scared

Here’s a continuation of a story I wrote in my blog before last (before the one when I digressed about roofing!).

Faceless scientists had built a ship and implanted hundreds of babies there, put into a comatose state until they were woken from their sixteen-year sleep by computers, one year before landing on Marvel.

They spent that year training.

Learning.

A crash course on survival and farming. How to construct shelters for the rest of earth to occupy once they got here. Working, becoming strong. Mentored by computers and pre-recorded messages.

The ship jerked again, rattling Xen’s skull. He felt like he was sitting in the middle of an earthquake.

The T.V. flashed red: ERROR. ERROR. ERR–

The message was cut off as another tremor broke the screen off the wall. It flew across the room, skittering across the floor and hitting Xen’s feet.

Xen heard Tok’s muffled voice through his helmet. Shit.

Xen’s head knocked the sides of the chair, the ship was rattling so violently.

He looked out the porthole. Outside was a swirling mass of greens and blues as the ship spun. Sirens began blaring, lights began flashing and Xen was bombarded by a wave of senses. Colors and sounds and smells that burned his nose.

When he thought it was too much, when he thought he couldn’t bear it any more, it stopped.

Everything stopped, and he felt weightless.

He looked out the porthole and saw the massive spacecraft plummeting nose-first towards the ground. He saw hundreds and hundreds of pods being released in all directions by the spinning ship. He realized the bedrooms doubled as escape pods. As the ship spun, pods were sent flying, dark green parachutes bursting upwards and holding them up.

Though not all of them. Some had deployed while the pod was upside down, wrapping around the vessel and becoming no more than a streamer. Useless, while the pod plunged downward.

Xen felt the pod jerk once more as their chute deployed, and then it was relatively still, gliding down, almost peacefully.

He could tell by looking out the window that they were still high, he could see clouds underneath them. He watched, with dread like a stone in his stomach, as the ship freefell through a cloud. It looked odd, with all the pods gone, like corn without kernels. Its sleek body looked almost frozen in space.

The ship was massive. Hundreds and hundreds of stories tall. A large cylindrical core held the shared spaces, the cafeterias, training rooms and storage rooms.

Around the core used to be the living spaces. Each room held three children. These kids were assigned activities with each other and spent the entire training year together. They became close, like families. The computer programs and voice recorded scientists were no fatherly figures, so they turned to each other for help and guidance. They formed close bonds, they were like family. Hundreds of three member families.

The middle of the ship held the most important things, other than the children. It held the supplies that they would use to build a shelter, radio beacon, and later, something for the rest of earth’s occupants to move to.

Unfortunately, I have to go, so I’ll continue later!