Finding A New Home. Adult Space Opera 10,200 (standard:science fiction, 9659 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 18 2020	Views/Reads: 1251/934	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Out of control, an interstellar spaceship is lost in outer space. A curious teenager is instrumental in finding the error. Coming close to death several times, she eventually prevails.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Eventually, after a particularly devastating attack, when three crewmen
were killed, Captain Mathews ordered the crew quarters, offices, and 
control rooms sealed. 

Then, during the space of three days, after a particularly violent
uprising, the colonists sealed those doors from the outside. Their 
intent was to insure the crew and ship arrived at the destination, 
eventually starving what remained of that crew. 

The drive and maintenance decks, realizing the danger, voluntarily
sealed themselves from the rest of the vessel. Knowing any eventual 
landing depended on them, the maintenance decks continued vital repairs 
and looked after the drives. They became a race in themselves, 
uniformed members allowed throughout the craft to do their work but not 
interfering with the political and social factions. ------------- 

Gordana and her family lived and worked as hydroponic farmers on Deck
Twelve. Formerly a storage deck, it contained huge freezers and stores 
of canned goods. As supplies dwindled, makeshift hydroponic tables were 
installed. 

At each corner of their deck stood two elevators, flanked by guarded
doors to stairwells leading both up and down. On a fateful day, one of 
the security team was off sick, leaving only an old man, an 
ex-accountant named Tonie. His eyes were going bad, so he had to turn 
in his pencil. 

Gordana worked at filling a bag with potatoes, pulling them from the
webbed surface of a table and stuffing the entire plants into a canvas 
bag hanging over her shoulder.  She and her husband, Ivan, along with 
their daughter, Veata, were too occupied to notice a half-dozen men 
quietly surrounding them, unseen among towering plants. If they could 
have seen over tables and tall plants, they'd have found the guard as 
an inert bleeding lump on the floor near a corner elevator. 

"Arggghh, grab them," one of the men screamed. 

Along with a few others, the Twelver family was quickly taken captive.
They were unceremoniously thrown to the deck and kicked into 
submission. 

"Food," one of the men whimpered, biting Gordana on the arm and drawing
blood. Blood dripping from his lips, he reached for an eight-year-old. 

"No. Too young. Wait until later." The leader laughed, pulling the biter
away. Although hungry, there were strict conventions on board. If 
undersized, you waited. Otherwise, all meat would soon be gone, as with 
legendary farm animals once grown on-board. 

"Can screw? Okay?" another asked, pulling Gordana toward him, groping
beneath her scant covering and laughing. 

"Sure." Jacka nodded, grabbing little Veata for himself. 

"Then kill?" a man asked, holding a rusty steak-knife, handle missing
with that end wrapped in rags. 

"No. You want to carry it home? The meat can walk by itself," Jacka told
him. Ignoring her screams, he forced little Veata aside and around the 
tank, pulling her legs apart as he prepared to rape the young girl. 

Around him, the rest of his band had their fun, not even the male
captives being spared pain and humiliation. When the leader was 
finished with Veata, he sat back and waited for his men to finish. 

Then they released the children while the adults were grabbed and pulled
to their feet. 

"Go, meat." Jacka shoved the children toward a nearby doorway. "Go and
grow," he ordered them with an evil snicker. "Grow big and fat, for 
later." Turning around, he called out, "Home now." 

The last Veata saw of her parents and the other workers were their backs
as they were prodded and shoved in the other direction, through 
stairwell doors and downward to Deck Eighteen, soon to become food for 
the savages living there. 

---------- There were eight mini-civilizations on different levels, each
striving to exist in both competition and trade with the others. 

Neutral were the Engineering Decks at the rear, bottom, of the ship and
the three dedicated hydroponic decks. Even the rebels realized that 
those were necessary. Engineers kept water and air flowing, while the 
dedicated food decks apportioned food, even to the rebels. Fearing the 
legendary Captain, no one on the ship would dare try to open a sealed 
Holy Door into the control section. 

