Ally or Alien: A Sci-Fi Novel (6 page)

The world needs you.

Bellrock was going to miss it, that was for sure. 

But better miss it than lose it. 

"Tell me what happens next."

15

Two Days later, Bellrock drove all the way to NASA's new Space Center in Houston. A 225 mile ride from Dallas, sweetened by his favorite Japanese pop band Shibuya Burn. He only understood half the lyrics at this stage, since the singers synthesized their already high-octave voices. Something along the lines of:

Don't go quietly into that night

as you burn your thrusters bright

into that dark cosmic sea

at least you are super-free

Yeah, well, the Japanese. 

Fifty of their catchy songs later, Bellrock soon recognized the space base appearing on the horizon. Quite an amazing sight, with all the cube-shaped buildings, the launch pads and towers scratching at the sky like giants reaching for the heavens. Thanks to corporations like Stryker Solutions, Boeing and SpaceX who heavily invested in the launching site for mutual use, NASA's part-privatization had led to a renaissance of the Commonwealth's space program.

Bellrock parked his Tesla Dragon pickup, passed the refurbished Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center sign and took one of the smart lifts to the third floor. He followed the corridor to the office with the semi-transparent walls and found a silver plate with engraved letters, 3D-printed from sustainable sources. The sign read, "PhD. Matt Watney.”

The current Director of NASA.

"Please step in."

Bellrock pranced in with a smile brighter than a solar flare. He targeted the metallic chair in front of the shiny, black and white desk that looked like the wing of a classic shuttle. Next to him sat a dark man with curly hair, wearing a suit that had style written all over it. Gucci shoes, white jacket and gelled black hair inclusive.

Maybe an investor? 

"What's up," Bellrock said and shook hands in hierarchical order.

First the Director, then the 'guest' next to him.

"Mr. Bellrock, my name is Matt Watney, and I'm responsible for supervising your flight to Mars, making sure everything goes as smooth as possible."

"Nice."

The balding Director nodded and intertwined his hands.

"To your right is Dr. Sriniva Rao, one of our scientists in the xenology department. He’s also one of our alien resource specialists. He will be your partner during the operation."

"A pleasure to meet you," Sriniva said. 

The attention came back to the Director whose face shifted from service smile to frown. 

"Well, as you may know, we wanted to send a civilian team consisting of scientists and engineers only, but thanks to the Secretary of Space Defense's strong ties to NASA, and his immeasurable influence over our budget, or lack thereof, we were...encouraged to have you onboard our mission."

The guy stumbled over every second word.

Goddamn bureaucrats, Bellrock thought, choking on their own drivel.

"Well, officially speaking, I'm not a soldier anymore. It's been almost a decade since I served, which makes me a civilian just like our doc over here."

The Director leaned back into his chair and eyed him like a test subject.

"But you do actively participate in paramilitary training sessions?"

"It's a hobby, really. Keeps my body fit and my mind active. Plus, I love training my friends from the military. It's how I give back."

The Director offered a polite smile and continued his babble. 

"Well, the good thing is you have served in space before, and seeing your latest health check, I can honestly say that you're in excellent physical condition, apart from your war injuries."

He looked at Bellrock's left arm but tried to be discreet about it.

"It's no secret, sir," Bellrock said, "it's how I remember."

"In any case, you only need a two-week intense course to freshen up your muscle memory."

"Bring it on."

The Director cocked his thin eyebrows.

"You mean—right now?"

"Now is the best time of the day. Besides, who knows what that alien is doing on Mars while we're shaking our balls doing chitchat."

Bellrock could swear, the office's temperature dropped by forty Fahrenheit. The Director adjusted his glasses and read some lines from his datapad. Dr. Rao suppressed his smile, sitting all smug in his chair. He still kept his mouth shut and let Watney do all the talking.

"Very well, I guess we can start with the introduction of our two-week intense workout. This will also be a great opportunity to get to know your new partner, Dr. Sriniva Rao."

Bellrock addressed his soon-to-be-comrade.

"Where are you from?"

"SoCal," the young man with the movie looks said.

"Of course.”

