Slingshot
Chapter from Memoirs of a Kuiper Belt Fugitive
The cold seeped through his skin, a biting reminder of his vulnerability. Thirst clawed at his throat, a desperate plea for moisture. Vertigo swirled within him, a tempest of confusion. Was this another hangover, or something far more sinister?
His mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory—a plan, an emergency protocol triggered. Military-grade urgency.
Adrenaline surged, forcing his eyes open. For a disorienting moment, he squinted against the harsh light. It felt like being caught in spotlights within an abyss. But as his vision adjusted, he realized he was trapped in a small, roughly four-meter cube with walls of what appeared to be grey-beige padded vinyl interrupted only by LED strips for ambient illumination. He could see that he was not level with the floor, and he felt padded vinyl seemingly the same type as lined the wall. A horizontal battery of LED pinpoints mounted on the aluminum “ceiling” were still too piercing to stare at directly. Their afterimages streaked in his vision like green fireflies.
This was not part of the plan—something had gone terribly wrong.
Instinctively, his fingers fumbled for his Com Visor, expecting the resistance of his EVO gear. Instead, they met no resistance and fell upon bare skin, leggings, and a form-fitting sleeveless shirt. No suit, no visor: completely fucked and at the mercy of whoever had acquired him and his payload. On the wall to his right a cut-cornered rectangular panel, the faded print of block letters. At the very least, he could almost make out an “P” and what appeared to be an “A” the rest were marred by afterimage artifacts. It was not Chinese, which, while not ideal, might’ve been preferable to the alternatives. Likely Occidental, some nosy orbital lane Deputy and he had been snagged out of orbit by their EM net on a tip. This would be the absolute worst outcome, short of a cold, gasping death in the void, which might not still be out of the range of possibility in either case.
A circular portal to his left appeared to be made of thick canvas like the old NASA stations he saw in videos as a child. The portal unzipped simply, like a tent fly. A 20 something man with a completely shaved head very gaunt eyes ringed by bruise hued, sallow, skin. Clothed in bands of white canvas he reminded him of a mummy. He sensed danger, but he was too weak to even brace himself for whatever was to come.
The mummy spoke.“Hey Buddy”
It was a common Midwestern accent, or perhaps somebody trying to affect one, something about the pitch didn’t fit the tone precisely. He was well traveled enough to have made many friends throughout the United Western Alliance and often found himself adopting their accents and mannerisms at times.
“Looks like you had a rough go … man. Drink up”
The barely perceptible hesitation was disconcerting. Most of these types were straight shooters and a lot more talkative. Often what is not said speaks louder than the spoken word. The appearance could be explained away by the weight loss/dehydration protocol taken by most to attain orbital privileges. Each kilo of body weight was another $5000, the price of escaping the gravity well. The cost of a small, or not so small house. Once in orbit however one often fattened back up within the month as supply stations and orbital hydrofarms, fish and even poultry farms (no one had yet taken cattle embryos into orbit successfully) were not as scarce as a half a decade ago when the Loftstrom loops were first constructed.
The gaunt man shifted his eyes uncomfortably and lobbed a package at him, its path arcing strangely in what could only be the result of a very small and rapidly spinning station providing the artificial “gravity. As quickly, he left without further elaboration. The package felt like a blood bag, purple-red but much too translucent to be blood. He examined it suspiciously, but eventually thirst won. He discovered quickly that the contents were nothing more sinister than a room temperature electrolyte solution. A refreshing wave of relief washed over him and despite the chill and lack of bedding, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.
He dreamed of being at the fair with her. Suitcases in tow he slipped the ride attendant a roll of hundred dollar bills, each bill glowed with encryption codes. The glowing digits shifted and changed as he handed the money over. The line was interrupted for a brief moment and they were slipped in somewhere near the front. Anticipation surged as they stepped to take their place on the ride. It was a giant slingshot between two pylons resembling elaborate transformer towers. She gripped his hand tightly in anticipation, the smooth cool polymer being of a different texture than sweaty human flesh, yet no less comforting. Her eyes shifted hue slightly from a cool grey of a summer sky over the water to the glow of a setting sun, the faintest smirk of excitement building on her flawless porcelain countenance. She pointed upward, the pylons touched the heavens, extending almost infinitely. Where were the cables? No this ride was powered by a coilgun, but was it safe? They were strapped in, the luggage locked securely beneath the seat. She suddenly collapsed, limbs bending at impossible angles until she herself became a titanium white suitcase, the attendant coughed. He remembered and handed him another roll of bills, he laughed and secured the titanium suitcase to the seat it sat upon. A loud thrumming as the seat began to vibrate and the world fell beneath him.
