Earth Skills or "Endless Ladder"
Space rocks. I know that’s oversimplifying things, but there’s no better way to say it. It’s just totally awesome. Here, let me be slightly more poised.
The feeling of floating through space, weightlessly, is a sensation that is completely and utterly impossible to explain. The way your stomach tosses and turns, and your heart pounds, yet you still manage to feel nothing at all. Instead, you relish the lack of weight on your shoulders.
On the Ark, everyone is dealing with more baggage than they can carry. I’m sure it was like that before the bombs too. Because everyone tries to limit themselves to the thing they can bear: their shitty parents, their physics exam, their ex-boyfriend, but then the universe just adds a little bit more: an illegal spacewalk, a dead mother, suffocating solitude. It tests you. It wants to see how much you can take before you break.
But space exists outside of all of those things. Your shitty mother can’t get to you out here because she isn’t certified, plus she flunked out of Earth skills. There’s nothing left to bother you. There’s no more weight to bear.
Reyes, come in.
And just like that, it’s over. The pounds come soaring back down at light speed. Nothing lasts for ever, not even nothing.
The message bursts through my headset once again.
Reyes, come in.
“The weld is done. Anything else to work on over here?”
This is a test. Because there should be something else to work on over here. They should tell me to work on some repairs to docking bay B. Airlock 6 is just twenty meters away from docking bay B, making it the closest airlock to the place the drop ship launched from. It’s in my jurisdiction. If there’s a repair to be made, I’m the one who should be doing it. That’s why I came to James last night.
Negative. Start returning to the Airlock doors.
“Copy that,” I reply, my voice slightly deflated.
Still, I have more information than I had before. Someone’s hiding something. And if it isn’t James, then it’s the person who is giving James orders, meaning I’ve got to go to someone higher up. A council member, even.
And, as I float back over to Airlock 6, I’m reminded that my 24 hour purgatory is almost over. It’s visiting day.
If nothing else, I can bounce my theories off of Finn. He’s always been the one to keep me semi-rational.
As the door hisses open, I start my descent, feeling the gravity return. Only eighteen hours until my next spacewalk, assuming nothing else out of the ordinary happens. Fingers crossed.
Steam hisses through the airlock and I start to unfasten my helmet, eager to get out of this stuffy suit. Sure, in zero-g the whole outfit’s super cool, but once gravity comes back it’s just heavy and smells slightly like b.o.
“Raven, for the love of god! Wait for the all clear!”
I can’t help but grin as I lift off my helmet.
“Sorry guys, I’ve got places to be. People to see.”
A pair of techs hustle into the airlock, ready to help me undress. Pervs.
As they start unzipping my suit, I decide to take advantage of my captive audience. Start crowdsourcing my dilemma.
“Did you guys notice that there isn’t any damage to B dock?”
James groans as he plays with the switches and levers by the airlock door. He’s not actually doing anything, he just likes to press buttons so that he feels important. He’d fit in with the engineers.
“You weren’t supposed to be near B dock. Your maintenance was over by E dock.”
A sly smile slides onto my lips and I step out of my spacesuit, adjusting the hem of my spandex shorts.
“What, James? Going to float me for looking?” I turn to address the two techs, knowing that James has probably had enough of my b.s. “Oh come on dudes. A ship launched. For the first time in 97 years. You can’t tell me that you’re not curious.”
The tech closest to me raises his eyebrows, about to confirm his interest but James interrupts him. Now seems a good time to mention that James is a buzzkill. The Ark seems to have that effect on people. Anyone on this tin can that’s over the age of thirty five has morphed into a buzzkill, except for maybe Sinclair.
Jaha? Buzzkill. Pike? A passionate buzzkill, but still a buzzkill. Dr. Griffin? A buzzkill that will get up your ass if you’re even ten minutes late to your birth control consultation. Oh, and Kane? The biggest buzzkill of them all. Like, if you looked up Buzzkill in a dictionary, it would just be a picture of his pompous face, brown toupee and all.
Sure, I don’t know if Kane wears a toupee, but I bet he does. He seems like the type.
“No ship was launched.”
I roll my eyes. “I watched the ship launch. You can’t gaslight me about that, James.”
“It was ejected.”
“Same thing!”
The tech nods silently in the corner and I gesture at him as if to say see? We both think you’re an imbecile.
James just shakes his head. “A routine maintenance error forced them to eject.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter. “Do you know how much time it takes to get a drop ship ready to launch? That’s not an accident.”
“Just slow down,” James retorts. What an excellent change of topic. “I need to check your vitals.”
I slip my necklace back on and look back up at James. If he won’t listen to reason, at least I know that Finn will. He’ll believe me. He hates the council more that I do.
