Ephemeral: Chapters 1 & 2

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Clara's tired hands clutched the space helmet to her chest like a child warding off the dark with a cherished toy. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the onslaught of protests.

She did not have to wait long.

The Vitae Flight Center boarding agent sputtered and stared. Nothing in his training had prepared him for the shock of seeing this returning passenger from shuttle 42 remove her head gear. He shrieked in an octave he’d not reached since puberty and punched the enormous red button affixed to the nearby wall. A warning siren tore through the cavernous flight center as he dashed across the gray-tiled floor into the gathered crowd, still shrieking.

The lone passenger stood silent at the receiving bay entrance amid the cacophony of gasps, curses, and the alarm's incessant pulse. Blood drained from her already-pale face as the crowd verbally processed the sight of her colorless hair.

“White?”

“White!”

“White?!”

They hissed the color in incredulity, in mortification, in accusation. Some covered their mouths, turned on their heels, and ran for the nearest exit to avoid catching whatever disease had stricken the woman standing before them. Others whipped out their hand-held screens to record this novelty for virtual viewers.

Finally, one of the onlookers bravely vocalized what everyone else wondered. “Hey, you there!” he demanded. “What are you? And where's the rest of the research team?!”

The passenger winced. Her emerald eyes stung. She could not think of her fellow researchers without regret. And as to what she was now … she sighed. They don't even realize I'm human.

A draft of warm air wafted against her neck from the tunnel behind her. Through the three-story glass window, she eyed the whale-like shuttle she’d disembarked only minutes earlier; it rested on the tarmac after its swim through Earth’s fiery atmosphere. Could she rouse it and sail back to safety among the stars?

Too late for that, she mused grimly.

The siren ceased, having accomplished its purpose. Heavy booted footsteps thundered through the corridor – no doubt belonging to the Vitae Conglomerate Security Force.

The passenger swallowed hard and gripped her helmet even tighter.

In five seconds, a dozen black-clad guards nearly identical in their crew cuts and dark glasses arrived at the scene wielding large guns. The stockiest of these — presumably the chief of security — held a metal amplifier to his lips. “Drop the helmet!” he barked. “Then get your hands up where I can see them! No sudden moves!”

The passenger slowly bent down to place her helmet on the floor. Then she straightened with a slight groan and raised her trembling hands toward heaven. No turning back now.

While seven guards aimed their guns at her gullet, the other five herded the public from the scene and set up a perimeter of yellow caution tape. She heard one guard radio for backup.

“Identify yourself!” the guard ordered.

Did she detect a slight quaver of fear in his voice? Or was she merely projecting her own apprehension into it?

“I said identify yourself!” Louder, this time.

The passenger cleared her throat and recited the standard nomenclature as she’d done since grade school. “I am number 8,456,324,158, Vitae Conglomerate University grad student, Clara Leigh Milton, age … age …” she stammered; her gnarled hands felt heavy in the air. If she dropped them now, would they shoot her?

“What is your age?” demanded the man in black.

Clara licked her dry lips. Her left thumb pressed against the smooth silver band encircling her ring finger. Its reassuring coolness and sparkling – almost living – green gem evoked a river of memories which flowed gently over her weary soul, calming her. My age? They wouldn't believe me if I told them. Her mouth flickered into a sad smile. “What is my age? That’s a very interesting question …”

40 Days Earlier …

“You promise you’ll come back, right?” Sydney Milton asked her older sister for the seventh time that morning as they sat together in Gate 42 waiting for Clara's interstellar flight.

Clara smiled tolerantly, reached over the gray plastic arm rest between their gray plastic seats, and squeezed Sydney's hand; these days her sister's alabaster skin seemed nearly transparent. “Of course I’m coming back,” she said with an attempt at nonchalance. She plastered on a smile but fought to speak past the rising lump in her throat. Partings of any sort had grown difficult since their mother’s accident. “Vitae Transports has been serving Earth’s interstellar colonies for nearly fifty years. They’ve even got a perfect five out of five star safety rating.” At least that’s what the screens posted throughout the building said.

“Nothing stays perfect forever,” Sydney countered with the defiant frown so characteristic of seventeen year-olds. “And I hope you’re not on board if they happen to lose a star.”

“I hope so, too.” Clara fidgeted with the white helmet on her lap and turned toward the wall of windows. Through the white drizzle outside, she could make out various aircraft parked on the tarmac – some to cruise through clouds, others to cruise through galaxies. She had never traveled outside Earth’s atmosphere before, and the black and white shuttles reminded her vaguely of large killer whales – probably not the most comforting image.

Sydney sighed. “I guess there’s no point in asking you to change your mind?”

