Candice Dionysus
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Three medical personnel, five military personnel, two BGW technicians, two Ambassadors and a single star ship pilot. That was our crew. It was supposed to be a simple mission: reconnect with Earth after some four hundred years with no contact. We go, we explain who we are and where we are from, and we begin the establishment of a inter-planetary trade route. We build long-range BGW satellites and set them up to connect our world with theirs, to have instant communication between colonies. In all, the mission should take about 20 years from planet-fall. Should the mission succeed, further missions to contact the other colonies would be put in place, and inter-galactic trade would begin, slowly at first. Mainly, the idea was to get the ball rolling and hope to whatever higher power that it just kept going and expanding.
Earth, the primordial home world of human kind. We homosapiens have come a long, long way since we first started our evolutionary journey. Though physical evolution stopped long ago, mental evolution has never ceased, and we improve and upgrade almost every technology literally every day. Back home, although I guess I should be more specific and say back in the dual human colonies of Nemiidi and Taesthi, we live in massive Arcs, full city-sized sky-scrapers with 200 floors. Each floor is a fully functioning, fully self-contained city roughly the size of Earths New York. For a long time we weren’t allowed to travel the surfaces of our colonized worlds but, about a hundred and fifty years ago, two generations of a family got into politics and they started to changed things like that, the daughter assisting with and carrying on the fathers work. They teach about them in history classes now, lots of people know their names.
So we leave the tachyon-thorium faster-than-light speed and then we come out of temporary, also tachyonic, stasis in fully enclosed hyperbaric chamber beds. The whole process is a bit unnerving. Going in to the hyperbaric bed feels like getting into a coffin, which is bad enough, but its the worst for claustrophobic people. Then, when you wake up, you’re disoriented for about an hour, and it can take time to even remember something as simple as your name, never mind why you were in the chamber and why you would ever agree to it. The sterile smell, almost like alcohol, that fills the stasis room can seem like an assault on your smell receptors when you first wake up from a faster-than-light speed jump. The rest of the ship isn’t so bad, but that sharp smell when you first wake up is awful.
We had to do dry runs in the hyperbaric chambers just to acclimate ourselves to the process and give ourselves shorter recovery times on wake-up. My own recovery is down to about twenty minutes. The pilot is always first, so they can take over the auto-pilot in favor of manual controls and make sure everything is still operating properly after the journey. The pilot would be followed by the BGW technicians, whose skills are useful in many applications, so that if anything were wrong with the star ship they could get to work repairing it, then the military personnel and the medical personnel, and the political ambassadors were last.
I suppose I should introduce the team, though, since this is our story, not just mine. I’m Rico Mackenzie, twenty-seven year old BGW technician, groomed for the position as all BGW staff are, from age ten when they test the schools for those with the best potential. I agreed to it readily enough, I enjoy many of the involved job requirements, such as satellite repair, general mechanics, robotics, physical workouts to keep the body in shape for regular space travel to the satellites, the space travel - why I agreed to the mission - and coding and programming and interface maintenance and upgrades and so on.
We have many degrees, many skills, in order to keep the BGW running without a hitch. It is, after all, basically a bi-global internet. In this case, we had volunteered for the mission, but they had narrowed it down to the two absolute best, because their part in the mission was to get a connection to the BGW on Earth and establish real-time contact for the purpose of further discussion, trade and other fine political gear-turning. Also because two of that high a caliber of workmanship was all they would spare in the name of this endeavor. I felt like the luckiest man in the bi-global colony. If I knew then what I know now. I’m getting ahead of myself though.
I’m about five foot seven, with a stocky build. I keep my rusty hair short, and my eyes have been described as turquoise-colored. I’ve been graduated and working for the BGW full-time for the last six years. I’ve had an obsession with old Earth since I was a little boy, particularly their old movies, and especially their old horror movies. I’m pretty sure in the twentieth century Earth slang, I would be a “nerd.”
My partner, the second BGW technician, is a Mr. Carmine Maestro-Bowler. Fifteen years with the BGW at age thirty-seven, ten years my senior. Neither of us is in charge of the other, of course, we are a team and we work democratically. Carmine is about five foot three and wiry thin. His bone structure and metabolic rate cause him to look like anything but a BGW technician, but those spindly limbs have so much more muscle than they appear to. He keeps his black, curly hair long, in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. He has the bright blue eyes that seem like they would emit a light of their own if he really wanted them to. Of course, they don’t, but they seem like they would. He is, in his spare time, a video game junkie. First person shooters and MMOs primarily.
Mr. Rajan Weiss, thirty year old soldier, one of the five military personnel sent mostly as a security squad for the ambassadors. Six foot tall, mocha-colored skin from all the mixed races in his families heritage. Short black hair, amber eyes. Piercing eyes, like he can look into your soul. Very muscular, but absolutely no real combat experience despite five years in the military. I should state, our military is also our police force, there is no distinction. When I say he has no combat experience, I mean he has spent five years patrolling the Arcs and never even had a fist-fight break out in his vicinity. Excellent warrior in theory, but wholly untested in any form of combat outside of training. Great shot, but untested with moving targets. I’m sure you get what I mean. Absolutely green.
Ms. Camille Reiner, forty-five year old soldier, and both the older soldier on the team and the higher ranking officer, also designated the squads commanding officer. Only about five foot three and wide-framed. Medium length brown hair, hazel green eyes, pale, pale skin. She didn’t like being outside of the Arcs, but this mission had too much of a draw for her. I never asked why. Now Camille is a warrior, thirteen years service and she’d not only broken up fights, but also taken down a murderer or two. Actual combat experience, actually tested aim on moving targets. A commanding presence and super strong for her age and height. She works out three times a day, every day, always different muscles being targeted - her routine. Yet, despite her intimidating presence, she is one of the kindest and most caring people I’ve met in my life. Came to think of us all as family in just the three months of preparations. I will admit, she is kind of like my second mother.