Gradually the dream was no longer metaphor but clear and unmistakable recollection of recent events. He was inside a cargo payload, packed tightly but safely. Although it felt like he was at rest the Com Visor relayed a VR projection of a bluish white crescent emerging before him and growing rapidly. A gunshot rang out breaking the peaceful silence. Blackness, then the world began spinning. It was relentless, disorienting. His entire world became a strobing rectangle of light seen through his visor lightslot as pain and shock racked his body.His gloved slapped tapped the side of his Com Visor in frantic frustration. VR systems rebooted. Popups with “urgent” red border cascaded across the screen diagonally in 3D, their staccato 80HZ tones resonating ominously within the confines of his helmet.
URGENT MESSAGE
URGENT MESSAGE (1)
“[20:23] Hey are you OK?”
“[20:28] Are you OK!?”
URGENT MESSAGE
URGENT MESSAGE (1)
URGENT MESSAGE (2)
3 fresh message boxes appeared, autoloading and sliding to rear 3D “space” as each was confirmed read.
“[20:32] Contingency Protocol Gamma has been initiated”
“[20:37] Drone packs 1,2,3,5 and 6 missing in action”
Not good, the self replicating drones were their ace in the hole. These CRAB prototypes could assume different “morphs” and perform almost any maintenance or construction project given time and raw material, even spawn smaller ANT and GNAT drones for wide area reconnaissance. Most important, they could build more of themselves if enough proprietary parts were available. A prototype he was able to acquire from an insider at a black market robotics firm, technically illegal, and costly. At least five times what was paid in bribes to get into orbit in the first place. Now, they were scattered across the entire orbital highway.
“[20:57] Package 4 last pinged at 3200m minus 15 degree off the normal, they may be reachable”
URGENT MESSAGE
URGENT MESSAGE (1)
“[21:37] Doing everything possible to salvage this. Hang tight”
“[21:37] Love you”
** WARNING **
** Suit Pressure Low **
** Self Sealing Initiating **
It was after this he had felt consciousness slip away.For how long was he out?
Had it been a meteorite?
No, he’d be space debris, a cosmic afterthought. Perhaps remnants from a collision—a chance encounter with another celestial wanderer. At those speeds, without an atmosphere to slow them, even a graze could fragmentize matter into lethal shrapnel. Emergency protocols triggered, commotion echoing through the void. The last thing they needed.
He surfaced again, the passage of time a nebulous blur. Remarkably, no urge to relieve himself—a side effect of the forced dehydrative regimen. Weight reduction, metabolic slowdown—the price of passage. Orbital stations offered supplies, sustenance, and employment if it came to that, traded at “fair market value.” Even a Wendy’s, though the iconic redhead now resembled a goth anime robot with bangs obscuring one eye. Childhood memories twisted into surreal spacepunk caricature.
“Hey, dude” This was not the mummy, though suited up in the same bandage-like apparel he was well fed and rosy, sporting a shamelessly military style haircut.
“You’ll need to take these. You’re spacesick. Too many spins in Zee Gee and you’re still a dry as a mummy”
Who are you calling Mummy? He mused internally.
Perhaps these were allies at least, this one seemed friendlier than the gaunt fellow. Passed for western without the offputting pauses. Perhaps paranoia was getting the better of him, there were research and construction stations many who would turn a blind eye to someone wanted by the long arm of the UWA.
He turned the baggie over in his hand and thought he heard a vibration coming from the wall with the warning text. Now that his eyes were rested he took another look. The paint was faded but some of the letters were backward, that made no sense. What would UWA be doing in Russian Federation facilities -His heart pounded, with a shaking hand he dropped the baggie of pills in revulsion. He wasn’t sure if he was losing his sight again, the area around the panel seemed hazy as the vibrations were now unmistakable. What was going on? Electrical short? Just heap on the trouble I guess.