Clara shook her head and scratched her thigh through the clingy navy blue bodysuit that made her look like a scuba diver. “It was an honor to get selected for this research internship. I’ll be able to knock out my master's thesis in one season instead of three. Besides, the internship's less than two months. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

That last part was a lie, and they both knew it. Clara’s empty chair at the dinner table, her quiet spot on the couch in the evenings, and her absence on the other side of Sydney's bedroom wall would leave a gaping hole in the Milton household – a hole accentuated by the one already left by their mother. A hole which Sydney would now have to vault over unaided for the next forty days.

“Don't worry, Sydney.” Clara said. “I’ve arranged everything. There are several meals in the freezer and fresh groceries due to arrive every Monday morning. I’ve listed Dad's onscreen appointments with the palliative care specialists and psychologists on the fridge. And Raven’s mom promised she’d look in on you two while I’m gone.”

“But you are coming back,” Sydney repeated, her large blue eyes threatening to storm.

“Yes, Sydney. I’m coming back. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because Mom didn’t.” Sydney curled a short lock of black-dyed hair behind her ear and looked away.

It was true. Two years earlier, their parents' car had suffered a navigational glitch. Their father lost not only his wife that night, but also the use of his legs – a hard blow for an athlete who valued health and independence. Although a motorized wheelchair had restored much of his mobility, the accident continued to plague his mind like a cancer. Lately, he seemed less and less tethered to reality as he downed pain killers to escape his troubles. Clara sometimes caught him in a semi-conscious state wheeling himself from room to room looking for her mother. He'd barely smiled when Clara shared her internship acceptance letter and hadn't surfaced from his room to see her off this morning. She doubted he understood she was leaving for the summer.

I wish Mom were here … Clara thought for the fourth time that morning. Ever since the Vitae Revolution, people expected to live healthy lives leading up to the celebrated Rite of Passing. Perhaps that’s why their mother’s death felt so wrong; she’d passed years before her time.

Enough! Clara gritted her teeth. This isn't helping Sydney. She never allowed herself to brood for long. Yearning for the Passed only led to useless tears, sleepless nights, and reduced productivity. It was better not to dwell on events she could not change. So she cleared her throat and changed the subject. “At least one of us will be on vacation this summer. You’ll be soaking up sun while I interview colonists and type up social observations.”

Sydney brushed her pink nose on her black shirtsleeve. “Is it summertime on Elpis 7?”

“According to my research, the planet doesn’t have a tilted axis, so it should be pleasant year-round. That’s one reason the Vitae Conglomerate wanted to start a settlement there – to take advantage of its never-ending growing season. They’ve even discovered new elements we don't have here. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“To a nerd, maybe.” Sydney smirked; it was the largest smile she’d worn all week.

To Clara, that slight grin seemed like a shaft of sunlight piercing the gloom; for the moment Sydney sounded like her old, snarky self. “Hey, I resemble that comment! And anyway, that’s why they developed the interstellar internship program – to provide research opportunities and promote scientific discovery.”

“But you’re not a scientist, Clara. You barely passed astronomy!” Sydney crossed her arms and frowned again. “I still don’t see why they accepted your application.”

Clara took a deep breath. “Technically, I'm a social scientist. That still counts.”

“No, it doesn't.” Sydney shook her head. “A scientist would have packed beakers and test tubes. You packed what – a notebook? A pencil?”

“AND a computer, a temporary shelter, and food and supplies for two months – which is more than adequate,” Clara said. “Plus, I’m not the only social scientist on this trip; Raven’s studying the development of government hierarchies.”

“Gag me.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “Political science doesn’t count, either. Unless you’re cutting something open, digging something up, or working in a lab, you ain’t a scientist.”

“And you ain’t no English major, Syd.” Clara smiled.

“Thank goodness,” Sydney said. “Then I’d be a nerd like you.”

“Final call for all patrons of Interstellar Flight traveling to Elpis 7,” announced an overhead speaker. “Passengers, please make your way to the boarding station.”

Sydney’s smile vanished from her face, taking all the sunshine with it. This was the moment the sisters had been dreading.

Sydney's eyes clouded as Clara rose slowly to her feet. “Have they already done all the safety checks and everything?” she asked.

Clara nodded. She felt slow and cumbersome in her body-hugging space suit and heavy white boots.

“And you’re absolutely sure there’s no way to telecommunicate while you’re gone?”

Clara shook her head. “The wormhole’s only open for a few hours and isn’t due to reappear for another forty days. Without a wormhole, any message I’d send from Elpis 7 would take a million light years to reach Earth, and by that time I would have returned and been dead for millennia.”

Sydney looked up from her seat, startled.

