Mutant Space People: Part 1

In the following story, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely deliberate.

As several of the characters in the following story are based on real people, I feel the need to point out that, as well as I might know them, I can't be inside their heads as in depthly as a character of my own creation. Therefore some decisions, actions, or traits have been left up to creative licence, and may or may not reflect what said people would do in real life.

Second Disclaimer: I was planning this as a short story. Meaning like a page long, maybe. But it kind of mutated on its own, and will now be taking up at least two or three posts before it is done. That is all.

Now for the feature presentation.

“Simkins! Get your butt in here now!” The gravelly voice blared through the loudspeaker, startling everyone in the room.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Baxter! You too!”

“Aye, Sir!”

Lieutenant Simkins watched in disgust as Baxter immediately disappeared from his chair. Of course he was the favorite. Being able to respond so immediately gave him major brownie points with Chief Command. So he could teleport. Big deal.

But it was a big deal. Having a teleporting crewman was a huge advantage on any ship. Ensign Baxter had traveled through the ranks faster than anyone had ever done before, and was likely to continue doing so. Simkins sighed and hurriedly gathered up his charts.

Five minutes later, he entered the onboard war room, dropping a rolled star chart as he did so. Fleet Admiral Carson groaned, and smacked his palm to his face in exasperation.

“What part of ‘now’ do you not understand, Lieutenant? What took you so long?”

“I had to walk, sir.” He replied, having great difficulty in controlling his tone. Baxter chuckled.

“When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed without delay. Remember that, Simkins!”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Now, if I may have your attention, let’s look at map number twelve. SIMKINS!”

The lieutenant fumbled through his maps and dropped several before selecting the correct one and inserting it in the hologram projector. Immediately the stars and ships labeled on the paper became three dimensional, filling the middle of the room.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed that the enemy fleet hasn’t moved for over a month. This is extremely worrying and suspicious. We find ourselves with two options. A) That the virus we planted in the robots’ central system has finally broken the chain of command, or B) That some underhanded plot is afoot. Chief Command is of the opinion that the virus is finally taking effect, and that this war may soon be over.”

Simkins rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He had been telling his superiors for the past year that the robot fleets were not controlled by a robot general. Sure, the robots were sentient. It would be possible to have an android general, but it just wasn’t like that. There was a definite human influence. And what that meant was that, no matter what viruses were spread, the leadership would never be affected.

“But how do you know? You have no evidence.” That’s what they always said in reply. And that was just the problem. If he had mind reading skills, or the ability to teleport, people might take him seriously. Some talent that was quantifiable. Even shape shifting would be better, and that was the most common skill around.

He suffered through the rest of the briefing, during which nothing of importance was said. The truth was that Chief Command didn’t know a thing. They kept spinning the line that the virus would soon disable the fleets, but even those who weren’t computer savvy knew by now that the virus had been useless.

Finally the council ended, and the officers filed out, leaving Simkins alone with the projector. Carefully he removed the charts from the machine and rolled them up systematically. He was good with maps. Better than most. That one thing kept him useful to the fleet commander, so he was determined to do his job well, even if it was a dead end position.

“Clean up duty again?”

Simkins jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to see his roommate standing there with a sly grin on his face.

“Come on, Alex. Can’t you give me a break?”

“Nah, Rick-man. It’s too funny to watch you freak out.”

Simkins groaned. He liked Alex well enough, but he was the closest thing a person got to being a hippy in the 22nd century. Simkins was a sensible, grounded type. The complete opposite of Alex Jersey. He couldn’t complain too much, though. Alex had a way of making people feel better around him, though Simkins suspected some sort of special talent was involved.

When the two arrived back in their quarters, Simkins headed straight for his bed and crashed into it face down. For a few seconds the cool softness of the pillows lifted his mood, but it didn’t last long. Without an activity to take his mind from it, his thoughts turned to the sad state of his career.

“What’s the hype, Rickster? Gimme the download.”

“Like you can’t figure it out on your own. My career is a shambles. My life is a ship in orbit around nothing. Just circling and circling and getting nowhere.”

“You’ve got your talent.”

“Empathy? HA! That’s the lamest part. Being able to feel things? What good is that?”

“Well, you didn’t get to be a Lieutenant for nothing.”

“Maps. That’s all I’m useful for.”

“Nah, Rick my buddy, it’s all silver, man. I mean, maybe you just need to peace, ya know? Just orbit for a while and soon you’ll be angled to blast off again.”

“Um... I have no idea what you just said to me.”

“You need to get with the times Rick-man. That’s the lingo.”

“Mind translating the lingo for me?”

“Ever heard that way old phrase about clouds having silver linings? It’s silver, man. Just means sooner or later you’ll find your silver. Need to peace means relax. You’re trying too hard. I guess all I was trying to say is, maybe you haven’t found your niche yet, but everyone does at different times. You just gotta wait it out.”

“Well, maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. Thanks though. I’m gonna “peace” now, and get some sleep.”

“Spilacious, man. Rocket Dreams.”

Simkins decided not to ask. He just focused on his pillow and fell asleep almost immediately.

Ensign Baxter was making his way along a silent corridor. He was close to the wall with his gun drawn. The wall looked strange. Simkins realized that it belonged to an enemy ship. What was Baxter doing on a robot ship? No missions had been authorized. Especially not during rest hours.

In a flurry of motion, two robotic officers appeared, pointing their weapons at Baxter. His gun was aimed at them in return, but no one fired. Baxter’s mouth moved, but Simkins couldn’t hear any words. The robots lowered their guns, and Baxter lowered his.

Simkins sat up with a start. He had absolutely no idea what he had just witnessed. Baxter on a Robot ship, not getting fired on, of course. But it was extremely odd. He only knew one thing for sure.

“That was definitely not a dream.” He muttered to himself. It was far too real. But, then, what was it?