“Here, let me save you the trouble. I feel good.”
The tech nods knowingly. “Prison visiting day?”
“You know it.” I gesture at the discarded suit on the floor. “Just stash my stuff. I’ll come back for it after.”
But James shakes his head, blocking the entrance to the airlock.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Raven. There’s a virus in lockup. It’s quarantined for at least two months.”
All of the air rushes out of my lungs.
Finn turns eighteen in one month and thirteen days. Finn will be sentenced to death in one month and fourteen days. I can’t wait two months.
That means the last time I’ll ever see him is when he’s floating out of Airlock 3, trying not to cry. And I’ll be standing there, the only one who came to watch him go.
And once again, I’ll be alone.
——————————-
There aren’t any guards stationed outside of lockup, which would normally be weird. Normally, there would be at least two, shock batons at their hips. They always look pissy, even though they probably have nothing to be pissy about. I’m the one who has someone I care about stuck in the skybox, and they get to sit on their asses and pretend to be important. Why do they get to be pissy?
But I remind myself that people probably shouldn’t be this close to lockup anyway. If there is, in fact, a virus, like James said, it would make sense for people to stay away. Which would make me incredibly stupid.
There’s a small sliver of glass in the doors to lockup. It’s so grime covered that I can’t really see anything except for dim florescent lights. Still, I can make out the dark figure of a guard making his way down the row of cells, checking each door he passes.
He’s not in any hazmat gear. He’s just walking around like normal. Shouldn’t he be more afraid? Or is he already sick? Is that why he’s the only one in there right now?
I take a step back from the door and look for something else– anything else– that will give me the answers I seek.
And then I see it. An open vent, actively pushing air out of lockup and into the hallway. Pushing contaminated air into the Ark.
My stomach turns.
I mean, I know that the people on this tin can are pretty stupid, but not that stupid. To make an error like this would mean they’d be getting themselves sick. Sure, they’re stupid, but they’re also selfish.
————————-
I can see her waiting in line for rations. I wait, trying to find the perfect time to strike. If I can catch her off guard, she’ll give me more information, and I know she has the information I need.
Because not only is she the head of medical on this ship, but her precious daughter, Clarke, is in lockup with Finn. If there’s anyone who knows, it’s her.
I wait for her to collect her rations from the tray and then stride towards her, cutting off her second and command and dutiful servant, Jackson.
The words tumble out of my mouth, each one crashing into the next.
“Excuse me, Dr. Griffin.” Her head turns to acknowledge me. “I have a question about the virus in lockup.”
The look on her face makes me think that she doesn’t know what virus I’m taking about. Liar.
“If there was really a virus, wouldn’t you close all of the vents to restrict the airflow?”
Dr. Griffin bites her tongue, giving me a look that says impetuous child, why don’t you keep your nose in your own business?
Well, float you too, Dr. Griffin.
“The virus isn’t airborne” is all she says in response as she turns to walk away. Her minion, Jackson, nods his head silently behind her. Grow a spine, for goodness sake.
I can’t let her walk away. She now knows that I have questions, and if she sees me approach her again, she’ll know to avoid me.
“My boyfriend is in there. Finn Collins. Can you tell me if he’s okay?”
Dr. Griffin doesn’t even fully turn around. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Another lie from Dr. Griffin. She’s not sorry at all. None of those idiots on the council are. Because they know everything, and we know nothing. Because they have everything, and we have nothing. It’s a simple case of the “have”s and the “have-not”s. No matter what happens, that stupid piece of metal pinned to their shirts keep them safe.
She begins to walk away as I feel the heat rise to my face. She doesn’t get to get off this easily. She needs to understand that she doesn’t just float above it all. That I have feelings too.
“No you’re not,” I spit, a spiteful smile forming on my lips. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you? The council’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what.”
I don’t let Abby walk away from me. Instead, I turn on my heel and stride away.
Jackson finally finds his voice, and I can hear him mutter something as I continue walking.
“Ballsy kid,” he murmurs.
He’s got one thing right.
I don’t stay long enough to hear Dr. Griffin’s response. I’ve had enough of her bullshit for one day. All I need is the truth.
———————————
The maintenance ladder is stuffy, but it’s not illegal for me to be in here. At least, I don’t think it is… I’m a mechanic, right? Maintenance is what I do. If anyone has the right to be hiding in a maintenance ladder, it’s me, for christ’s sake.
The metal lining of the shaft is thick, but I can still make out some of what is being said below. Kane’s in there right now, nattering on about how awesome he is, and how cool his hair looks, or whatever.
