passengers were kind enough to share with me, making my way to the community locker room. It took me a few days to adjust to the Confessor, not because of Nev but rather the difference in living dynamics, such as water consumption and food stores. Things like that are important anywhere, but on a ship, one miscalculation could mean dangerously low food and water. Fortunately, modern ships operating systems calculate all of this in mere seconds. Not to mention the amount of bio-waste that the ship reuses, like the water from showers and even human byproducts. At first, it sounds disgusting that everyone is using and reusing the same water, but from a scientific perspective, this was one of the greatest advances in space travel. Less storage needed for water means less overall ship weight, which calculates into more energy efficiency. It’s a domino effect that literally never comes to mind when you’re on a terrestrial planet that has an abundance of resources.

The locker room doors slide open, and as usual, I’m the only one there. The lights turn on as I enter the space, revealing three rows of lockers and showers; enough space for fifty or so people. I walk to my usual shower stall and place my left hand on the wall, setting the temp to forty degrees Celsius. The water rushes out of the nozzle sending plums of steam billowing upward. I step under the warmth letting it flow over me and dull the pain in my left eye. I bring up a display of my reflection. The bruise is almost invisible at this point, with only a yellow hue and some pain remaining. Four and a half days of scruff has formed and is starting to itch relentlessly, but I don’t have a sonic razor available to remedy the issue. I tilt my head forward, allowing the water to flow over my face and down the front of my body. I’m finding it hard to recognize myself in the mirror as if everything that has happened in the last week has aged me far beyond my years. I’m so used to being reliant on someone else, but out here, I’m alone.

I look at the clock, and it’s five-thirty. Damn, I’m running late again. I finish cleaning myself and place my hand on the wall, shut the shower off, then grab a towel to dry my body on the way to the locker. I open it with a swipe of my index finger. The door unlatches and swings open. Several pairs of plain gray jumpsuits that the captain gave me are folded neatly toward the back of the locker. I grab one and quickly slip it on. I go to shut the locker but hesitate, taking a look at the jacket that Jurin gave me. There are still a few dried blood stains that I somehow missed. I reach out to grab it when my Aug begins buzzing, indicating it's five forty-five. I shake my head as I close the door and run out of the locker room.

No more than a minute and a half later, I enter the cafeteria, quickly sliding an apron over my head as Lora, Don, and Ron walks in. Lora, as always, is tall, beautiful, and reserved. She has flowing dark blonde hair tightly pulled into a perfect bun revealing a petite face accented by crystal blue eyes. In contrast, the shorter, stalky twins have eccentrically waxed mustaches with wild un-kept dark, reddish-brown hair. Both look almost indiscernible from one another, with only their color-coded jumpsuits being the difference. Don wears dark grey with a navy blue stripe along the arm, and Ron, navy blue with a grey stripe. Everything about them screams mad scientist, and incidentally, that is what I like the most about them. They are talking nonstop about conduit manifolds and torque deafeners on Titan class ships. Lora shoots me a sidelong glance, slightly shaking her head and smiling. I let out a chuckle under my breath as the twins pry themselves away from what is obviously a riveting conversation and join me in the kitchen, donning their own flamboyantly-decorated aprons.

"Mornin' Einstein," Don says, smacking me on the back with an unnecessary amount of force.

"How'd the dreams treat you last night, Hawking?" Ron adds, also smacking me on the same spot his brother just christened.

I shrug off the sting and smile. "Hey guys, you know Nev doesn't like it when you help me," I say for the hundredth time.

"Nev, who?" Don says in a poorly-sold sarcastic voice.

Ron laughs. "No worries, Tesla. Nev only looks big enough to smash you on the outside, but between you, me, and this ugly bastard—" he points his thumb toward Don, who makes an overly-insulted face. "We know that brains will always beat brawn." He smiles and winks, smacking me on the back again.

Man, I'm really going to miss these guys. It’s not their obvious humor or overly optimistic attitudes but the fact that they feel so real and kind. That is unexpected, but much appreciated given the last few days. I kind of laugh a little, noticing how incredibly alike they are.

Don starts tapping the spatula on the oven top. "Alright, gents, let’s get this food started. We have a lot of mouths to feed."

The three of us start cooking as several of the passengers begin to trickle in. Each one looks more and more cheerful now that we are almost at our destination. Then Nev Freeman storms in with the usual unpleasant look on his face. Nev only has several expressions. Most flaunt his hardened, steel-like scruff-covered jawline. He has grey hair, but it isn’t nearly as prevalent as the captain’s, and he keeps his mane buzzed with only a light brown and grey wisp on the top of his head. In a way, though, he reminds me of Jurin because he had the same grey eyes. Even though they seem cold and piercing, I can tell there is a personality under all the rigidness. The only problem is Nev hates my guts—I guess he has a right to—and it’s starting to get on my nerves.

