July Writing Challenge - Second Person
An Ordinary Day
1322 words
***
Here's to the last day of ordinary, you say to yourself as you look in the mirror. You raise your toothbrush as a toast. Your last day as a Crewman. As of tomorrow you will be a Cadet about to join Starfleet Academy. A little over-age in grade perhaps, but experience counts - what was it that Academy selector had said, "Not every problem can be solved by whizz-kids and computers". A fact you are very familiar with as second engineer on the SS Persephone, a hauler doing the trading run between the Alpha Centauri and Sirius systems.
You groan at your bleary-eyed reflection, it's annoying that you've had to get up to do the early shift on your last day. On the upside it does give you plenty of time to head down to Olaf Anderssen's quarters after work to celebrate leaving and the start of your new life.
Speaking of the early shift, you realise you need to get moving or you'll be late, and you definitely do not want a telling-off from Chief Roke to spoil your day. You finish getting dressed and hurry down to the engineering bay, grabbing a bagel from the mess hall on your way past. You breathe a sigh of relief as you start your shift on time. Reading the work schedule as you eat your bagel, you see there's nothing too exciting, just the usual range of maintenance checks.
The Persephone is only a week out from having been in the refit yards at Sirius so there's not much to fix, just one item you notice; a nagging problem with the compressors on the cargo bay door. You remember Chief Roke swearing a blue streak yesterday when they failed, those compressors were on the fix list for the Sirius yard and signed off as repaired. Still, there's no way that Persephone is turning round, not in the middle of a delivery run, so those compressors need fixing.
Fixing them requires going outside the ship - that's why they were on the fix-list for Sirius, it's damn hard to fix compressors out in space. But now you have to, so you figure you might as well get on with it. It'll get it out of the way, and it'll be a nice farewell present for the Chief.
On this particular morning, there are only two of you working in engineering and you're in charge. You assign the maintenance checks on the rest of the cargo bay to the other engineer, Tracey Filmer, she's only been on Persephone since the previous run from Centaurus, so she's still learning the systems. Basic maintenance checks are something she can do by herself, and she'll be in the cargo bay to help you with the space-walk.
Down in the cargo bay, you climb into the EV suit, taking deep breaths to relax yourself as you plug in all the cables. You run the standard diagnostics for the suit's systems and everything reads normal. Giving a cheery wave to Filmer, you activate the magnetic seals on your boots and clump down to the airlock door that's situated to the left of the big cargo hatch.
Out in space it is difficult to gauge time passing. You are an old hand at space-walking but you still find it difficult to have a sense of time without constantly checking your watch. So after concentrating on fixing the compressors (the mechanics hadn't fitted the wiring securely, so the connection had worked loose) you're not too surprised to find that you've been working for a solid hour without a break. No wonder you have a headache.
Berating yourself silently for your lack of attention, you close up the maintenance hatch and start to make your way back across the outside surface of the cargo bay to reach the airlock. You stop and turn to look at the stars for a moment, after all a Cadet might not be out in space again for quite some time, so the Crewman had better enjoy it.
The stars are beautiful, watching them reminds you of your childhood, all those nights lying in your bed staring out of the window. Suddenly you ache to be twelve again, back home in Wildehelm, pretending to be asleep when your mother comes in to check on you, dreaming of a life as a space adventurer.
You shake your head, your mind is getting fuzzy, you can't think straight and that headache is playing a concerto on the back of your skull. What were you doing?
Oh yes, just finished fixing the compressors. You only need to walk those few metres to the airlock, and then you can take your suit off.
Take your suit off.
The fingers of your right hand are around the release valve on your helmet before you realise what you are doing. How could you get so distracted, you wonder. You are beginning to wonder if your headache isn't just from working too hard. That maybe something is wrong.
You try to run the diagnostics on your suit, but you can't get your fingers to hit the keys in sequence.