A red dot glowed from the center of the panel and slowly began to expand and something began pushing through.
Plop. The eel spun on the floor, spasmodic. The hole it left sealed with plastic putty or cement, the smell reminiscent of a soldering iron and the interior of a cheap plastic bin. The dark metallic gray creature oriented itself, seemed to consider him for a moment and raised its tail into the air threateningly. From its tail a small thin rod of lighter hued metal sprouted. The rod bifurcated three times and became insectoid legs, each joint clicking with precision. The creature then flipped and inflated itself into a football shape. two large claws emerged from the expanded carapace. For a moment, it teetered—a mechanical ballet of survival. Then, a minuscule red dot blinked, and on the opposite wall, a scrolling display of flashing text filled a long rectangular outline:
HIDE THE PILLS. DO NOT TAKE THEM
The rectangle filled red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
ON MY WAY
Pills were crushed and swept aside, fluids drank, no need to pantomime the act. His heart beat heavy in his chest. Were his impostor captores yet aware of the emerging situation, or had their cameras already been hacked or disabled? The latter seemed more likely. Strength returned, propelling him toward the flap. Painfully bright lights assaulted his vision. Bodies moved at a nearby table, conversing in a language neither Mandarin nor Western. Eastern, perhaps Russian or Ukrainian. Irrelevant in this moment. The singular CRAB drone one of perhaps many now teeming on the outside of this structure conspiring his rescue, propelled its ultralight form with impossible speed toward the flap. An “antenna” extended, its rounded tip releasing three high-tech “gnat” drones. These airborne spies would triangulate audio, their AI-driven data streams canceling out noise and interference, combining signal patterns for clarity.
TRANSLATE IS ACTIVE
Scrolled the text on the rectangular glowing strip on the wall
N1. [MALE AGE 20-25] DO YOU DO YOU THINK SPY
N2. [MALE AGE 35-40] NO TOO DUMB BUT NO IDENTIFICATION CONCERNING
N1. [MALE AGE 20-25] WE PROCESS ANYWAY TEACH LESSON
Audible laughter from the table area
N3. [INCONCLUSIVE] ORGAN TRADE LUCRATIVE
N3. [INCONCLUSIVE] FOR US
More laughter
There were worse outcomes than a swift and noble death in cold vacuum, or being bountied to the UWA. China had been paid off but if he were unlucky enough to caught by the UWA it would be one way trip to the surface, if his social credit rating hadn’t been blacklisted fines would probably be the extent of the punishment, more likely rotting in solitary confinement with the other political prisoners until the end of his short life. But this grizzly alternative was even worse, choppers were an internet urban legend but he’d seen enough cartel videos to know this sort of thing was not beyond the capability of the most dangerous animal on planet Earth. Choppers didn’t waste valuable anesthetic or time in making sure you were dead, because either way you soon would be.
“Xara, needing extraction” he pleaded in urgent tones, to the CRAB if nothing else.
“Pronto!” he added hastily.
That last was almost a voice crack but he wouldn’t have blamed himself in such a circumstance.
The entire room, and possibly larger structure he was in shifted disconcertingly. He stumbled to a crouching position, remaining hidden as much as he could. Compensation thrusters responding to the added ballast of the invading drones perhaps. Stomach still trying to find itself again, he looked pleadingly at the CRAB which had seemed to have gone inactive.
Suddenly the circular tent flap was covered in a criss cross of silver webbing obscuring his vision of the other chamber.
What the…
The sudden unexpected boom was surprisingly quickly absorbed into the vacuum of space. He and the cubic chamber were hurtling and in Zee Gee. Kicking off the wall he was about to collide with, he floated upward trying to keep oriented as his body seemed to want to rotate in the opposite direction. Some of the webbing began to “dry” and became translucent. The Earth shone like a wall sized white spotlight, far cry from a “pale blue dot”. A few hundred meters away a sizeable “T” shaped object cast a tumbling silhouette against the bluewhite blur, also in free-spin. Objects of all shapes and sizes circling it. Some of these objects were definitely human shaped.
Safe. For now.
Now we rebuild.