Clara regretted her joke and put her hand on Sydney’s shoulder. “Don't worry, Sydney. When the wormhole reappears, I’ll be on the first ship home.”

Sydney stood to her own feet. “You promise?”

Clara wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her close. “Yes, Sydney. I promise.”

“Last call for interstellar flight to Elpis 7!” the speaker blared.

Clara released her sister. “I’ve got to go. Take care of Dad, and try to keep your chin up. I'll see you at the end of July – and I expect you to have a tan by then.”

“Fat chance,” Sydney said with a sniff. “I tan like a lobster.”

Clara smiled. “At least dip your toes in the pool while I'm gone, okay?”

“I'll try … for your sake.”

“Good.” Clara grabbed her helmet and clumped toward the tunnel leading to the loading dock. With a final wave to her sister at the entrance, she turned her back on everything familiar and headed down the inclined ramp toward the shuttle, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand.

---

The retractable tunnel leading to Clara's shuttle reverberated with the thunderous sounds of other aircraft lifting off and landing on the nearby runway. Clara felt as if she walked in a dream. For months her departure date had been little more than a highlighted square on her cloud-based calendar. But now that date had arrived, and today she was leaving – really leaving – her family, her planet, and her galaxy. She'd never traveled overseas before, much less over stars. Soon she would exit Earth's atmosphere and spiral through a wormhole to a completely new world spinning millions of light years away.

It was a staggering thought.

Clara felt sick.

Her steps slowed as her early morning breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her navy blue sleeve and grew keenly aware of the weight of her helmet and the smell of her sweat. Though her heavy spacesuit nearly smothered her, she shivered.

Come on, Clara. Just breathe. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

At the end of the tunnel, the shuttle rumbled to life. If she didn't board now, she'd miss her flight. Clara shoved her anxiety aside and plodded onward with helmet in hand.

Thanks to the discovery of a new fuel source from one of Earth's earliest interstellar colonies, space shuttles no longer required old-fashioned rocket boosters or towering external fuel tanks. Contemporary spacecraft sat horizontally on the tarmac alongside ordinary aircraft, but could be easily distinguished by their bi-colored paint job – a nod to Earth's original space shuttles. Most commercial craft rivaled the size of sky-scrapers with room to accommodate hundreds of passengers. In contrast, the small shuttle waiting at the end of the tunnel seemed like a rickety school bus with its squat body and faded paint.

Clara swallowed hard and hoped the little spacecraft would safely make the journey. She arrived at the white door and pushed a dime-sized button beside it. A blue light beamed across her person to verify she carried no weapons. As she waited for the all clear, she noted the shuttle's name emblazoned in block lettering over the door: Promise #42.

How fitting. Clara smiled slightly. Even if she hated her time on Elpis 7, the moniker seemed to promise this ship would return to whisk her back home. Then she could finish her master's thesis, snag a teaching position at the local Vitae Conglomerate city college, and still help manage her family affairs. Not as well as her mother had, of course, but better than her father could at the moment.

“Identification, please,” spoke a computerized woman's voice from the intercom next to the body scanner.

Clara rattled off the standard information. “Number 6,456,324,158, Vitae Conglomerate University grad student, Clara Leigh Milton, age twenty-four.”

The door opened swiftly. “Please proceed directly to your seat,” said the computerized voice. “We will be launching in ten minutes. If you need assistance, one of our fully-functional server bots will be happy to assist you.”

Clara lifted an eyebrow. Can a server bot really be happy? Despite great advances in artificial intelligence, Clara still preferred working with humans over hardware. Perhaps her sociology major predisposed her to certain prejudices.

Something behind Clara's feet popped and hissed, cutting her musings short.

Clara spun around in time to see the tunnel she'd just stepped from retract back to its docking area. It folded back upon itself like a giant accordion, taking all means of retreat with it. Clara's heart pounded. I hope that thing doesn't detach while someone's standing on it! She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Onward and upward.

Despite the shuttle's undersized fuselage, Clara found its cabin surprisingly roomy and welcoming – not at all like the sterile white and metal interior she'd expected. A dozen portholes with multiple panes of tempered glass lined both sides of the curved walls. The ivory, sage, and beige motif with recessed lighting gave the shuttle a casual atmosphere. Only the harnesses attached to five center rows of seats gave Clara any indication she had not just entered a hotel lobby. Those, and the segue-like server bots with mechanical arms and flat screened “heads” which moved freely between the seats to assist passengers.

