Chariot 3: Conception

As Sissy finished her words, they sensed the ship changing its course. Chariot 3 lifted her bow and started to gain altitude.

“Are you doing it Captain?” V-Nus enquired, referring to the sudden change of course.

The Captain nodded his head. “It`s her.”

V-Nus expected to hear more, a disapproval message, Chariot 3 being reprehended or any sort of dissatisfaction, typical from Shoffer for changing her course without notice but the Captain was tired, thirsty, and hungry. Shoffer knew the others would not be feeling different, although undoubtedly, no one would ever admit it.

Captain Shoffer looked back and checked on his team, concerned with their condition. “Not too bad” he thought, trying to be positive.

What caught his attention was not V-Nus, Cai Yiu or Flumen featured with a very exhausted appearance, but Ezekiel completely asleep on his seat. His turban that was white no longer, featured with all the dust combined with the perspiration of a very unusual day, was falling down on his shoulder and covering one of his eyes with his head leaned to the side.

“Flumen, would you please bring a suku to each one of us.” Shoffer nearly serene voice referred to the nutri-hydro patches in his native language, the only option of food and fluid intake they carried onboard. Despite the absence of smell, texture or even moisture, those stickers would be enough to provide a common individual sufficient energy and hydration for over a day.

“Yes Sir.” Flumen`s magnetic link disconnected automatically from his seat as he got up. He walked to the hatch leading down the deck and held the pipe that had previously held the essential tube. He swiftly descended the pipe and analyzed how simply awkward, almost nostalgic, it looked without the antimatter and its extraordinary liquid formic appearance.

Just a few feet below, Flumen stopped on the Inter Deck. His eyes scanned the area as his body rotated backwards. His attention was specially caught by the four practically imperceptible handles on the wall, featured with an inscription in his language.

“Berthing” he read…“I wish”, the symbols referred to the beds that could be unfolded by the pushing of a button, incognito within the bulkhead. They had not even had the chance to look at them yet and who knew when they would, if they would ever sleep on them at all. He wondered how comfortable they were – if comfortable at all – and smiled. “It does not matter.”

Flumen then reminded himself of the reason why he had come down, thinking of where those sort of provisions would be stored. “I would have kept everything on the Bridge” he imagined, “much more practical”.

He turned his body a little more to the right and finally faced the sliding doors leading to the micro lab, similar to what the newest ships from the Nibirian Space Agency were generally equipped with. “They must be stored in there.”

Flumen stepped ahead, expecting the doors to open automatically as they usually did on other ships.

Unsuccessful, he stepped to the side and waived his arms, thinking that maybe the sensors had not identified him.

Without result and as a last attempt, he touched the door with the palm of his hands and searched for a switch, assuming it was not sensor activated.

“Nothing?” He enquired, surprised.

Resourceless and close to losing his patience, Flumen remembered “there should be a tool kit with something that can help me opening this door around here.”

He crossed his arms, stepped back aiming to have a wider perspective of the room, and tired, leaned his body against the wall for a moment.

As he touched the cold wall, Flumen felt his elbow pushing something which then led to a click noise. He hoped he had not pressed anything that he should not; it would not have been the first time anyway.

A small partition descended from the deck head and opened at the height of his waist. A light emanated from the inside, his eyes slowly swiped the compartment from one side to the other, choosing among the most diverse collection of tools he had ever seen.

“This one will do!” He grabbed both handles of the one foot long cylindrical shaped piece of dull metal that was furnished with a sharp edge on the extremity opposite to his body and walked towards the door, so far impenetrable.

A vain popped out on the right corner of his forehead. He cracked his neck and stretched his shoulder without taking his eyes out of the challenge in front of him. Flumen was determined, at the same time annoyed with such an unpleasant complication at times like that.

He wet his lips and with a determined look on his face “now it will open”, he drove the tool`s sharp edge against the gap in the middle of where the doors connected against each other.

The hollow metallic noise of the impact was then followed by a curiously tenuous sound that seemed to come from the opposite direction.

Flumen looked to the right in search of its source and found five little black flat square containers lying on the deck. The small compartment where they had come from subtly closed in front of his eyes. “Flumen, is this what you are looking for?” The ship`s voice invaded his head.

Flumen would have probably preferred to put the door down – although his ability to do so was beyond questionable – rather than waiting all that time to simply find what he was looking for coming out of what now appeared to be a very obvious compartment.

He looked closely to the slot and noticed the symbols indicating ‘Ration’ and ‘Healing Device’ on the top of it.

Flumen could not understand how he missed the signs. In fact, he could almost swear they were never there.

“Thank you Sissy. What is wrong with the lab doors anyway?” He enquired, bothered.

“It seems that the doors suffered damage during the journey through DA-51 due to the excessive compression force absorbed by the ship. Corrective maintenance is undergoing.” She readily replied.

“Why did you not provide me with the items I was looking for in first place? You knew I was looking for them, didn`t you?” Flumen seemed seriously troubled at that point.

The deafening silence took over the ambient. Flumen was stressed, breathing heavily, he could hear his own heart bit, and so could Sissy.

The Nibirian sensed something was off and the climax of the wait for an explanation disturbed him.

An unexpected bubbly noise suddenly took place. Flumen was starving, his stomach reminded him.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed with nature and himself.

Another long couple of seconds elapsed until the ship answered his fairly reasonable question. “I apologize…my consciousness was concentrated on the Bridge. I recommend you to return to the Bridge and see it with your own eyes.”

“It?” Wondered Flumen.

“Flumen! Return to your seat!” The Captain`s thoughts were transmitted to him, in a “unnecessarily loudly manner”, Flumen made a mental observation.

Flumen crouched, grabbed what he needed, and then stood back up, dropping one of the patches down on the deck.

He crouched back down and picked it up.

Stood back up and clumsily dropped another one.

Flumen took a deep and offensive breath and grabbed all the five packs from the deck after dropping them all again.

Finally, with all the Nutri-hydro patches in one hand, he grasped the ascending device with the same hand he was holding the tool and was immediately raised to the upper level.

Once he reached the Bridge, Flumen heard the loud and disturbing metallic sound of the tool he was carrying hitting the bottom of the ship, two decks below them, provoking a loud and echoing sound. He had dropped it after all.

The others looked behind and had a glance at his guilty and embarrassed face. “My apologies for the delay.” It was all Flumen had to say.