All techno-docs spawned from the hippie hinterland. 

Bellrock eyed the man top to bottom. 

"Have you ever served in the military?"

Rao shook his head with a raised chin. 

As if serving was the biggest atrocity one could commit.

"Army? Airforce? Spacefleet?”

More shaking from the doctor. The kid probably only knew war from VR games. All youngens nowadays spent more time in virtual lands than in their real counterpart. No wonder the AC was so messed up.

"Hell, not even the Boy Scouts?"

Dr. Rao sent the Director a frown, which prompted the bald man to release an audible sigh.

"Mr. Bellrock, I told you Dr. Rao was a civilian." 

Bellrock closed his eyes.

Humanity dealt with a hostile alien and the AC was going to send only a single soldier.

What could possibly go wrong?

16

The mission was simple. 

Get fit in under two weeks, take a shuttle to the International Astroport surrounding Earth, use one of its harbored civilian ships to Mars and gauge the alien's threat level. 

Simple, but not easy. 

Bellrock had to do the astronaut training in a speed run, including the military water survival test to get SCUBA qualified, which involved lots of swimming with and without a flight suit. Low-game for the veteran, because he had faced harsher challenges in his unofficial SEAL training courses. On top of that, NASA made him endure low and high atmospheric pressure tests in their altitude chambers, which bored the bazookas out of him.

In the middle of a session, he even said,

"Guys, this is kindergarten crap. I've done this stuff already. I've fought on Mars, remember?"

Maybe the folks from NASA were annoyed by his complaints, or maybe they craved some passive-aggressive lecturing, because they eventually put him into a shuttle replica that performed parabolic maneuvers producing weightlessness for thirty seconds.

Bellrock threw up—more than once. 

The NASA crew suppressed their smiles and continued the training.

Bastards, Bellrock thought, they did this on purpose.

Their way of saying: soldiers don't belong here. 

During the course of the training, Dr. Rao glanced through the window-frames and grinned his face off, especially when another vomit volley splashed out of Bellrock. The geek guy from the SoCal Collective fared much better with weightlessness than Bellrock, probably because he had visited space stations and astroports more recently. 

Didn't matter. 

Bellrock pulled himself together like a Lego figure made of titanium.

The last day before the launch arrived, and Bellrock stood up like a winner going for first prize. He revisited the Director in his shiny commando-bridge office and said,

"What now, chef?"

"I'm glad you made it through the training, Mr. Bellrock."

For a guy being glad, he looked pretty pissed.

Mouth wrinkles down, voice all heavy.

"Now we'll shuttle you to the International Astroport so you can board your freighter."

Bellrock grinned.

Finally. 

The mission to Mars had begun.

Distance to the alien: more than 56 million kilometers.

17

Back in his home in Falls Church, the Secretary of Space Defense, Taurus McCloud, watched the news of the NASA shuttle launch on the RNN.

They live-streamed the historic event on their mainstream feeds, simultaneously translated in Spanish and Mandarin. The blonde anchor wore a tight blue dress that accentuated her slim figure, while her bumped-up male partner stood in front of the giant 3D holoscreen and spoke as the two chosen astronauts boarded the vertically 'parked' shuttle.

"Our two heroes, veteran Norbert Bellrock and renowned Dr. Sriniva Rao, are boarding the shuttle on their quick flight to the International Astroport. The duo underwent intense training sessions to prepare for this galactic trip to Mars. I don't know about you, Tyson, but my legs are giving way."

The male co-anchor looked at her legs that were longer than an Alaskan winter.

"Well, your legs are looking pretty sturdy, Lauryn, but I can tell you my arm hairs are shaking. The last time we were able to witness such an epic launch was during the Separatist War."

He looked straight at camdrone 2.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's going to be a long journey toward Mars, about 57 million kilometers in total. A state-of-the-art artificial intelligence will course-correct the ship and control the crew's life support system. The mission master of the operation has revealed the initial schedule. Once our two heroes enter the orbital sector of Mars, they will meet with the Newtype ambassadors at the Ares Nexus ringstation, their version of our International Astroport. Once the two interracial teams adjust their tactics and procedures, they will fly down to Mars via a space elevator to assess the alien's threat level in the Midlands area."