He glances over at the twins, who are knee-deep in an argument about the physics behind scrambling or poaching eggs in zero gravity. "What the hell are you two doing?!" he shouts, causing several of the passengers to stop eating and look up.

Ron and Don turn to face Nev with looks of devilish mischief on their faces. "Oh, we were merely seeing if radiation can cook eggs just as good as any old stovetop," Ron says.

Don grins. "We thought you'd be a perfect subject to try out our new 'Rad Eggs,' patent-pending, of course, with a slight chance of, you know—cancerous death."

Nev, who had just filled his mouth full of eggs, freezes in mid-chew. "You’re joking, right?" he asks, then turns to me. “They’re joking, right?"

I lift my shoulders and give him an apathetic look. "I don't know why you'd ask me. I've only been here for a few days. You should know them better than me." Nev darts his eyes from me to the twins, then promptly spits his eggs out and rushes to the bathroom.

"I swear, how does that man walk and talk at the same time?" Don says while gasping for breath in between his laughs.

Ron smacks his forehead. "One of the great mysteries of life."

"Hey, got any more of the Rad Eggs?" Lora says with a half-smile.

Ron and Don both stop in mid-laugh. "Uh—well yeah, but—" Ron stammers.

"They aren’t really radioactive!" Don shouts awkwardly.

Wow, that was smooth. Lora looks at me quizzically, and I shrug as I scoop some more scrambled eggs onto her plate. She winks and returns to her seat. I turn to the twins, who are now completely focused on the sausage sizzling in front of them.

About an hour and a half later, almost everyone on the ship has eaten breakfast except, of course, Captain Rickard, who usually stays up most of the night to ensure nothing happens while everyone is sleeping. The twins prepare a to-go bag and hand it to me, giving me a look that screams, 'This is your chance to impress the boss so you can stay on the Confessor and help us embarrass Nev!' I grin, hoping they really thought that.

I head down the winding passage toward the bridge located deep within the ship, a design that is standard in almost all ships for protection against cosmic radiation. At least it was a needed design before advancements in radiation shielding that are now on all modern ships. Even after decades, we still design ships the same, just with shinier bells and whistles. Of course, that was one of the many long talks the twins shared with me earlier on our trip. “We are creatures of habit, John, never changing things unless there’s a need to change,” Don had said.

I can feel the unease of nervousness growing inside me as I approach the massive door. We haven't really talked much since the inspection incident, and honestly, he sounded pretty resolute when he said I'm gone as soon as we reach Callisto. So why bother with trying if it won’t work out in the end? I look up and realize I have been standing outside the bridge for who knows how long. I really need to stop getting lost in my thoughts. I lift my hand to knock but hesitate before finally mustering the courage to just enter the room. Rickard is leaning so far back in his chair that my unannounced entry startles him, and he almost falls backward.

"Sorry, Captain!" I almost shout as he glowers at me. "I just wanted to bring you some breakfast," I add, holding up the bag.

Captain Rickard reaches out and takes the bag from my hand. "Smells good," he says quietly.

"Thank you," I respond. I notice he seems more tired than usual, so maybe now isn't a good time to ask about staying.

"You can't stay, kid." Rickard's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"But, I—"

"My decision is final—you even said it, remember?" He looks up at me with a cold stare. I think back to my conversation, mentally cursing my past self for screwing me over. "Thanks for breakfast, but I need to you leave. I have to make some personal calls before we reach Callisto." I simply nod and leave. There isn’t anything I could have said or done to change his mind.

I spent the next few hours finishing the menial and frankly degrading tasks that Nev assigned me, from doing the crew’s laundry to polishing the walkway struts throughout the ship. I’m quite certain the latter was a bunch of crap. Noon finally rolls around, and I return to the cafeteria to start lunch. The twins are already waiting there when I enter, their faces optimistically waiting for good news only to be squashed by my apparent displeasure.

“So, what’s for lunch?” I ask, tying the apron around my waist.

Don looks over his shoulder at Ron, who is smacking the side of one of the food processors, shouting an undiscernible series of curses. “Ask the master chef,” he says with a grunt.

Just then, Ron yelps with glee as the machine begins humming loudly. “Hey, Don!” he shouts. “I have a real knack for fixing this dang thing.”