Three such bots busily tightened her comrades' harnesses as Clara made her way into the cabin. The Vitae University had certainly chosen a diverse internship team. In row three sat Aliyah – the friendly genetics counselor who never minded counseling outside her field. Behind her sat Darian – the entrepreneurial/anything-wearing-mascara enthusiast. And in row five sat Tristan wringing his hands; the precise environmentalist had calculated the odds of losing his breakfast during the launch and subsequently looked grim.

“There you are!” exclaimed Raven from the first row. She smiled and pointed to an empty seat at the end of her section. “I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind,” she said as she tossed her ebony braid over her shoulder.

“I almost did.” Clara smiled for the first time since coming onboard; she could remember when Raven still wore pigtails. “But the ramp disappeared so fast, I couldn’t run back to the flight center. Not in these boots, anyway.”

“I know that's right!” Aliyah chimed in from row three. “I can barely walk in these things! First thing I do when we get to Elpis 7 is change into my leather boots.”

“I’m surprised you wear leather, Aliyah,” Tristan said stiffly as he pushed his thick glasses up his red-freckled nose. “You struck me as one of those 'live and let live' sort of people with you being in medicine and all.”

Aliyah shrugged. “Vestis virum reddit. Clothes make the man, and cattle don’t need their skins after they pass. Besides, the internship packing list said to bring durable gear. If I'm going to be roughing it in a colonial settlement for the next forty days, I might as well be comfortable. Being comfortable will help me focus on my research, which will help me graduate, and ultimately help me help others. So you see, the leather goes to a good cause.”

“Too true,” Darian said with a smirk from row three. “Any bull would gladly give his hide to be wrapped around your lovely foot.”

Aliyah studied her pink nails and pretended not to notice Darian, but that was difficult given his chiseled cheekbones, dancing brown eyes, and a well-toned physique that could make a nun lust.

Clara saw the corner of Aliyah's mouth crinkle in pleasure and smiled to herself. The playful banter provided a helpful distraction from the impending liftoff. She gasped in surprise when a server bot rolled up to her and stretched out its mechanical arms. “Please raise your hands so that we may assist you with your harness. We will be taking off shortly.”

“Taking off what?” Darian asked.

“Oh please ...” Raven rolled her eyes as the bot tightened Clara's harness. “Still a frat boy, are we?”

“Only in my heart of hearts.” Darian placed his palm over his chest, then leaned toward Aliyah in the row ahead of him. “This flight serves alcohol, right?”

“You might want to wait until after we launch,” Aliyah said. “You don't want to soil your spacesuit.”

“No worries – I have abs of steel.”

In the back row, Tristan shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable.

At that moment, the shuttle lurched forward, startling the passengers. Clara gripped her arm rests. I'm glad I'm wearing my harness, she thought as the spacecraft taxied toward the runway.

The automated attendant's voice cooed through the overhead speaker, “Attention, passengers. Welcome to Vitae Transports. We offer the finest automated transcontinental and interstellar flights available.”

“You mean the only automated flights available,” Darian corrected.

“We will be lifting off momentarily. Please secure your helmet over your head and lower the visor to protect your eyes as we travel through Earth's atmosphere. Once in orbit, we will lower our sun shields and engage artificial gravity. Please do not attempt to move about the cabin until you see the green light displayed on your helmet screens. Thank you again for choosing Vitae Transports for all your transcontinental and interstellar travel needs. Vitae Transports – a service of the Vitae Conglomerate where health and happiness are our business.”

At the end of the presentation, the server bots rolled to their docking ports while the research team donned their helmets and lowered their visors. At first Clara could see nothing, but her eyes soon adjusted to the dimness so she could make out her fellow passengers. She took a deep breath as she felt the shuttle make another wide turn onto the runway. Its engines increased in pitch. I can't believe this is finally happening …

Raven turned toward her from the end of the row and gave Clara a thumbs up. “You ready for this?!” The helmet muffled her voice.

Clara felt glad Raven couldn't see her pale face through the dark visor. “S … sure thing!” she lied.

“Don't worry, Clara,” Raven called over the crescendoing engines. “These automated shuttles fly all the time, and there's never been an accident.”

There's always a first time, as Sydney would say. But Clara returned a thumbs up anyway. Her heart jumped as the automated attendant's voice narrated the countdown inside her helmet: “Takeoff in 30, 29, 28, 27 …”

Clara squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like a sixth grader sitting in the front car of her first roller coaster as it click, click, clicked closer to the fateful precipice.

“19, 18, 17, 16 …”

The shuttle rattled as its powerful engines reached their boiling points. Clara's mental coaster neared the top of the drop. The automated voice narrated the final digits:

“... 10, 9, 8, 7 …”

The moment of silent equilibrium before the inevitable plunge.

Breathe, Clara. Just breathe.

“... 3, 2, 1. Ignition!”