The man fumbled with his ear.

"The Newtype claim they have successfully contained the alien via some kind of dome shielding. Well, we'll see if that is true. Here on the RNN, we'll keep you updated on every detail regarding the mission, now titled 'Alien Assessment'."

Lauryn nodded, straightened her back and spoke with passion as she pointed toward the 3D screen.

"Look, the launch begins."

The anthem of the AC blended in, the flag blew in semi-transparency over the screen depicting the shuttle launch. Both anchors hummed the lyrics as they gazed at the epic launching sequence. 

Taurus nodded and increased the screen size with his hands.

This wasn't an informative news segment, but at least they praised Bellrock and depicted the alien threat in the right way. He switched to the other channel he loved to loathe, the infamous eQuality news, to see what their take on the project was.

Two young hosts, self-projecting as transhuman, stood behind their artificial, toxin-free transparent desk and looked like seven months of bad weather.

Aiden LaCroix, the tanned anchor wearing a tech tunic on the far left screen, pursed its lips and pointed at the screen as the two astronauts boarded the craft. S/he acknowledged her co-host and sighed.

"You know what's wrong with this holoscreen?"

JoJo nodded.

"Yes, of course, the privileged cis human gets to be the leader again, while his POC comrade gets sidelined to his left. That's a terribly stereotypical setup that doesn't belong in the 21st century."

Aiden sighed but shook her head.

She looked directly at the camdrone.

"Unfortunately, JoJo, it's more problematic than that. You see, there are two representatives of the XY chromosome self-identifying as human, and apparently no one in the Commonwealth cares about this blatant inequality."

JoJo gave herself a facepalm.

"Of course. How could I miss that?"

"Sending two cis humans and no transhuman representative is a crime against transhumanity. What's the point of assessing the so-called 'threat level' of a migrant life form if we haven't eliminated the biggest threat of our civilization—society's utter bias against non-cis humans?"

JoJo nodded. 

"This is worse than the Separatist War. Haven't we learned a damn thing?"

Aiden LaCroix finished up the segment with her low-pitched voice.

"No matter who wins in the mission, transhumanity will lose in any case. Please send a message to the NASA Space Center in Houston and tell them what you think of their space team's imbalance. If we shout at the same time, we'll make a difference."

JoJo nodded with new-found energy. She raised her right hand and formed a fist.

"Remember to always punch up, never down."

"This is Aiden LaCroix and JoJo Ming from the Minority Report, the voice of the downtrodden, live from Los Angeles in the SoCal Collective. Stay linked to our newsfeed and receive the latest problematic issues from operation 'Alien Assessment'. For those in danger, PTSD-warnings will be displayed in subliminal voice-overs and soothing fade-ins. Pre-PTSD warnings can be personally requested as premium users."

The two put up their arms and jazz-handed the audience goodbye.

Taurus sighed and switched off the newsfeed.

Enough was enough.

Now the only thing he could do was to cross his fingers and have the boys do their job. The AC's, hell, humanity's survival, now rested in their hands...

18

International Astroport, 1839 hours, CST time.

Bellrock and Dr. Rao stood inside the bridge and gazed at the main section of the hangar bay. The ugly baby that would take them to Mars awaited them. Like most civilian ships in the AC space fleet, the Pilgrim Type-II was equipped with atomic engines, modeled after nuclear-submarines from the ancient WWII. The legendary Nuclear Propulsion System, NPS, was perfected in Israel, and basically consisted of a nuclear reactor that not only powered the thrusters, but also the generators for the electronics and the air circulation system. 

Basically a hi-tech sub in space.

Bellrock watched the 45 meter vessel in the bay, as the Astroport crew finished the last checkups with the help of their exoframes. The civilian ship wasn't pretty—a grayish, aerodynamic dagger with a parabolic mirror acting as a light shield to protect the crew from solar radiation, four round propellant tanks, tight-ass living quarters inside, with two twin Savior II nuclear engines attached to the rear hull.