You force yourself to concentrate only on your right fore-finger. That one finger just has to press the keys to request a suit diagnostic. Inch by inch, you move it across your chest over to your left arm where the display is. It is difficult, your finger is heavy and you're having trouble focusing your eyes. You are sweating from the strain of concentrating, but you get your finger to the display, you slide it in place and press the keys.
Now you wait for the diagnostic.
The board doesn't read normal any more, there's been a failure in the suit's remix tanks. The circulating air isn't being refreshed.
You're breathing in your exhaled breaths. You are running out of oxygen.
You try to press the big alarm patch on the chest plate of your suit, even your muddled fingers can manage that, you think. But your arms are so heavy, lifting them is impossible...
The alarm clock wakes you up, you try to climb out of bed, but you aren't in bed. You cannot fathom where you are, it's so dark. And if you aren't in bed, you ask yourself, why is your alarm clock ringing so incessantly?
Whatever the alarm is for, it is killing your head, making it so very difficult to think. You remember that you were meant to be going somewhere, but you can't remember where. Somewhere that you could cure this headache. Well, you aren't going to get anywhere leaning against this wall, so you try to step forwards. Your feet are stuck, you try to lift your legs but you just don't have the strength.
Your mother is so proud of you graduating from the Academy. You, a newly-minted Ensign shaking the hand of Admiral Akaar, who is the special guest for this year's commencement ceremony. You look out across the hall and you see her smiling. When she sees you looking over at her, she gives a little wave and wipes the tears from her eyes.
But then you remember, your mother died when you were sixteen. And you haven't even made it to the Academy yet, that's tomorrow.
Today, you have to get yourself back inside the ship.
There is something very wrong. Something is wrong with you. Your breathing is growing laboured. You try again to hit the panic button, but your arms flail as you cannot make them move the way you want to.
You try to shout for help, but you can only manage a whispered croak.
Your heart is hammering, your chest feels like it's going to explode and your head is pounding, pounding, pounding, blocking out any other sound.
Your vision is failing, everything is turning black.
At least your mother got to see you graduate, you think, as everything fades away.
An Ordinary Day
1322 words
***
Here's to the last day of ordinary, you say to yourself as you look in the mirror. You raise your toothbrush as a toast. Your last day as a Crewman. As of tomorrow you will be a Cadet about to join Starfleet Academy. A little over-age in grade perhaps, but experience counts - what was it that Academy selector had said, "Not every problem can be solved by whizz-kids and computers". A fact you are very familiar with as second engineer on the SS Persephone, a hauler doing the trading run between the Alpha Centauri and Sirius systems.
You groan at your bleary-eyed reflection, it's annoying that you've had to get up to do the early shift on your last day. On the upside it does give you plenty of time to head down to Olaf Anderssen's quarters after work to celebrate leaving and the start of your new life.
Speaking of the early shift, you realise you need to get moving or you'll be late, and you definitely do not want a telling-off from Chief Roke to spoil your day. You finish getting dressed and hurry down to the engineering bay, grabbing a bagel from the mess hall on your way past. You breathe a sigh of relief as you start your shift on time. Reading the work schedule as you eat your bagel, you see there's nothing too exciting, just the usual range of maintenance checks.
The Persephone is only a week out from having been in the refit yards at Sirius so there's not much to fix, just one item you notice; a nagging problem with the compressors on the cargo bay door. You remember Chief Roke swearing a blue streak yesterday when they failed, those compressors were on the fix list for the Sirius yard and signed off as repaired. Still, there's no way that Persephone is turning round, not in the middle of a delivery run, so those compressors need fixing.
Fixing them requires going outside the ship - that's why they were on the fix-list for Sirius, it's damn hard to fix compressors out in space. But now you have to, so you figure you might as well get on with it. It'll get it out of the way, and it'll be a nice farewell present for the Chief.
On this particular morning, there are only two of you working in engineering and you're in charge. You assign the maintenance checks on the rest of the cargo bay to the other engineer, Tracey Filmer, she's only been on Persephone since the previous run from Centaurus, so she's still learning the systems. Basic maintenance checks are something she can do by herself, and she'll be in the cargo bay to help you with the space-walk.