The shuttle shot forward like a bullet, shoving each passenger against their seats with invisible violence. The spacecraft's nose pointed up, up, up, surging toward the heavens till the passengers lay on their backs, nearly squashed by gravity's tenacious grip. At this velocity, the harnesses seemed completely unnecessary; no human alive could lean forward against such force, much less leave his or her seat.

Clara felt like she'd left her stomach back at the flight center. And her chest hurt – could her lungs even expand at this speed? Her vision grew cloudy. She willed herself to suck in air and found it was barely possible. With incredible effort, she turned her head against her headrest so she could peer out the shuttle windows. Through streaming clouds, she saw the sky change from pale blue to dark blue, then to fiery white as they hurtled through Earth's flaming atmosphere; the planet never relinquished its inhabitants without a fight. Now the harnesses proved their worth as the shuttle rattled with bone-jarring intensity. Clara feared her eyes might get jostled from their sockets. She squeezed them shut as a precaution and white-knuckled her armrests.

Then, without any preamble, the noise died. The shaking ceased. All urgency of motion ended. The shuttle floated in silence.

Clara opened her eyes and saw darkness outside the windows. But not just darkness. Thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled as if in greeting. And now the blue, green, and brown planet she'd always known spun slowly in space beneath the ship.

It was a holy moment.

Everyone gazed through the windows in wonder until the autopilot interrupted: “We have left Earth's atmosphere and lowered our sun shields. It is safe to remove your helmets. Please remain in your seats until we've engaged artificial gravity.”

Clara slowly pulled her helmet from her head and blinked to acclimate herself to the new light levels.

Raven gasped at the end of her row. “Clara, watch this!” Raven held out a pen at arm’s length and removed her fingers – the pen stayed in the air, suspended in space.

“Incredible!” Clara exclaimed in delight. She tried the same thing with her helmet. It, too, hovered in front of her face, completely unsupported. Clara grinned like a child seeing bubbles for the first time and tentatively tapped the flying orb. It floated away like a lazy white balloon.

“Everyone okay back there?” Raven called to the others behind her.

“I'll be alright ...” Aliyah said cautiously. “Wasn't expecting to get so thrashed about during takeoff. Hopefully these droids have something for headaches.”

Clara heard rummaging from the last row … then the sound of someone retching. “You okay, Tristan?” she asked.

“Give him a minute, Clarity,” Darian said. “Poor guy. Thankfully, I never get motion sickness. But I am curious about something ...”

Clara heard a belt unclick.

Raven furrowed her brow. “Darian, are you unlocking your har – ”

“Hey! I'm flying!” Darian crowed as he soared over the heads of his astonished teammates, his hands outstretched like a superhero. “I'm actually, literally flying! Come on, Aliyah! Tristan, put your doggy bag away. You gotta try this!”

Tristan groaned from the back row.

“Darian, could you please stop shouting?” Aliyah asked, her hand to her forehead. “You're making my head hurt!”

“Come on guys! This is amazing!” Darian turned a somersault in mid-air and pretended to backstroke.

Clara, eyes gleaming, reached for her own harness buckles, but she paused when she caught Raven's disapproving frown.

“I wouldn't fly too high if I were you, Darian,” Raven said quietly.

“Why on earth not?!” Darian touched the shuttle ceiling.

“Because what goes up must always come ...”

WHUMPH! Darian dropped to the floor like a tub full of lead and lay stunned at Raven's feet.

“... down,” she finished, shaking her head.

Darian moaned.

“Attention passengers,” voiced the overhead intercom. “We have engaged artificial gravity. It is now safe to move about the cabin. Please enjoy selections from our personalized refreshment menu. We will be approaching the wormhole in forty-two minutes.”

Raven unclicked her harness and offered her hand to the fallen MBA student. “Come on, Peter Pan. Back on your feet.”

He accepted her offer and stood, wincing. “I guess I've got to grow up at some point. Oh look! Just in time for cocktails.”

Clara smiled wryly and unbuckled her own harness as a server bot rolled up to her. “What will you have to drink?” it asked.

Clara's stomach gurgled. “Can you make a Moscow mule?”

“Ginger beer, Vodka, mint, and lime?” clarified the machine.

“Yes, please.”

“One moment.” A fizzing sound came from somewhere in the droid's midsection. Then one of its mechanical arms opened a small door just under the screened “head” and handed Clara a copper mug.

Clara took a tentative sip, then took another. The sparkling ginger and mint calmed her stomach almost instantly. She stood and turned toward the back row. Tristan still sat in his seat, his red freckles contrasting harshly against his paler-than-usual skin. He hadn't even removed his harness yet. “I recommend the Moscow mule, Tristan. It's soothing my stomach.”