Mx. Shia Vernier, twenty-four year old soldier. Five foot five, medium build, shaggy blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Doesn’t assign self a gender, prefers neutral “they” pronouns. They have a lot more strength than they appear to, but again, no combat experience. Only three years serving, not so much as a punch swung. They have their nose pierced, its actually quite attractive with the shape of their face and the way their hair falls. I have a hard time not saying she, and I always correct myself when I mess up. I really like Shia, and I don’t want Shia to dislike me. As a whole, the colony is still adjusting to the acceptance of non-binary genders. Still, there isn’t an excuse, its common courtesy to use the pronouns a person prefers, and its really not asking much when you get down to it. Shia was the first non-binary gendered person I actually met face to face.
Ms. Maria Wong, twenty-nine year old soldier. About five foot two, clearly primarily Asian background, though mixed. Thin, but well-trained and muscular in the most aesthetically pleasing ways. I admire her physique, I’ve said so since we met. Black hair in a straight fall to her shoulders, and dark brown eyes. Its almost impossible to read her eyes, you can never tell what she’s thinking from her eyes, they betray nothing. Eight years service, and took down a mass shooter who got his hands on a military machine rifle and opened fire on a shopping district in the upper levels. Some aggro asshole crying about inequality between the classes. There will always be inequality between the classes, don’t shoot up innocent shoppers, become a politician and change it. Digressing, Maria’s a tough woman, and she spoke her mind, and I would enjoy her company periodically.
Mr. Carl Yawney, thirty-two year old soldier Carl’s shortest on the crew, five foot even. Dark brown skin, pale brown eyes. Effeminate, he identifies as male, but has no problem wearing clothing made with the feminine form in mind. He actually looks really good in a skirt, he has the legs for it. Not the most muscular, but trained in martial arts, and great at redirecting. Still, no combat experience in four years. Whether in spite of or due to his keen intellect remains in question. He also has amazing reflexes, even for a martial artist. Very, very impressive to watch him train.
Ms. Ryanna Mustafa, fifty year old battle medic with thirty years experience. Dark skinned, long blond hair, willowy and graceful. Ryanna is five foot ten and thin. Her Yoga routines are interesting to watch, and her speed is unrivaled by any other member of the team. She is a quick thinker, and does excellently under pressure, as proven by her thirty years practicing medicine in an emergency capacity. She isn’t rude by any means, but she does keep to herself a lot. Very private person.
Mx. Amaranth King, forty-five year old battle medic with twenty-five years experience. Amaranth is genderqueer, falling outside the Male-Female gender binary, and uses xe/xyr/xyrself pronouns. Its a bit easier to remember xyr versus their, because it specifies a gender, even if its not a very common one. For some reason, using fully gender-neutral terms confuses my brain. I do try to, though. Amaranth is about five foot six with short, spiky brown hair and bright blue eyes. Clearly has some kind of Asian mixed in xyr line, evinced by the epicanthic folds of xyr eyes. Muscular, practices both Jeet Kun Do and Tai Chi.
Ms. Robin Nikolai, twenty-four year old battle medic with 4 years experience. Five foot eleven, medium build, long hair past her shoulder, naturally brown but dyed teal. Brown eyes. She is young, she is brilliant, and she has a comprehensive knowledge of the human body practically memorized, but is still relatively inexperienced in practicing medicine. I’d have to say, though, that if I was going to get an inexperience battle medic, I would definitely want one with a comprehensive knowledge of human anatomy. Knowledge doesn’t always make up for inexperience, but in this case it certainly helps.
Mr. Kyle Marcello, sixty year old political ambassador. Mr. Marcello was one of two ambassadors sent on the mission, and was chosen for his well-documented skepticality and practicality. About six feet tall, thin, with short, graying brown hair, dark brown skin, and brown eyes. He’s been a politician for about thirty years, and a good one. Not very social, though, he tends to keep to himself unless necessity dictates otherwise.
Mrs. Marianna Campbell, eighty years old and our other political ambassador. Chosen for a number of reasons, including the stern, motherly aura she projects and the no-nonsense attitude she takes. She has been a politician for fifty years. Six foot two, medium build, just barely over-weight. Short gray hair and striking gray eyes. She’s a more social creature, and often the bridge to Mr. Marcello. Since she is the only person on board older than he, he defers to her out of respect.
And, of course, who could forget the pilot? Mx. Oranna Cloud, forty, who doesn’t assign themself a gender and, as with Shia, goes by they pronouns. Again, when I mess up I always correct myself. I mess up less and less with two of them around, so to speak. Oranna has been piloting star ships short distances for twenty years to shuttle politicians to and from the bi-global congressional space station. Oranna’s about five foot ten with long, wavy black hair cascading like a waterfall down their back about half-way to butt territory and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Very friendly, and always willing to sit and chat.
I mean, we weren’t much of a team when they picked us all. Most of us were shy of each other. That went away during training, a lot of us were friends by the end of training. Its hard not to think of someone as a friend when you see them every day, all day, and your rooms are all in the same corridor at the facility. Remembering each other became easier coming out of the hyperbaric chambers after three months of waking up to the same people, in the same order. When you can anchor on a recognition like that, right off the hop, it decreases the time it takes for the stasis haze to dissipate. Even still, I feel had training been longer, we would have worked even better together and maybe things would be different. If the weaker links had time to strengthen more before they sent us out, maybe nobody would have died. I guess I’ll never know. Like I said, it was supposed to be an easy mission, politics and trade. Not this nightmare we stumbled into.
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