Riley's Rejects

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. It is, however, entirely possible not to scream, even within a fully pressurized craft. I stood paralyzed, watching my shipmates blown apart and their limbs float past me, some smearing the primary windows, as I heard horror and madness. What a wretched sound – and it came from me. Slowly backing up, I slid down the bulkhead and slumped to the floor.

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine our trip to the stars would end this way. It seemed like only yesterday that I received my acceptance as a flight team member. How excited I was. How I wanted to go into space – to see alien stars, alien worlds, up close. My excitement erased any worry – fear of the unknown – that accompanied the letter.

Fear was an old friend. We were intimately acquainted, and the familiar angst usually heralded each new predicament with all the bells and whistles of immaturity. Fight or flight kicked in every time. Normally, “fight” was the result. Had my age changed anything? I think not. So overconfident and overzealous, but trying to keep my ego in tow, I met the rest of the team.

Riley was the oldest and looked as if he’d been scraped off a restroom floor after a midnight brawl. A scar extended from his bald spot to his forehead and drew my attention to his prematurely gray hair. He couldn’t have been more than forty; but looked much older. His face reminded me of connect the dots, which I often played as a child. The blemishes and scars hinted at stories best left unspoken. “Rough” and “rugged” didn’t begin to describe him.

Rory was about my age: early thirties. With his muscular physique, dark hair, and blue eyes, he looked like yesteryear’s movie stars. The only films made now are government funded and lack anything that resembles a plot, a climax, and character development. A stage, or big screen, suit him better than the jumpsuit and badge he wore like a trophy. His arrogance diminished his good looks. Hopefully, my annoyed glance told him so.

Myrna was new to these assignments like I was. Her decision to sit in the back of the briefing room may have been because she was the youngest of our motley crew -- or perhaps she was merely introverted. Despite her small stature and gentle features, I intuited that she was as tough as any of us. Her gaze followed me as I sat down at the elongated table in the room.

Johnson was an odd sort. Riley’s second-in-command, he looked like roadkill: disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, smudged from whatever escapades he’d indulged in the night before, and mud-caked boots. I doubted that he’d bothered to take a shower or change clothes. And yet, his grim expression and glassy, green-eyed stare conveyed a life of hardship, heartache, and sorrow. He watched me with the alert impassivity of a sniper. Woe to anyone who’d underestimated him in the past, and to any who did so in the future, for that matter.

I completed our five-man team. I’d been in The Alliance long enough to know that turning us into anything resembling a cohesive unit would be difficult. Society had become “me-oriented” long before I was born, and the self-aggrandizing culture of the military hierarchy had exacerbated the effect. I’d make the best of it, though; as I’d always done. Deep space, the stars, and the terrifying, tantalizing unknown awaited me. Nothing would keep me from it.

The Earth Exploration Alliance had sent many ships into space over the last few decades. They hoped to colonize other worlds, as we’d continued to deplete our planet’s resources. Additionally – though more improbable than probable – current hype warned of our sun reaching its red giant stage.

I had my doubts: It simply wasn’t old enough. The “official” consensus, however, was that time was running out. Trillions of Terra-dollars were tossed (who tossed them was, as often as not, unclear) at our “best and brightest,” and might as well have gone into an Alliance-issued waste-disposal unit. Many hoped for a better timetable, just as many doubted, and no one was certain. One thing was for sure: our world would end. The “how” and the “when” is what perplexed everyone.

During our briefing, a senior officer informed us that The Alliance had lost communication with two ships and their crew. The cause was unknown. No salvage crew was deployed. Thus, the two planets were off limits. He instructed us to exercise extreme caution when approaching any new stars, adding that losing two ships out of hundreds was a damn good track record. At the time, I thought that that track record probably mattered very little to the ten people who were lost: dead and drifting through space.

Regardless, there was no shortage of people willing to take the risk, and they knew it. They hadn’t found another world to inhabit yet, and apparently ten lives were a fair price to pay to find one – so far. As luck would have it, we were the next in line; next to conceivably add our names to that list of lost souls without a moment’s hesitation.

Our crew was given the week off to get our affairs in order. The following three weeks we’d receive additional training, and then we’d take off. Destination: Space, the final frontier.

We were the first flight to leave earth at the turn of the twenty-third century. A celebration, the likes of an old circus, was held as we left the platform. We roared into the atmosphere as numerous media and political clowns cheered. My heart pounded through my chest as the ship separated from the boosters. Though expected, the thunderous clang was deafening. Soon the stars welcomed us to the silence of space. Such beauty, such dread, such stillness, such disturbance; all contained in a single moment.

After a meal, we readied ourselves for the long journey ahead. If I had my druthers, I’d skipped hyper-sleep, and manned the consoles. I was unnerved by not seeing my surroundings and the goings-on while I slept. I was unnerved by any unforeseen dangers that may befall the ship while I slept. The Life Tube was lowered into position.

If I dreamt, I hadn’t recalled.

The ship’s computer woke us as we entered our assigned quadrant of the Emporium galaxy. There was a distance to travel yet, but we needed to get our bearings, and transmit scans, as we approached, to The Alliance of the galaxy and planet.

Riley barked our orders.

“Take your stations. Myrna and Martin, start scanning.”

Why he used Myrna’s first name, and my last name, eluded me. Marjorie had always seemed weak to me anyway. Martin sounded much stronger. I took my assigned station sporting a slight grin. I had doubted that anyone noticed.

We weren’t scanning long, when I picked up what sounded like a distress call. I had switched it to the cabin speakers and hollered at Riley, and the others, to listen.

This is the Fortuitous Five trying to reach The Alliance.

We landed as instructed, but something’s not right.

We’re getting off this…

Oh no…it’s not…what the…?

Oh my God…Get us out of here!

The transmission ended. Static filled the cabin. We looked at one another in shock. Before anyone spoke, we picked up another transmission. This time from The Alliance.

Fortuitous Five are you there?

Fortuitous Five can you hear us?

Fortuitous Five?

Is there anyone else out there?

Anyone receiving these transmissions?

“Yes. Riley’s Rejects here. We hear you,” Riley answered.

Whose speaking?

“This is Riley, sir.”

Okay. Good. Fortuitous Five is in an adjoining quadrant. I know it’s a lot farther, but we’re sending you there to check it out.

“But sir, you’ve never sent anyone after another ship before…”

Captain, this isn’t a request. We need to know what’s going on out there. We’re loading the coordinates to your ship. Make sure that you stay in constant contact with us for the duration of the trip.

“Yes sir, we’ll leave our comp open.”

We all glanced at one another, and then at Riley.

“You heard the man! Set the coordinates they sent. Let’s get going.”

A chill ran up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. What would be waiting for us out there?