Since protein from their dead was scarce and unpredictable, the people
were basically healthy though thin,. The rebels remedied that lack by 
raiding others for meat. ----------- *** 

"There IS a Control Room." Egbert, the priest, was astonished at the
question. "You must have faith. Someday, someday soon the Captain will 
wake ... and we will be taken to our new home at the Destination. So it 
is written in the Book.” 

---------- The book was in reality a thick pamphlet. One showing the
wonders of the "New Horizons." Copies had been passed out to 
prospective colonists to get them to invest their own funds for the 
trip to the stars. Each showed a small photo of the Control Room as 
seen at the end of a narrow passageway. It was proof positive that the 
room existed -- somewhere on their world. 

There were many Holy Doors on the ship, all locked or sealed by crude
welding on one or both sides. It was sacrilege to even try to open 
them. On all floors, the penalty was death. 

Egbert was a holy man, having studied literature at a religious school
being run on Deck One, the current holy deck – due to being closest to 
heaven. Initiates studied and wrote learned papers explaining the holy 
literature -- much of which had been destroyed during and after various 
local wars. Egbert served as spiritual leader for Deck Twelve. 
---------- 

"We have six locked doors on this deck alone," teenage Veata argued. "We
should be opening them, not worshiping them. Who knows what treasures 
are inside?" 

"Heresy, young lady. Pure heresy." Eyes bugging out at the effrontery,
the priest stuttered and turned away. Orphaned, Veata had been adopted 
by the holyman. 

Although it pained him to the soul, the Captain's work had to be done.
Not right away, but he knew he'd have to report her if she kept up 
those unholy questions. He'd give her one last chance, though the girl 
had used up any reasonable number of last chances. Also bothering him 
was that if she talked so heretical to him, a holyman, what was she 
saying to others? If someone else reported her he might lose his own 
high ranking on the Deck. 

After Egbert left, Veata stood alone, staring at the Holy Door. It was
an ordinary one, though covered with scripture and painted in many 
colors. The keyhole had been sealed with melted lead. Turning away, she 
went back to her quarters to sulk. 

--------- At the moment, all levels had settled down to a shaky peace,
though often broken by individuals and groups. Although there were 
violations, the various deck administrations tended to look the other 
way. Putting up with an occasional small invasion was considered better 
than all-out war. The last had taken a quarter of their entire 
population. 

The farmers of the three hydroponic levels hired deckless criminals
ejected from their former homes as security. The pay was in extra food. 
The farmers themselves were too busy to police all their entrances for 
thieves. --------- 

As the adopted daughter of a holyman, Veata had her own room, a section
of the ship's library. The books were still there, protected and the 
subject of pilgrimages from readers on other floors. They often stopped 
to talk to or ask advice of Egbert. In that way, he was aware of most 
affairs on the entire ship, including rumors. 

*** 

Unknown to Egbert, one of his assistants had heard the girl's blasphemy
about actually opening a Holy Door. The acolyte hurried to the Deck 
Administrator, a woman named Sallie. He found Sallie doing paperwork in 
her office.... 

"So, that's what I heard. His daughter was seriously considering
breaking into Holy Rooms. I have to tell you, ma'am. Think of the 
horrors she could unleash if she were to wake the Captain before the 
end of the voyage." 

Sallie called to one of the office workers, "Send for the priest. Now!
Tell deck security to restrain his daughter before she can act. We 
can't take any chances at all. Any attempt could mean the end of 
civilization and the wrath of the Captain." 

The deck administration office was small and crowded, others hearing
about the affront. In mere minutes, the entire deck knew of it and was 
up in arms against the heretic. Word of a blasphemer would soon cover 
the entire ship. 

"We'll lock you in this room, for your own safety," a security sergeant
told Veata. "Not that I would care if they caught you. You endanger my 
own family and the entire ship with your loose talk." 

He shoved the girl into a closet and locked the door, stationing two
guards outside. If it were up to any of them they'd let her be torn 
apart, but they were professional and must follow orders. 