If it wasn’t illegal and I wasn’t eighteen, I’d light his hair on fire.
Kane can go float himself, for all I care.
But then Kane leaves, muttering about security and Abby Griffin. It’s a couple minutes before I hear voices again. They’re mid conversation.
“I refuse to believe they’re dying!”
“That does’t matter. Kane believes that they’re dying.”
“Then we convince them otherwise!”
The door seals shut with a hiss.
“Abby, the council vote is in thirty minutes.”
It’s Jackson and Abby. Jesus Christ, it’s like they’re attached at the hip.
What the council is voting on, I don’t know. What I do know is that my foot is falling asleep. I wiggle my toes, careful not to make a sound. Considering how thick the shaft walls are, I doubt they’d be able to hear it even if I did.
“Then we have thirty minutes.”
Wow, she really told him! Sick burn!
This is like some bad police procedural from before the bombs. Finn’s a fan, and so I’ve been forced to watch with him a couple of times, but I always fall asleep. Too may words I don’t understand. Too many pop culture references that haven’t stood the test of time. Inkmaster, however, is a timeless piece of entertainment. That and The Walking Dead. Fucking metal.
I perk back up when I hear Jackson mention Sinclair.
“-Sinclair says that the wristbands weren’t designed for communication. Not even if we sent a signal down.”
So my mentor does have something to do with this. Of course he does. He was being too shifty yesterday, and he left right before the ship launched.
My stomach turns. This is all connected. I just haven’t figured out how.
And then I remember Sinclair’s top secret project from yesterday. The wristbands. Biometrics.
The puzzle pieces begin to come together in my brain.
Biometrics means that there’s something alive. They’d only need biometrics if there was something alive to keep tabs on. And Dr. Griffin said something about sending a signal down.
Down must be Earth.
Holy SHIT.
They sent people down to Earth.
Holy shit!
I’m partially offended that they didn’t pick me to join their pioneer mission back down to the ground, but I get over the feeling. I need to talk to Sinclair. I need to tell him that I know what he did. I need to ask how I can help. Because sure, I like space, but if Earth is suddenly on the table, I’ll take that over 15 minute spacewalks. On Earth, I’ll finally be free.
I start to scramble up the ladder but am quickly yanked back down. My necklace has gotten stuck on the jagged metal, and my boot slips off of the rung as my necklace snags. I flail for a moment, trying to steady myself, and my boot kicks against the outer wall.
I can hear Jackson mutter something below me, but I don’t stop. I find my footing and propel myself back up the ladder. Sure, it probably isn’t illegal to climb some random ladder in an air vent, but I don’t want to know what happens if I get caught. Nothing good, I assume.
But then, I feel something wrap around my leg and pull me down.
“Hey!”
It’s Dr. Griffin, pulling me down into Earth monitoring.
My boots thud against the floor and I turn around, hands raised in surrender, as I try not to look too smug.
Dr. Griffin raises her eyebrows, clearly recognizing me from the canteen earlier this morning.
“It looks like you have something for air ducts.”
It’s a stupid joke, but I smile anyway. I’ll humor Dr. Griffin if it means I don’t get in trouble.
Jackson, however, is a narc.
“I’ll call security,” he offers, but Dr. Griffin stops him, gently placing a hand on her arm. Jesus, it’s like he’s her pet. It’s pathetic.
She lets go of me and I finally take in my surroundings.
Screens cover the wall in front of me. Covered in faces. I scan the names until my eyes rest on one. Finn.
And just like that, the last puzzle piece clicks into place.
“Is this?”
“You know, don’t you?”
I ignore her questions, scanning the information on the screens.
“This is being sent from the ground?”
Jackson nods. Dr. Griffin just stares at me, watching my expression. Trying to see if I’m dangerous. If I’ll tell.
“So, you sent the prisoners.”
Dr. Griffin smiles weakly. “Not my idea.”
“Kane’s?” I ask.
“Jaha.”
Oh.
Then, I notice the little red squares on the screen. Blinking. Crossed out. Finn’s square isn’t red, thank goodness. Neither is Clarke’s. At least, not yet.
I turn to Dr. Griffin, whose holding one of those pesky wristbands in her hand. She looks down at it before looking back up at me. Her eyes are softer than they were before.
“Are those things welded on?” I ask, gesturing at the cuff.
“What?” A pause. “Oh, no.”
I smile. It’s clear to me that Dr. Griffin doesn’t understand the first thing about teenagers. Especially teenage convicts who have been stuck on this tin can for their whole lives.
“Then they’re taking them off.”
Jackson raises his eyebrows.
I repeat myself. “They aren’t dying. They’re taking off your wristbands.”
