ganymede rising
by Jonathan Shepherd
EPISODE 8
"Mmmph…" Jenna wound herself up in a tight
cocoon of blanket in order to escape the sound
invading her slumber, "mmm… wha… hmm? what?
What!?"
She bolted up and tore her body from the cloth she
had tied herself up in while sleeping. The alcohol she
drank the night before was pounding in her skull and
her eyes strained through sleep to get some clue as
to where she was.
It wasn't uncommon lately for Jenna to be unaware
of where she was waking up, but she felt a sense of
urgency that cleared her head.
Tanya was screaming.
"Tanya!" She ran into the bedroom to her friend's
side.
"Face! No Face No Soul No Face…" Tanya was
yelling and writhing around in her bed, covered in
sweat and tearing at her sheets.
Jenna tried to grab her and help her wake up, but her
efforts were met by a smack across the face and
strange gulps for air.
"Away! Mmmgahh! Get Out You're All Going To Die!"
through her pinched face she screamed and flailed
around, ending up face down in her pillow muting
sounds that made Jenna's vocal chords hurt.
"Tanya! Tanya stop it! Wake up!"
She turned over, panting…. and then stopped. She
took a deep shuddering breath, and just lay there with
her eyes closed, as if nothing had ever happened.
The room rang with the sudden quiet and Jenna
stared at her, hearing nothing but the sounds of her
blood pulsing through her body.
Tanya abruptly gasped and sat up, eyes wide with
terror, chest heaving and hands clenching the sheets
around her. Her lips trembled and she looked around,
wild and confused, until she focused on Jenna,
allowing recognition sink in.
"What… are you ok?" Tanya croaked.
Jenna smiled… "Am I ok? Honey, you need to wake
up and get a hold of yourself…"
"Shhh!" Tanya held up her hand, and turned to the
table next to her bed. She yanked the drawer open
and pulled out a small blue notebook and polished
titanium pen. She wrote for a few minutes while
Jenna plopped down on the end of the bed and took
a deep breath.
When she quit writing, she turned back to Jenna and
said, "Sorry… it was the dream again. I had to write
some stuff down. I think there was more detail this
time. I almost made out the name of the ship, but I
might have just been projecting. I kept seeing the
word Ganymede… but that's where it crashes, not
the name of the ship… but damn it it's what I saw… I
just can't shake this one…"
Tanya bent her head and wept into her hands, "I…
j-just can't take it… suh-seeing those people die…
over… over and…"
"I know honey, I know." Jenna put her arm around
Tanya and rocked her tears slowly away.
"Jenna?"
"Yes?"
"I know I saw that name… in the metal. On the side
of the ship. 'GANYMEDE'- just like the moon. Flaking
green paint over rust… the 'Y' was almost completely
gone… so cold..."
"Well? What do you think it means?"
"Jenna, how hard would it be to access docking files
for the Ganymede station?"
"For when?"
"For the last five years. If it was a freighter, that ship
may have made routine trips there."
"Well," said Jenna, "You don't hang out at the Hive as
much as I did without making a couple of
connections. We'll see what we can find out."
Sweet morning air floated in through the windows of
the tiny apartment and reminded the two women that
there was a world going on outside of all of this. On
the street corner below, a lone figure quit looking up
at Tanya's window and walked away.
***
The monorail system pierced the damp Atlanta night
and rattled forward to its next stop, only a few people
inhabiting this great metal caterpillar during these
hours. It was the time of lost souls, when only the
drunken and forgotten clung to a vinyl seat,
pretending to have somewhere to go in hopes of
getting a few minutes of sleep and shelter for the
meager offering of a few begged credits
Harris Flout was a lost soul. He had been drunk for
three days now, and was only half awake when the
train came screeching to its next stop. No matter
where, Flout would stumble off the train and work his
way to another place to hustle for a drink.
He scrambled to his feet and clutched the overhead
strap tightly to stop his hand from shaking. The
unintelligible voice (was that what woke me) called
out the destination again and the car lurched forward
and the doors slid open. He stumbled onto the station
platform and meandered his way to the escalator that
would take him back down to the street. There he
could find enough money for another nap.
By the time he reached the street and worked up
more wine-tainted sweat, he was ready for a break
and began looking for a bench or a chair or a patch of
asphalt that looked softer than the rest. He just
wanted to sleep. Or to get drunker. At least then he
wouldn't be able to smell his breath anymore. He
staggered forward into the darkness of the city until
he realized he was standing in someone's way.
"Hey… you got a credit? I'm just trying to get home
mister… you're a guy right?" He looked at the figure
before him, eyes heavy and confused (I must be way
drunker than I thought).
"Harris Flout?" The voice buzzed more than spoke to
him. Flout wondered if it was the result of the cheap
whisky finally wearing off.
"What?"
"Harris Flout… I'm here for you. You must come with
us. We have wonderful things for you."
Now the voice sounded like buzzing… and like bells
too…. Harris shook his head and tried to focus, but
he was so confused…
"Yeah? You have money? Or maybe something to
drink?"
"Oh, my friend," the voice spoke again, this time like
a chorus of children, "we have something far, far
better, and we want nothing more than to share with
you…"
"Yeah!" Flout nodded his head and leaned forward.
The figure was most accommodating, and they
began to walk arm in arm down the street, "Take me
somewhere where I can sleep mist… er… friend."
Now the voice was almost a whisper, "Oh Harris
Flout, we will show you something exquisite… and in
turn you will give us precisely what we need… ounce
per ounce…"
They shuffled down the street together, and
strangers passing them mistook them for lovers.
