Sarras Agamand
Sep 8th, 2018, 11:21:27 AM
On an unknown planet, in the mysterious Unknown Regions of space…
There were days gone by when the annual launch of a starship would have filled Sarras Agamand with hope and wonder. Every day might mark the day when they would finally get word out beyond the planet’s atmosphere and finally escape to the distant stars. As a boy, Sarras would count down the days until the next year, wondering what ingenious new device his father and the others would invent. Each year, Sarras watched the community’s hope rise towards the stars in a blaze of glorious light, and inevitably crash back down to the ground in flames. Now, an adult, lying in bed, Sarras could almost see the pattern of lights on the inside of his eyelids, could almost smell the smoke.
Sarras sniffed the air, but could smell only sweat and the faint smell of something cooking. On the other side of the room, the rough woollen blanket had been left in a dishevelled heap on his father's bed. He got up and walked barefoot into the corridor that connected their shared bedroom to the kitchen. “Have we had any messages?” came his father’s voice, off to the left. Sarras stood motionless in the unlit hallway, knowing that he hadn’t checked and considering answering ‘No’ regardless. It was the kind of lie he considered telling every day. Not today.
“I’m just about to go up,” Sarras called back, walking to the end of the hallway. There was a raincoat and his father’s old combat boots waiting where Sarras had left them the night before. With a heave and a metallic groan, he pushed open the hatch that was their front door and stepped out of the cargo container in the damp dawn air. Without thinking, Sarras turned to his immediate left and began to climb the ladder that lent against the container. The rungs were still damp from the night’s rainfall, but Sarras made quick work of the climb.
Standing on the roof of the container, he could see out into most of the rest of the settlement. Off to the north, set at a distance from the containers which formed the makeshift town, was the space reserved for launch attempts. He could pick out the shapes of a few people, already busying themselves around… whatever they had pieced together this time. How many years had it been since the last launch? Five? Six? “We’re putting extra time into this one, so we can be certain it will work,” someone would have said, determined to tweak and tinker and do everything they could to avoid the inevitable. If they could just convince themselves that they weren’t stranded, that one day a launch would succeed, everything would be alright. Even his father had been seduced by the allure of it all. His father, Galen Agamand, an educated man of the Republic, a man of science, had become delusional.
His eyes tracked back away from the launch site and to the other containers strewn about the sodden earth. Two dozen other boxes, at least that he could see. Almost all that was left of the Arcturus and its crew. Sarras turned away and ducked into the makeshift shelter that just about covered the container. He paced towards the low hum of the generator where, at the centre of a nest of cabling and equipment, the jury-rigged communications bank waited for him.
There would be no messages, of course. No communications could penetrate the crackling veil of storms that surrounded the planet, in much the same way that no starship or probe or beacon could reach anymore than the upper atmospheres without being violently grounded. If the Republic had ever set out to find the missing research vessel Arcturus, their search had undoubtedly ended long ago. It was too late now. His father had shown just a dusting of grey at his temples when they had crashed down onto the planet; now, his hair was completely white. Sarras had been a boy, small enough to view the climb to the container’s rooftop as an adventure. He had huddled close to the long-range communicator, pressing the headphones so hard to his ears that they almost hurt.
“We have to listen out for any signals,” his father had said. “We need to be sure that when the Navy arrives and sends out a hail, we can let them know we’re still here. That way, we can relay the coordinates they need to come down and get us. It’s all part of Republic search and rescue protocol.”
No one had come down to get them, of course. The only flashes of light in the sky had been lightning, and the occasional unfortunate freighter or shuttle that had been drawn into the planet’s gravity well and torn down to the ground with the same lethal force that had shattered the Arcturus.
A pitter-patter sounded over head. Sarras looked up then off to the side, seeing rain beginning to stream down over the roof and into the water filtration tanks strapped to the side of the container. He could almost hear his father, warning that they ought to check the signals before the storm really rolled in.
“Alright,” Sarras said to no one. He crouched down into the space in front of the communicators rig and flipped a series of switches on. The same pair of headphones they’d always used were hung over one end of the console. He pushed back the hood of his coat and slipped the headset on, adjusting the earpieces until they sat comfortably. He reached out to the last of the controls, the one that would activate the communicator, and hesitated. He clicked his lips, then pushed the control.