“Yeah, Ron, you’re the man,” Don says, gesturing for me to lean in. He pulls a remote from his pocket and flashes me an ornery grin. “We’ve had that thing for the better part of a decade, and he still doesn’t know it came with a remote,” he whispers.

“You’re an evil genius, you know that?” I whisper back.

Don sticks his tongue out and grins before quickly stuffing the remote back into his pocket as Ron walks up. “Who wants some chicken sandwiches?” he says as he puts a plate down in front of me.

There are many names for what Ron placed in front of me, but the chicken sandwich was the furthest from an accurate description. It was more like a pink-goo sandwich. “Uh, I’ve had chicken before, and that is clearly not chicken,” I say, pushing the plate away.

Don shoves the plate back toward me. “Just try it. You’ll be surprised,” he says with a smile. “This isn’t a five-star cruise, kid.”

I roll my eyes and grab the sandwich, quickly taking a bit and expecting the worse. “Wow!” I exclaim. “This is actually really good.”

Ron throws his hand up in an overzealous show of accomplishment. “Settle down, Cujo.” Don interrupts his celebration. “All you did was hit a button. That’s hardly an achievement.” Ron’s arms fall to his sides.

“So, what is this stuff?” I ask, pulling away from the bun. “It even smells like grilled chicken.”

Ron scoffs. “You’ve been cooking and eating this for nearly five days, and you’re just now asking?!”

“Well, I assumed we had a freezer full of food and stuff,” I respond

“Nope, everything we eat is essentially the same. It’s a protein-based, vitamin-enriched food substitute. That machine allows us to input what flavor, shape, and even the texture we want it to be,” Don says.

Ron flexes dramatically. “Yup, it’s everything the body needs, baby!”

“So, the eggs we had this morning?” I question. “And the meatloaf from last night?” Ron and Don both nod their heads in unison. “Weird.”

“That’s space travel, bub,” Ron says while adjusting the processor’s texture controls and producing something that looked a little more like chicken than pink goo as several passengers trickled in.

Before long, lunch was finished, and everyone, whether knowingly or not, was stuffed with the goo chicken, including myself. I took the time to tell the twins that the Captain was less than willing to let me stay, and everyone took it seemingly well, except for the poor spatula Don broke in half. I attempted to shrug off my own displeasure for their sake. It was only fair. They didn’t have a say in the situation, and I didn’t want them to think it was somehow their problem.

After we finished talking and cleaning, I found myself with a little spare time, so I headed for my cot. Hoping that maybe I could get some reading in before Nev came up with some other worthless job like cleaning the hanger deck with my sonic toothbrush or something. A few minutes later, I was walking down the footbridge toward my makeshift bed, where Grem was sleeping. I flop down onto the covers causing her to jump and glare at me. But she changes her mind when I start scratching her chin, making her purr softly.

"Did you catch any mice?" I ask. She looks at me with her copper eyes and tilts her head, placing one of her red-haired paws on my arm. "Of course not. You're the worst mouser in the history of mousers, huh?" I add. She retracts her paw, almost as if I have offended her, and begins licking it profusely. Jeez, I am talking to a cat. I’m so pathetic. Grem props herself upright, sweeping her fluffy tail back and forth as she stares at me. “What?” I ask, but she continues to stare silently. I feel a chill run through me. “Would you stop staring at me?!” I demand. This time she meows in response but nevertheless continues to stare persistently.

We continue to silently stare at each other like a weird sort of contest when my Aug begins buzzing. I look down and see Don’s face floating a centimeter above my arm. I tap my wrist, and a holographic display pops up with Don’s bust filling the screen.

"Hey Chaucer, we could use a little help doing some maintenance on the Fusion Core when you get the chance," he says.

“Me?” I respond skeptically, “What would you need me to help you with?”

Don looks at something off-screen as Ron’s cursing roars over a loud humming noise. “Ron!” he shouts. “Don’t touch that; it’s—” before he finishes, a loud electrical shock echoes over the communication, causing the lights in the room to shut off. “Forget it,” Don finishes in a low voice.

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

Don looks at me and smiles. “Oh yeah—this sort of thing happens all the time,” he says. “Just—get here as soon as you can, ok?”

Don closed the window before I could respond. I quickly jump to my feet, accidentally sending Grem rolling onto her back. She attempts to play off the humiliation by playing with a stray string on the corner of my sheet. “Sorry, Grem, but I think the twins are about to get us killed. We’ll continue the staring match later.” She doesn’t look at me; I bet she won’t know I’ve even left. I quickly hurried down the walkway toward the aft of the ship, where the twins typically spend most of their time.