Astronaught

By Hunter Bishop

A man wakes up on a foreign planet with a hostile environment, without any idea of who he is or where he is. The only clues he has are a broken spaceship, a blown up facility, and the dead bodies that tell him deep down that all this violence and death are somehow his fault.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Park Road Publishing
• Release date: Jul 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737577829

Book preview

ONE

He awoke in motion.

His legs were buckling beneath him, and his arms were reaching out to brace his fall, and he only just managed to stay on his feet. Rain pattered along his helmet, a gentle tapping on scratched, flexible glass, and he realized he was wearing a helmet. His arms were covered, and his hands, too, in this same medium blue fabric. A jumpsuit – a spacesuit, said a voice in his brain – covering his entire body. The left arm was sealed up with some sort of foam spray, and there were burn marks on his side and chest.

His hearing came last, waking up after his sight and smell and even the taste of his sour, sore mouth. He became aware of a small voice in his ear.

Life signs critical, it said, soft and gentle.

Seek shelter from toxic atmosphere, it said, soft and gentle.

What? he said, the sound of his voice unfamiliar, and weak.

Life signs critical, it said, seek shelter from toxic atmosphere.

Where? he said, stupidly, but the voice answered him, nonetheless.

The JSS Borland is ten meters west of your position.

He looked around. The ground was red brown, like the red clay back home in Georgia. The foliage was a mixture of purple, bright yellow and baby blue, and there were no plants over waist high. The rain that fell down was forest green, and it came down in light, steady droplets. To his right was JSS Borland, as promised. It was a small ship, a one-seater, with a square body that rounded into a point, with short, stubby triangle wings that stuck out on the sides. The cockpit was segmented glass, with black metal bars as the frame. Even from here he could see scratches and blast marks all over.

Storm incoming. Further contact with acidic rain is not advised, said the voice.

He tried to run for the ship, but found that his legs once again buckled, and that his arms once again went out to stabilize him, but this time he did not stay upright. He landed on hands and knees, his breath coming in ragged, sharp gasps.

Storm incoming, said the voice, and the rain began to strengthen.

He pulled himself to his feet and walked, as fast as his body would allow. The rain seemed to increase with every step, and the ground began to get slick, just as that red clay would, and by the time he made it to the ship he was walking gingerly to avoid his feet sticking in the growing mud.

Open! he said, unsure, and to his surprise, the cockpit obeyed.

He climbed in, unsteady. As soon as he was in the worn black seat, the cockpit closed with a screech.

Atmosphere stabilized, said the ship, as he pulled off his helmet. His suit began to recharge, filling with oxygen and power.

He coughed at the stale air but took deep breaths all the same. He looked around for somewhere to set his helmet but found no space to put it. The cockpit wasn't large; just big enough to fit him without squeezing, and the instruments on the dash were old and used and crowded too. The onboard computer took up most of the left half of the dashboard. He tapped it with his finger, and the screen blinked to life.

Please state your name, said the ship. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

He tried again, but, once more, nothing came out. He looked on his spacesuit for a name tag, or some sort of rank, or -- but there was nothing. A conclusion, inescapable comes and obvious, rose to the surface.

He didn't know his own name.

Not knowing his own name meant he didn't know his own beginning, and not his journey from that beginning. His name was a password or bridge or a set of photographs that opened up whole galaxies.

He didn't know his own name.

His name was gone and he didn't know where he was or how or why and he didn't even know his own name. Panic gripped his chest and he wanted to climb out of the ship, helmet left rattling on the seat, and escape. But the rain, having become a steady fall, turned into folding sheets.

I don't know, he said. The ship was quiet for a moment.

Please place your hand on the sensor, said the ship, and a red, pulsing dot the size of a hand appeared on the screen.

He put his gloved hand on the screen, and he felt the heat rise beneath his fingers, and saw the light of the scan as it interfaced with his spacesuit.

Welcome, Revand Torres, said the ship.

Revand Torres. Revand Torres. He turned the name over in his mind, and it hit no familiar hallways. But, then, nothing did. None of this place was known to him. His voice and his mannerisms and this ship and all of this –– even as he spoke English, and the words came from his mouth unbidden, he did not know how he knew to speak, or what to say. Everything was a mystery, and panic was gripping him again, and he felt that suicidal urge to escape into the forest green deluge slapping on the cockpit glass.

My name is Revand Torres, he said, and the simple act of saying it aloud calmed his nerves.

But the ship was reading the suit –– how he knew that was another mystery –– and not his own fingerprints or palm prints or DNA or any other form of personal identification. The suit might be Revand Torres' suit, but he might not be Revand Torres.

Whose suit am I wearing? he said.

This suit is bio-locked to Revand Torres, the ship said.

Then he must be Revand Torres. A bio-locked suit does not provide protection from the elements, such as his had, nor oxygen in the toxic atmosphere. He must be Revand Torres because if he wasn't then the suit wouldn't be working. He turned the idea over and over, trying to find a weakness, but couldn't. He was Revand Torres, and that meant nothing to him, but that is who he was for a fact.

Where am I? Revand Torres said.

This is the planet Aries, in the system Gargantua, said the ship.

Is there anything else I should know? Revand said, knowing it was a stupid question.

There are four video messages, said the ship.

Play them.

Please state your identification number and password.

Revand didn't know those things, and the ship was unable to help him. Only one message had been unencrypted; the latest one, sent only an hour ago, and Revand obviously had not had time to protect it from undeserving eyes. He played it.