“I think I'll stick to ginger ale, thanks.” He smiled weakly as he raised his glass to her.

“Would you care for any refreshment at this time?” the bots asked each passenger at the same time. “Our kitchen is programmed to make over four thousand dishes in over thirty traditional food genres, including a wide range of substitutions available to accommodate those with allergies or dietary restrictions.”

“In that case,” Darian said, upending his glass of Merlot, “I'll have filet mignon – medium rare – with garlic mashed potatoes, blanched asparagus, macaroni and cheese with bacon and truffles, and a slice of French silk pie.”

Tristan moaned and put his head in his hand.

Everyone else looked at Darian with varying degrees of judgment.

“What?” he asked with a shrug. “Don't fault a man for knowing what he wants. You never know which meal might be your last. Besides, I missed breakfast.”

“So did I, but only because I didn't want to upchuck it during takeoff,” Aliyah said. “No offense, Tristan.”

“None taken.” Tristan sipped his ginger ale.

Aliyah turned her attention to a server bot. “Do y'all have chicken soup or salad or something?”

“Come on, Aliyah,” Darian goaded. “We're in space. You already weigh less, so why not live a little and order cake?”

Aliyah shook her head resolutely. “If I eat like that all summer, I won't be able to fit back into this spacesuit. Chicken soup for me, thanks.”

“Make that two,” Clara said. Her throat tightened as she remembered how her mother had always made chicken soup to help calm her nerves before final exams. Oh, how she could use a bowl of that now.

“Excellent choice,” answered the bot.

“What about you, Raven?” Darian asked.

Raven smiled. “I have no idea what they serve on Elpis 7. So if this is to be my only chance to eat a gourmet meal, I'll order beef vindaloo.”

“Now you're talking!” Darian said with approval. “And you, Tris?”

“I'll stick to crackers and vegetable broth,” Tristan said. “I don't have much of an appetite and prefer a plant-based diet anyway.”

Darian raised an eyebrow. “You a vegetarian or something?”

“Of course!” Tristan sat a little straighter. “Science has long proven that a plant-based diet strengthens the immune system, prevents unwanted weight gain ...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Darian dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Our mothers all pushed veggies on us since we could chew. But you know a healthy diet still won't keep you from dying, right?”

Darian's comment seemed to suck the oxygen from the room.

Clara stared.

Aliyah froze.

Raven knit her brows in disapproval.

Most people avoided using the “d” word, especially in educated circles. It was an ugly expression which hearkened back to the dark days before the Vitae Conglomerate revolution – back when people aged well beyond their utility and lingered for decades in subhuman states before finally succumbing to the inevitable.

Tristan blinked behind his spectacles. “Well, yes … no one lives forever. We all pass in due time. But at least with a plant-based diet, you'll have a higher quality of life prior to passing.”

From across the room, Clara saw Aliyah frown, drain her glass of white wine, and promptly order another.

“That all depends on how you define quality,” Darian countered. “If life's a limited time offer, I intend to enjoy it to the fullest – and I can do that much better with a thick steak than limp lettuce.”

Raven swirled the lime around in her gin and tonic. The ice cubes clinked gently against the glass. “Pleasure is not the definitive measure of success, Darian.”

“That's true,” Clara agreed as she sipped her drink.

“Oh, really?” Darian looked skeptical. “Would Clarity care to defend that point?”

“Defend?” Clara's fingers tightened around her copper mug. She'd never liked conflict and had no desire to argue – especially with someone she'd have to live with for over a month. “Well, pleasure isn't entirely worthless but ...” Clara took a sip to buy herself some time. Then inspiration struck as she noted Darian's space suit stretching near breaking point across his broad shoulders. “... but take exercise for example,” she said with a sugary smile. “Do you always enjoy working out?”

“No,” Darian admitted.

“But if you never hit the gym unless you felt like it ...”

“ … I wouldn't be the specimen I am today.” Darian smiled. “Point taken, Clarity. Consider thy nickname earned.”

“High praise, indeed,” Raven said with a tolerant smile.

At that moment, the server bots returned with the passengers' meals on ceramic platters, bringing a welcome end to controversial discourse.

#

Half an hour later, the automated attendant spoke over the intercom: “Attention passengers: We will be approaching the wormhole shortly. Please resume your seats and replace your helmets as our droids assist with your harnesses.”

“The wormhole already? That was quick,” Clara said as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin and donned her helmet.

“Time flies when you're flying, I guess.” Tristan had regained his color since his broth and crackers.

“We're lucky,” Raven said. “Sometimes people travel for months to reach the appropriate wormhole. The one to Elpis 7 is just outside Earth's orbit – closer than our own moon.”