*** 

Seated behind her desk, Sallie addressed Egbert, "I hope, for your sake,
that you have an explanation," -- which was a bad sign, in itself. She 
normally stood to greet the holyman. 

"I ... I was going to report her, ma'am. But ... but she IS my daughter,
and I'm certain she didn't mean anything. She's never used tools in her 
life and wouldn't know how to force a door. She was only angry." 

"Angry? Angry enough to wake the Captain before the end of the voyage
AND KILL ALL OF US?” Red-faced, Sallie paused, gasping. “Egbert, you 
have your duty to your deck, and to the entire ship. That transcends 
family loyalty, and by a great deal." 

"Sorry, ma'am. I really am." 

"That's not enough, Egbert. If I can't trust you ... and I obviously
can't.... Well, I'll have to protest to the Priest Council. You're 
relieved of your duties here, as of this moment. I'll promote Priest 
Tomasso." 

"The ... the way you put it, ma'am, I gues.... NO. I know you're right.
I'll leave today. But what, what about my daughter? Can she leave with 
me?" 

"No. I'm afraid not, Egbert. She has to stand trial. If found guilty
she'll probably be declared deckless and banished from all civilized 
areas. If she persists with such thoughts, she'll be executed. Now, go 
and collect your things! I'm banishing you from this deck, as of this 
moment. Report to Deck One and tell them what's happened." 

With no other recourse, Egbert was forced to go, leaving Veata behind. 

*** 

Veata knew the rules. The same thing had happened to Jeanie, a
schoolmate of hers. Jeanie had been convicted of slacking in her duties 
as a humper in the storage areas. She'd developed what she said was a 
bad back, avoiding lifting heavy crates. No matter how she protested, 
the deck doctor never okayed light duty for her. Then, when going 
before the Deck Twelve elders, she'd gotten angry and cursed them. 

Jeanie had been banished as deckless and barely avoided execution. The
elders didn't like angry individuals, preferring the contrite. Although 
slacking was a criminal offense, it wasn't considered a capital crime. 
Veata's WAS, causing the elders to argue far into the night over her 
penalty. 

Now Veata, herself formerly privileged, was on trial ... and for a
capital crime. One of the most serious. She spent the night awake and 
decrying her fate, fully expecting to die. 

*** 

The first thing Veata noticed when entering the courtroom was the
absence of her adopted father. Egbert was conspicuous in his absence. 
At least half of the 66 residents of Deck Twelve were there, packed 
into the rear of the room and clustered around two doorways. Silence 
reigned as she was led to a lone kitchen chair, facing the audience. 
She noticed some were glaring angrily, others simply curious. 

Her best friends, Nanc and Tracee were looking everywhere but at her. A
bolt of fear surged through her mind, causing an unbidden shudder. 
Veata had expected those two would be on her side. 

Deck Leader Sallie, already seated and going over paperwork, looked up
and raised a hand for silence. 

"You have been charged with endangering the ship, a very serious charge.
One that can bring a death penalty. We're here to get to the truth of 
the matter. 

"First, we'll listen to witnesses on all sides. Everyone that can shed a
light on this charge will be allowed to speak. I'm not interested in 
opinions, young lady, only facts. 

"I have a short list of respondents that might have information on this
crime." 

Sallie looked over the audience. "Tomasso, the priest. Please step
forward." 

Egbert's former assistant rose and walked to the front of the large
room. His long face held a serious expression. From what Veata knew of 
him, he always gave that appearance. This time, however, he was wearing 
the robes of a Senior Deck Priest ... Egbert's. 

"Tomasso?" Sallie asked. “Do you have anything pertinent to say?” 

"Yes, Ms Sallee. Yesterday, I overheard this girl speaking to Master
Egbert. She was seriously suggesting we break into the Holy Door in the 
Chapel. It was the second time I'd heard the blasphemy, the first being 
too brief to be certain. That first time when they saw me enter the 
room, they both stopped talking. 

“Yesterday they didn't see me. I was working behind a bookcase and heard
the entire conversation. She seemed set on the act, even arguing with 
Master Egbert." 

