The Stow-Away
Cargo hold, Star-class cruiser Proxy Major. En-route to Mars.
Freedom, or revenge… which is sweeter? Can’t know till I try ‘em both. And after 12 damn years of planning, and waiting, and dreaming, I’ve almost done it. I’m almost free, and then I’ll kill that crooked bastard. Just have to hold out in here for two more days. My hands are shaking that’s how excited I am. Every day I’ve thought about that poxy Judge. Every single day, all I thought about was that slimy smirk of his, and how I was gonna wipe it off his face. Permanently.
So yeah, getting out of that lunar hellhole is good. Gotta admit though, even the prison cell was more comfortable than this. Crazy what you end up missing… all the simple things. Air that doesn’t taste like recycled fumes. Warm, real food, that didn’t come out of a ration pack. Cold and fresh water. I miss scratching my ass without throwing my elbow into a wall. Actually while I’m being honest, the worst thing’s gotta be the noise from these damn engines. I didn't think that part through. Of course they put their container boxes down in the ship’s cargo hull. That’s where they belong right? Down in the cargo hull, next to the ship’s engines. Which of course, on a long-haul trip like this to Mars, flare up for course adjustments every other hour and throw me wide awake in a panic. Every time those rockets burn, they shake my little cargo container right down to the screws. Feels like they’re gonna tear the whole ship apart, and me with it. All I can do is curl up tight, and muffle my screams in my arms. Cos if anyone does hear me, it’s over. Back to the prison colony, with another century added to my sentence.
But whatever. It’s all worth it! Anything beats staying locked up for another 40 years. I’m not going back, I’m actually getting out. Oh I wish I could see the looks on their faces when they hear about it. When I finally crack open this damn container and escape. The guards, the other inmates, the judge that put me in there... yeah, most of all, I wish Judge Trestell could be there, with that wrinkly old head of his leaned against the cold barrel of my gun. See how Mr Tough-on-Crime sounds when he’s begging for his life. But he’ll have to wait. First freedom, then revenge.
***
I hear them out there sometimes, even through the heavy steel of this box. Some of ‘em are just here to argue about their Captain’s decision on some crap prophecy. Typical Martian stuff. But of course there’s some juicier goings-on too. The only reason to come out to the cargo bay mid-flight is if you're trying to hide something...
So far I've heard one sexual encounter, 2 heavy drinking sessions, and one sneaky sob sesh. I even heard one of them come down here to pray for some turn of prophecy, pathetic. They’re just as superstitious as we’ve all heard, those Martians. Think every cat’s fart is some sign of fate, handed down by one of the Old Earth AIs.
Whatever, doesn’t matter. As long as they don't start prying open any containers, I'll be fine. Uncomfortable, but fine. Damn I wish I had a stronger heating coil in here, but it’s fine. Just two more days!
***
It’s not going to plan. In fact it’s fully fucking falling apart. Damn damn damn! Damn this freezing temperature, damn the lack of sleeping, and damn all the other things that have given me this fucking cold!
But most of all, damn my terrible luck... The one and only time a couple of the crew-mates got close to my container, that's the exact moment I had to sneeze. Of course!
They definitely heard it. They were so close, I could pick up every syllable of their conversation. Which stopped right after my sneeze. Then, all I could hear was a few quick shuffles and whispers. Pretty sure one of ‘em said ‘Prophecy!’ before they scurried out of the cargo hold. That was 40 minutes ago. Maybe they got spooked, and they’ll just decide to forget about it. Maybe they’ll just go away and never mention it again. If they were gonna raise the alarm, they would have done it by now. So yeah, maybe I’ll be ok. Just gotta stick to the plan, what’s left of it anyway.
***
Ok more bad news: my heating coil just gave out completely. The only heat source I had in here, and it’s gone. It was supposed to last me till Mars, but here I am, still in transit, and no more heating coil. Damn Bri’ina must have left me a faulty one, the cheap and broken bastard. I’m really starting to feel it now, much worse than yesterday. Sneezing more, and shivering too. My hands won't stop shaking, and the coughing’s getting deeper. It’s real bad now, I can hear a rattle in it reflecting off the walls. My stomach’s been growling too. I just finished the last of my dry rations, and my water recycler’s looking low too… This wasn’t the plan at all, I’m not supposed to go out like this! I might just give it up. Might just have to open up the door and beg the crew for mercy. Hope they don't just throw me out the airlock. I’ll hold out a little longer, we gotta be landing soon. It must have been over two days now, we gotta be getting to Mars soon. If we don’t, I’m done.
***
The door won't open.
Or to be real accurate: it won't open enough. The handle works fine, and it creaks open just enough to stick a few fingers through. Feels like there's another container stacked up next to mine, blocking the rest of the way. Which yeah, of course there fucking is. I’ve shouted out for help till I taste the blood in my throat. I gotta get out of here, damn the consequences. I have to get out of here. I can't die like this, not when I'm so close to the end.