“That's a relief,” Aliyah said, her helmet muffling her voice. “I think I'd go stir-crazy if I had to live on a shuttle for weeks – especially with certain people.”

“Like me?” Darian asked in mock effrontery.

“Not everything's about you!” Aliyah huffed. “Though this time, you might be right.”

“Touche,” Darian said with a grin.

Clara cleared her throat. “I wonder how the colony's doing now they've had nine months to settle in.”

Tristan piped up from the back row, “Typically, colonists prioritize security and build rudimentary structures at first. But things often progress once they've met their primary needs.”

“You mean it's possible we might not have to sleep in tents all summer?” Aliyah asked. “Because I'm not sure how long I can handle life without indoor plumbing.”

“I wouldn't get my hopes up for any hotels just yet,” Tristan said. “Sometimes it takes years before a settlement can develop to Earth's standard of living.” He adjusted the visor on his helmet. “Am I the only one who read the internship brief?”

Darian cleared his throat while Aliyah crossed her legs and fiddled with her boots.

“Well ...” Clara confessed, “the quote-unquote 'brief' was over three hundred pages long ...”

“I read it, Tristan,” Raven said. “Personally, I'm interested to see how the colonists have structured their leadership. It would be nice to know whether I'm addressing a king, a minister, or a mayor before I make introductions.”

“No way to tell till we land,” Darian said. “It's not like they could have sent us more info beforehand – not without a wormhole. And this is the first one to appear since the original colonists left Earth, right?”

“That was also in the brief,” Tristan said. Pages fluttered from the back row. “Yep. Page six: 'Forty colonists became the thirteenth group to sign the Vitae Conglomerate Interstellar Charter. This charter ensures free trade and peaceful relations with Earth while allowing the colony the right of self-government with the provision of basic freedoms for its citizens. The colonists left Earth on October 9th, 2162 in the shuttle, Good Hope, captained by Lucas Karnak. The next wormhole to Elpis 7 is due to appear on June 2nd, 2163.' That's today.”

Darian shifted in his seat. “So you're saying we haven't had any communication with this colony since it started? So we have no idea whether the colony is thriving or failing?”

“That's correct,” Tristan said. “But not knowing all the answers beforehand should make our research more interesting. That's what we all signed up for, isn't it?”

“There's the wormhole.” Raven pointed to one of the circular windows on the right.

Clara squinted through her visor. There, against a curtain of stars, light quivered along the edges of a spinning vortex. The ethereal phenomenon flitted in and out of being like the northern lights and grew as the shuttle drew closer.

“H-how do we know that's not a black hole?” Aliyah asked.

“Attention passengers,” said the automated attendant. “We are now approaching the wormhole. We may experience some slight turbulence upon entry, but rest assured we shall reach our destination shortly. Please stay in your seats until it is safe to move about the cabin.”

Tristan's helmet cocked to one side. “How exactly do they define 'slight'? My innards nearly turned into my outtards during our initial launch!”

“Hang tight, everyone!” Raven called.

Clara clutched her arm rests and leaned back in her seat as the ship edged nearer and nearer to the gaping mouth of the vortex.

All suddenly went black.

If breaking through Earth's atmosphere had felt like getting shot from a gun, descending through the wormhole felt like gliding down an elevator shaft at warp speed. Stars streaked past the windows faster and faster till the glass gleamed with solid brightness whiter than lightning. Clara forgot to scream. She forgot to breathe. She felt as if all the galaxies had bottle-necked themselves around the tiny shuttle and would blind her if she raised her helmet's visor.

Then, with a final flash, the movement ended. There was no gradual deceleration; it felt as if she'd awakened from a dream of falling. The stars shone individually from their affixed places in the universe as the surface of an unfamiliar planet filled the shuttle windows.

Clara gasped at the crystal-clarity of verdant land and cobalt lakes. Without smog or satellites to clutter the view, Elpis 7 was a blue-green jewel suspended in space. Unlike Earth, the planet did not have oceans, deserts, or polar ice caps. Instead, its lush surface was punctuated by numerous lakes and snow-dusted mountain ranges. As the shuttle neared the surface, Clara's heart panged for the beauty. No wonder the colonists wanted to settle here!

“Welcome to Elpis 7,” spoke the voice overhead. “Please remain seated and keep your helmets in place as we navigate through the planet's atmosphere.”

Before Clara could properly prepare herself for yet another descent, the shuttle zoomed forward. Once again, the windows turned fiery white. The fuselage jangled noisily as Elpis 7's atmosphere sorely tested the mettle of the spaceship #42. Clara felt like an insect trapped against a car windshield. She clenched her teeth, clutched her armrests, and shut her eyes, desperately hoping for safe landfall.