“Hello?”
There were days gone by when the annual launch of a starship would have filled Sarras Agamand with hope and wonder. Every day might mark the day when they would finally get word out beyond the planet’s atmosphere and finally escape to the distant stars. As a boy, Sarras would count down the days until the next year, wondering what ingenious new device his father and the others would invent. Each year, Sarras watched the community’s hope rise towards the stars in a blaze of glorious light, and inevitably crash back down to the ground in flames. Now, an adult, lying in bed, Sarras could almost see the pattern of lights on the inside of his eyelids, could almost smell the smoke.
Sarras sniffed the air, but could smell only sweat and the faint smell of something cooking. On the other side of the room, the rough woollen blanket had been left in a dishevelled heap on his father's bed. He got up and walked barefoot into the corridor that connected their shared bedroom to the kitchen. “Have we had any messages?” came his father’s voice, off to the left. Sarras stood motionless in the unlit hallway, knowing that he hadn’t checked and considering answering ‘No’ regardless. It was the kind of lie he considered telling every day. Not today.
“I’m just about to go up,” Sarras called back, walking to the end of the hallway. There was a raincoat and his father’s old combat boots waiting where Sarras had left them the night before. With a heave and a metallic groan, he pushed open the hatch that was their front door and stepped out of the cargo container in the damp dawn air. Without thinking, Sarras turned to his immediate left and began to climb the ladder that lent against the container. The rungs were still damp from the night’s rainfall, but Sarras made quick work of the climb.
Standing on the roof of the container, he could see out into most of the rest of the settlement. Off to the north, set at a distance from the containers which formed the makeshift town, was the space reserved for launch attempts. He could pick out the shapes of a few people, already busying themselves around… whatever they had pieced together this time. How many years had it been since the last launch? Five? Six? “We’re putting extra time into this one, so we can be certain it will work,” someone would have said, determined to tweak and tinker and do everything they could to avoid the inevitable. If they could just convince themselves that they weren’t stranded, that one day a launch would succeed, everything would be alright. Even his father had been seduced by the allure of it all. His father, Galen Agamand, an educated man of the Republic, a man of science, had become delusional.
His eyes tracked back away from the launch site and to the other containers strewn about the sodden earth. Two dozen other boxes, at least that he could see. Almost all that was left of the Arcturus and its crew. Sarras turned away and ducked into the makeshift shelter that just about covered the container. He paced towards the low hum of the generator where, at the centre of a nest of cabling and equipment, the jury-rigged communications bank waited for him.
There would be no messages, of course. No communications could penetrate the crackling veil of storms that surrounded the planet, in much the same way that no starship or probe or beacon could reach anymore than the upper atmospheres without being violently grounded. If the Republic had ever set out to find the missing research vessel Arcturus, their search had undoubtedly ended long ago. It was too late now. His father had shown just a dusting of grey at his temples when they had crashed down onto the planet; now, his hair was completely white. Sarras had been a boy, small enough to view the climb to the container’s rooftop as an adventure. He had huddled close to the long-range communicator, pressing the headphones so hard to his ears that they almost hurt.
“We have to listen out for any signals,” his father had said. “We need to be sure that when the Navy arrives and sends out a hail, we can let them know we’re still here. That way, we can relay the coordinates they need to come down and get us. It’s all part of Republic search and rescue protocol.”
No one had come down to get them, of course. The only flashes of light in the sky had been lightning, and the occasional unfortunate freighter or shuttle that had been drawn into the planet’s gravity well and torn down to the ground with the same lethal force that had shattered the Arcturus.
A pitter-patter sounded over head. Sarras looked up then off to the side, seeing rain beginning to stream down over the roof and into the water filtration tanks strapped to the side of the container. He could almost hear his father, warning that they ought to check the signals before the storm really rolled in.
“Alright,” Sarras said to no one. He crouched down into the space in front of the communicators rig and flipped a series of switches on. The same pair of headphones they’d always used were hung over one end of the console. He pushed back the hood of his coat and slipped the headset on, adjusting the earpieces until they sat comfortably. He reached out to the last of the controls, the one that would activate the communicator, and hesitated. He clicked his lips, then pushed the control.
“Hello?”