But all I hear out there are the echoes of my own voice, and a whole bunch more engine flare-ups. Ever since those last 2 crewmates got scared off by my sneeze, I haven't heard a single one of them come back down here. They're suddenly avoiding the cargo bay, like it's haunted or something.
Oh god of course they'd think it’s haunted. Damned superstitious Martian IDIOTS. Or even worse than that, I've probably triggered one of their stupid prophecies. There's so many of ‘em, there's bound to be one about a stowaway prisoner escapee, stuck in a damned tiny steel box, dying of pneumonia.
Wasn't it supposed to only be another 2 days? What the hell happened to that??
***
It’ll be over soon, I can feel my body shutting down now. I’m not shivering anymore, I don’t even feel cold anymore. There’s just a nice warm numb feeling now. Of all things, it’s gonna be this. There’s a lot of memories playing in my head now, one of them’s on repeat. I’m sitting around a dingy bar’s table on Europa moon, celebrating the first big heist with my first crew. Bri’ina started a bet about how we’re all going down. Kinda morbid, looking back on it now. Most of the gang was betting on a violent end, or a pleasure overdose of some kind. And most of them turned out to be right. I’ll tell you one thing on nobody’s list though: dying of cold. That’s way too pathetic.
This wasn’t the plan, but you know what, I’m glad it’s ending here at least, and not in that lunar prison hell. Maybe they’ll cremate me and spread my ashes in one of those Martian agriculture-domes. That sounds kinda nice, being a part of some new ecosystem.
I’ve been thinking about that last job too. I'm sorry it went down that way, I really am. I‘ve repented, and any other Judge would’ve seen that. Just my luck to get stuck with Judge Trestell… Damn I wish he was here now, with his throat in my hands. But it’s over. I’m done here, and I’m gonna think peaceful thoughts while I go out. So to whoever gets this message, let the world know I died free, with a lot of peace.
***
Prophecy Administration Office, New Shanghai, Mars
With a practiced boredom, the officer rearranged the recording equipment at his booth and waved over the next person in line. Captain Ophelia sat down heavily. Her heel tapped rhythmically on the steel floor, keeping time with the quick beat of her heart. Wide open eyes darted around with barely hidden panic. She’d never been in a Prophecy Administration Office, but like every Martian, she’d heard the stories. She knew that the best outcome she could hope for was no outcome at all. And she knew exactly how bad things could get otherwise.
After a moment, and without looking up, the officer gestured at the white plastic device in front of him. Ophelia understood, and quickly rested an eye against it as she spoke her name.
A few clicks and whirs emanated from the device, after which a transcript started printing out in triplicate, keeping up with each word of their conversation.
Officer Hang: This is Officer Hang, debriefing Captain Ophelia of the Star-class cargo cruiser Proxy Majory. Concerning Prophecy encounter 413c, of the 2nd book of Parthax.
Captain Ophelia: Uhm yes, this is Captain Ophelia speaking. Captain of the Proxy Majory.
Officer H: Captain, when did you first identify your encounter as Prophetic, and what steps did you take to fulfill it?
Captain: Well, it was just a normal trip, one of our regular scheduled cargo runs. Outbound from Lunar Penal Colony C, back home to Mars. A few days into the route, some crew members discovered a stowaway in the cargo hold. An escapee from the penal colony perhaps, which of course was brought to my attention immediately. I thought it might be an emanation of Prophecy, from the book of Parthax, hallowed be their name. I promptly ordered the ship monk to consult the books for confirmation of Prophecy, and instructed the crew to keep clear of the cargo bay and the stow-away. I didn’t do anything wrong did I, am I in some kind of trouble here?
Officer H: Please just answer the questions Captain. After you confirmed Prophecy, what steps did you take to fulfill it?
Captain: Right, yes, of course. Once Prophecy was confirmed, I laid in the new course as foretold. After a one week detour, we set down on Europa and proceeded with the cleansing and awakening ritual.
The stowaway was bathed, the foretold antibiotic treatments were injected, and a combat armor suit and weapons kit was issued. As Prophesized, the stowaway didn’t say a word throughout all of this. Then we set ourselves down outside the airlock to a Judge’s house… a Judge Trestell. As Prophesized, the sight of our open bay doors and the Judge’s house outside still got no reaction from the stowaway. As Prophesized, a single tear and smile were observed on the face of the stowaway as our doors closed and take-off procedures began, and we heard the words shouted back at us: “Thank you, and all your prophecy-riddled crew!”
The rest is in the hands of Parthax and the old AIs. Hallowed be their names.
Officer H: Thank you Captain, that will be all... Next!
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-Noud