“Why would they do that?” Jackson asks. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“Because we told them not to,” Dr. Griffin muses.
They both shake their heads slowly, as if I’ve dropped some earth shattering revelation. Jackson no longer looks like he’s going to run and grab Commander Shumway.
So, I smile.
“Am I free to go?” I ask.
Dr. Griffin nods her head as if she’s in some sort of trance.
I can’t help but laugh as I walk through the door.
“I guess you shouldn’t have sent down a bunch of teenagers.”
——————————-
I lie in bed, wondering what Finn’s doing right now. At least he isn’t as stupid as some of the others. At least he’s alive. At least he’s on the ground and not in lockup. At least he has a chance to live.
But another part of me is jealous. Jealous that he gets to experience this adventure without me. If either of us was well-equipped for a mission of this nature, it would have been me. I’m the pilot. I’m the mechanic. I’m the smart one. He’s a janitor who likes to smoke weed with the kids from agro. He’s just a kid.
I bet he’s sleeping under the stars, and smelling the fresh air, and doing the things I’ve only ever dreamed of. I bet he’s seen things that I don’t even know exist.
I look out of my room’s window. Our room. Finn’s room, technically.
I look down at Earth and wonder if, inside all of that green, Finn is looking back up at me.
——————————-
When I make it to engineering the next morning, Sinclair is waiting for me, arms crossed.
Maybe Dr. Griffin spilled the proverbial beans about my espionage. Even more likely is that Jackson spilled the beans. Spineless.
But when I approach, his demeanor softens.
“You’ve got a work order, Reyes.”
My eyebrows knit together.
“What?” I shake my head. “I’m supposed to suit up in like fifteen minutes.”
“I’m grounding you.”
Jackson should go float himself. That tattle tale.
“I didn’t do anything,” I blurt.
“I didn’t say that you did,” Sinclair retorts. “You were specially requested.”
He hands me a slip of paper with a level number. A restricted level number. I look up at him for some sort of signal, some information about what this means, but he shrugs and walks away.
I love Sinclair but I hate Sinclair. Sometimes, he needs to be a little bit more straightforward.
But he’s gone, so I make my way down to the level on this tiny slip of paper, pausing by the door to grab my work kit.
I have to wait in front of a locked door for someone to let me in. People like me don’t have the security clearance for these sorts of things. I press the buzzer by the door and static bursts out of a small speaker.
“Did someone call for a mechanic?”
Almost immediately, the door slides open and a familiar face appears.
Abby fucking Griffin.
I can’t hide the shock on my face and Dr. Griffin smiles.
“We need to talk.”
“Look, Dr. Griffin, I said I wasn’t going to say anything,” I protest, but with one glare, Dr. Griffin silences me.
“Call me Abby,” She mutters before disappearing inside. “And you’re not in trouble.”
“Not in trouble yet, you mean.”
I follow her and am suddenly surrounded by piles of old parts. Sheets of metal. Rusted engines. It’s like heaven. I slowly turn, taking it all in.
“This level is off limits,” is all I can manage to say.
Abby laughs. “Not anymore.”
Then, she turns, the look on her face suddenly somber.
“You know that we sent the hundred down to the ground. What you don't know is why. The Ark is dying, and I have ten days to prove that Earth is survivable or three hundred and twenty innocent people will be killed.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right.”
Abby walks deeper into the room, beckoning for me to follow.
Still, I have questions.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’ve looked at your file. You’re the youngest Zero-G mechanic on the Ark in fifty years.”
A small smirk forms on my lips. “Fifty two, but so what?”
She pauses by a looming object covered by a dirty tarp. With one grand flourish she reveals a dilapidated escape pod.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You have nine days to get this thing ready to survive a drop.”
“Nine days? For this to be able to survive the inferno of re-entry?”
Abby crosses her arms. “Can you do it?”
I pause, weighing my options. On one hand, I say no and continue on living this way. An empty bed, engineers, and 15 minutes outside a day. For however long we have left.
Or, I rebel. I help Abby, and maybe get something I want in the process. And I save everyone, making myself a hero.
The choice is easy.
“Fine,” I say. Abby’s face immediately softens. “But I’m coming with you. Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”
But I know she can’t leave it. I’m the only one on this ship that can accomplish this daunting task. Sure, the engineers might talk themselves up, but the only other person on this ship who could even attempt to tackle this would be Sinclair. And he probably wouldn’t even finish in time. Abby has no choice. Either accept my terms, or condemn 300 people to their deaths.
I hope she has a conscience.
“Okay then.” She says, finally.
I grin.
“Then you’ve got yourself a mechanic.”