A woman, with olive skin and black hair, appeared on screen. In her lap was a little girl, with that same black hair and that same olive skin. They were sitting in a car, and in the background, through the window, was what looked like a schoolhouse.

Hi honey, said the woman, her voice deeper than he expected.

Hi daddy! said the little girl.

Happy Birthday! We miss you and can't wait to talk to you tonight, said the woman.

I love you, said the little girl.

I love you, said the woman.

The message was over. Revand thought about playing it again. He felt no warmth towards the woman or her daughter. They were his, and he knew he should feel love, but he didn't. The panic returned. What could've happened to him?This planet was hellish and the work in front of him to escape it was even more so, but his specific circumstance was so strange.

He needed to get back to where he was supposed to be.

Where is the nearest space station? Revand said.

Communications array damaged. Unable to connect to nearby installations. Would you like instructions on repairing the damage?

Yes.

The communications array wasn't the only thing damaged, and the repairs required to fix it were minor. The ship was a Jumper-class vessel, which meant the ship was able to travel longer distances than most of its size. There were three separate thrusters that had to work in tandem to exit the atmosphere, fly into space, and 'jump' into near light speed travel; all three were damaged, and long-distance travel could not be repaired, as the casing that held the part had been obliterated.

There was a nearby facility, but it was too far to walk there; nearly five hundred meters, and with the toxicity of the atmosphere and the rain and his damaged spacesuit, he'd almost certainly never make it.

Scan for life signs, Revand said. Life Signs. More words he knew.

There are no human life signs in the area, said the ship.

What about previous scans?

The ship put up those old scans on the onboard computer. Seventeen people, about sixty meters south of the ship, had been detected about a month ago. If they were still there, or had left tools, he could repair the short-hop thruster, and make it to that nearby facility. If he was lucky, that facility might have a Vehicle Bay. Vehicle Bay.

Suit recharged. Toxic protection at maximum. Suit integrity at 66%, said the ship.

The rain began to lessen, as if on cue. Revand didn't want to go back out into the weather, even as gentle as the acidic drip had become -- but the alternative was dying slow and hungry and thirsty and if the outside haze was to kill him at least it would be quicker.

He opened the cockpit and stepped back out into the quagmire of mud. The HUD in his helmet lit up, informing him of his remaining oxygen and protection.

Map the old life signs, he said, and a marker appeared on the screen.

He headed for it, feet slopping in the muck.

TWO

A soft, lingering strand of music filled his ears, and his hands felt around for the off button. He slapped at it, and the alarm was silenced, and he curled into a ball. But then his lights came on; and if the lights were on, that meant the ship was within hailing distance of the planet. And if they were in hailing distance from the planet, it was time to get ready.

Alex threw the covers, untangling his muscular arms and legs. He yawned and scratched at the week-old beard he'd have to shave before he put on his suit. He stood and stretched and went over to the mirror set into the wall. He tapped a button on the wall and a sink slid out, and a toothbrush rose from the painted-white steel. Alex turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face, clearing the sleep from his eyes. He wet a razor.

He had turned thirty-six the day before he set out, and the gray that had crept into the brown of his temples when he was 29 had now turned to streaks all over. He was as thin and strong as ever (years and years of working off-planet kept you fit), but he was slowing down. Aries was to be his tenth planet in five years; yet another toxic dump to be terraformed into a livable habitat for the ever-expanding human race. The Viverians didn't like that humanity had claimed Aries, and some disavowed-but-not-really 'rogue' Viverian military ships had fired on them when they'd crossed into the Gargantua galaxy, but they hadn't seen anything in the two weeks since. The off-planet (well, off home-world, to be accurate) work had worn him down. Dark thoughts came to the forefront of his mind, and he pushed them back down into the depths.

He brushed his teeth and took a flash-shower, wincing at the steam and cold press that cleaned and dried and soothed his body in just forty seconds. The flash shower was a new invention, built into the sink, and was also just a button press away. The venture was headed by the government, United Humanity, but was partially sponsored by Burrell Corporation, who installed the flash showers as a means of 'beta-testing'. He felt like a food ration.

He tapped another button, and his bed sealed itself and flipped over and upright, and his closet appeared. He put on underwear but no shirt or pants; he had learned that the tiny bit of extra clothing and protection from the gentle irritation of the suit was not worth the weight of the sweat that would accumulate. His suit was dark yellow, with the United Humanity 'UH' logo on the left breast. His helmet was brand new, foldable,  and much lighter than the model he'd used on the planet Brue. He frowned. He hoped Aries would be easier than Brue.

There was a knock at his door, and Alex activated his suit, and it formed to his body. It began recording, audio and video, as was required by UH when the suit was on and activated. Alex waved his hand, and the door slid open. Revand Torres, the team leader and Head Engineer, stood there.

All dolled up, I see, Mr. Reader, Revand said. Alex had known Revand for thirty-three years and had worked with him for almost a decade and he was still sometimes surprised at how much they looked alike. Same hair, same frame, but the voices were different; Revand had this slow, deep voice, and Alex had a quick-patter tenor.

Gotta look nice for our date, Mr. Torres, Alex said. Revand grinned, and Alex did too, though he felt a heat settle in his stomach. This wasn't a normal mission for him, like it was for everyone else. Seeing Revand, maybe his only friend for a million miles, reminded him of how desperate he had become.

They left his room together, headed for the Common Room. Revand wore a blue spacesuit, top of the line, more advanced than even Alex's. Alex had requisitioned the Benjamin model, also newly made by Burrell Corp, but had been turned down. He wouldn't be in the elements as much as