Down in the cargo bay, you climb into the EV suit, taking deep breaths to relax yourself as you plug in all the cables. You run the standard diagnostics for the suit's systems and everything reads normal. Giving a cheery wave to Filmer, you activate the magnetic seals on your boots and clump down to the airlock door that's situated to the left of the big cargo hatch.
Out in space it is difficult to gauge time passing. You are an old hand at space-walking but you still find it difficult to have a sense of time without constantly checking your watch. So after concentrating on fixing the compressors (the mechanics hadn't fitted the wiring securely, so the connection had worked loose) you're not too surprised to find that you've been working for a solid hour without a break. No wonder you have a headache.
Berating yourself silently for your lack of attention, you close up the maintenance hatch and start to make your way back across the outside surface of the cargo bay to reach the airlock. You stop and turn to look at the stars for a moment, after all a Cadet might not be out in space again for quite some time, so the Crewman had better enjoy it.
The stars are beautiful, watching them reminds you of your childhood, all those nights lying in your bed staring out of the window. Suddenly you ache to be twelve again, back home in Wildehelm, pretending to be asleep when your mother comes in to check on you, dreaming of a life as a space adventurer.
You shake your head, your mind is getting fuzzy, you can't think straight and that headache is playing a concerto on the back of your skull. What were you doing?
Oh yes, just finished fixing the compressors. You only need to walk those few metres to the airlock, and then you can take your suit off.
Take your suit off.
The fingers of your right hand are around the release valve on your helmet before you realise what you are doing. How could you get so distracted, you wonder. You are beginning to wonder if your headache isn't just from working too hard. That maybe something is wrong.
You try to run the diagnostics on your suit, but you can't get your fingers to hit the keys in sequence.
You force yourself to concentrate only on your right fore-finger. That one finger just has to press the keys to request a suit diagnostic. Inch by inch, you move it across your chest over to your left arm where the display is. It is difficult, your finger is heavy and you're having trouble focusing your eyes. You are sweating from the strain of concentrating, but you get your finger to the display, you slide it in place and press the keys.
Now you wait for the diagnostic.
The board doesn't read normal any more, there's been a failure in the suit's remix tanks. The circulating air isn't being refreshed.
You're breathing in your exhaled breaths. You are running out of oxygen.
You try to press the big alarm patch on the chest plate of your suit, even your muddled fingers can manage that, you think. But your arms are so heavy, lifting them is impossible...
The alarm clock wakes you up, you try to climb out of bed, but you aren't in bed. You cannot fathom where you are, it's so dark. And if you aren't in bed, you ask yourself, why is your alarm clock ringing so incessantly?
Whatever the alarm is for, it is killing your head, making it so very difficult to think. You remember that you were meant to be going somewhere, but you can't remember where. Somewhere that you could cure this headache. Well, you aren't going to get anywhere leaning against this wall, so you try to step forwards. Your feet are stuck, you try to lift your legs but you just don't have the strength.
Your mother is so proud of you graduating from the Academy. You, a newly-minted Ensign shaking the hand of Admiral Akaar, who is the special guest for this year's commencement ceremony. You look out across the hall and you see her smiling. When she sees you looking over at her, she gives a little wave and wipes the tears from her eyes.
But then you remember, your mother died when you were sixteen. And you haven't even made it to the Academy yet, that's tomorrow.
Today, you have to get yourself back inside the ship.
There is something very wrong. Something is wrong with you. Your breathing is growing laboured. You try again to hit the panic button, but your arms flail as you cannot make them move the way you want to.
You try to shout for help, but you can only manage a whispered croak.
Your heart is hammering, your chest feels like it's going to explode and your head is pounding, pounding, pounding, blocking out any other sound.
Your vision is failing, everything is turning black.
At least your mother got to see you graduate, you think, as everything fades away.