“Clara!” Raven called minutes later as the engines' roar died down to a low rumble. “We're through!”

Clara opened her eyes. Wisps of cloud passed over the shuttle wings as the craft sailed through a golden afternoon sky.

“We have now entered Elpis 7 airspace,” announced the automated attendant. “You may remove your helmets, but please remain seated. We will make landfall in approximately four minutes.”

“You okay back there, Tristan?” Raven asked.

There was a grunt from the back row as Tristan removed his helmet.

“I've got more doggy bags if you need one,” Darian offered with a chuckle.

“No, thanks. But I'll have another round of ginger ale.”

“I'll join you,” Aliyah said as she pulled her helmet over her head. “My stomach can't take much more turbulence. The best cure for motion sickness is to stop moving. Can't wait to get my feet on solid ground again.”

Clara removed her head gear and raked a hand through her short mouse-brown tresses. She could not tell whether it was turbulence or excitement that unsettled her stomach, but a cold, carbonated beverage wouldn't hurt. “Ginger ale sounds great.”

The shuttle coasted toward a grassy field. For a few seconds, it hovered twenty feet above a clearing in the sea of green, then released its landing gear and gently made landfall with a hiss of relief.

We made it! Clara exhaled as she removed her helmet and rubbed her nose.

“Ginger ales all around!” Raven said. “Afterward, we should contact the colonists.”

“How do we do that?” Darian asked. “It's not like we have GPS here.”

“The shuttle used the same coordinates they used. I'm sure someone saw us land. But if not, the internship brief listed the colonists' communication frequencies. All we have to do is tune in and tell them we've arrived.”

While Raven talked logistics, Clara walked toward one of the shuttle windows and peered out, her green eyes eager to take in this beautiful new world. Waist-high grass waved gently in the breeze and stretched several miles toward rolling foothills and the bluish mountains with white tops beyond. So this is how Dorothy felt when she landed in Oz. If only Sydney could see this …

A server bot rolled up and offered her a fizzy ginger ale. Clara wrapped her fingers around the cool glass and sipped as she gazed out the window. Then something caught her eye.

About a hundred yards from the shuttle, a tuft of grass rustled, then stood still.

What was that? Clara squinted. Some indigenous animal?

Another patch of grass jerked to and fro briefly – this time closer. Then Clara spotted another disturbance and another as a growing number of invisible beings snaked their way toward the shuttle under the cover of the tall greenery. Clara's heart rate quickened as she sensed the shuttle would soon be surrounded. The ice cubes in her drink clinked together as her hand shook.

A final announcement came over the intercom: “Attention passengers: You will have one hour to disembark with your luggage. The Promise will return to these exact coordinates on July 12th at 2100 hours or 9:00pm by Earth-rendering. Enjoy your stay on Elpis 7, and thank you for choosing Vitae Transports for all your interstellar and transcontinental travel needs. Vitae Transports – a service of the Vitae Conglomerate where health and happiness are our business.”

Clara backed away slowly from the window, but could not tear her eyes from it.

Tristan raised his hands overhead and stretched. “Best start unloading,” he said, oblivious to Clara's rising fear. “Darian, what if you and I tackle the larger crates?”

“No problem,” Darian frowned. “What are muscles for if not slaving for others?”

“I believe the machines will do the heavy lifting,” Raven said. “All you need to do is push buttons – something at which you are adept.”

Darian smirked. “Cute.”

“Aliyah, can you help me do a sweep of the cabin and to make sure we don't leave anything important?”

“Don't forget to grab a few bottles of the good stuff!” Darian called over his shoulder. “They might not have any here.”

“Clara,” Raven continued, “can you help load up the helmets? I think there's a storage locker over the front door. Clara? Clara!”

Clara started at the sound of her name and dropped her glass of ginger ale. It shattered on the floor, causing all research team members to whirl around in her direction. But she didn't notice the shards and foam at her feet; her eyes were riveted on the window. “Tristan, how many colonists did you say landed here?”

Tristan pushed his glasses up his nose. “Forty?”

“Then why are there twice that many guards standing around our shuttle?”

Each passenger dropped what they were doing and rushed toward a port hole window. Dozens of soldiers in sleek, blueish gray uniforms now stood two rows deep around the spacecraft, each wielding what appeared to be a six-foot staff similar to a lacrosse stick. The menacing curved tops pulsed with bolts of blue electricity, and each one pointed at the little shuttle.

For several moments, the astonished research interns stared in silence.

Then Clara's heart threatened to beat out of her rib cage as the armed soldiers marched forward, tightening their noose around the spacecraft.

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