"And what did Egbert say? Was he going along with it? Did they make any
plans, such as gathering cutting tools?" Sallie asked. 

Veata heard sighs and muttered curses from the audience. She could feel
her legs quaking and had to reach down to steady them. 

"None that I heard, Ms Sallie. He admonished her to be quiet. But ...
but who knows what they might have planned, that I didn--" 

"No opinions. Only facts," Sallie interrupted. "If those are your only
facts, you may step down." 

Veata looked up. Sallie wasn't looking at her but at the audience,
something Veata was afraid to do. 

"Timmons, from the kitchen. Step forward." 

One of the cooks came to the front of the crowd. Standing shakily, he
told them that he'd noticed Veata staring at the lunchroom Holy Door, 
and on many occasions. Sometimes scowling as though thinking. He'd 
thought it unusual, though not threatening. "After all," he said, "she 
could have been reading the holy markings." 

"I now call Tracee from the sewing-repair section." 

Her friend came forward, still not looking directly at Veata. 

"I'm sorry, Veata but I have to tell the truth. The Captain would never
forgive me if I lied." Tears ran down both cheeks as she continued, 
"Yes. Veata ... Veata has mentioned it to me, at least three times. 
She's never said she actually WOULD try to open a Holy Door but ... but 
implied that someone should." 

"You're sure? You're certain she hasn't been plotting with you or anyone
else? Tell me the truth." 

"Yes, ma'am, not that I know of. It was ... was only idle talk. That's
all. I didn't think it was serious." 

"You may step down. I call Nanc from accounting." 

Her friend, Nanc, said basically the same as Tracee. That the subject
had sometimes come up but wasn't a big issue with them. 

By that time, Veata could see the room contained more curious and
uninterested looks than glares. 

"Do you have anyone to speak on your behalf?" Sallie interrupted Veata's
study of the audience. 

Veata looked back at unreceptive faces, most of them glancing at the
ceiling or into the distance, none appearing willing to speak for her. 
"Uh ... no, ma'am." 

"In that case, in the name of the Captain, bless Him, I'll give my
judgment." After pausing to clear her throat, she continued. "You are 
to gather your things and report to the south stairwell, where your ID 
card will be shredded before your eyes. You will then go through that 
door, permanently banished from Deck Twelve and all civilized levels. 
And may the Captain have mercy on you. 

"Because of the seriousness of the charge, the only thing keeping you
alive is that I don't believe you would have seriously tried to open 
that door. I may be wrong but can't take the chance. You still might 
change your mind and try later. 

"Curiosity is normally a commendable trait but not when it endangers
every resident of this ship. Go. Now." 

Apparently Sallie kept the audience in the court-room to insure Veata's
safety, because the youngster didn't see many residents as she returned 
to her former quarters. It was one of the hardest things she'd had to 
do in her young life -- the other watching her parents being hustled 
away, walking food for the rebels. 

Another milestone in her life was, when reporting to the stairwell with
a bag of possessions, to watch her identity card being cut into pieces 
and dropped into a trash can, leaving her deckless, survival left up to 
the fates. 

Carrying only a backpack, Veata left, hearing the door slam behind her. 

*** 

She'd never been on the stairs before, since they were considered
dangerous and mainly used by the rebels and deckless. Residents 
normally used elevators. Even then, if in danger she could have always 
yelled for a guard from Decks Eleven through Thirteen, or dove through 
a door to safety. 

No more. Now, even if she managed to lure a guard outside he was sworn
not to protect the deckless. He'd only be able to watch as she was 
raped or killed -- maybe noting it in his logbook. If she were in 
danger, ducking through a door for succor wouldn't help and might even 
get her killed. 

She had a choice of up or down. Up to and maybe through the wilds of
Decks Five through Ten, or down to equally wild and rebel-controlled 
Decks Thirteen and Fourteen. If she did manage to get past Deck Five, 
she wouldn't be allowed onto the upper decks. Egbert might be at Deck 
One but might not. She hadn't been told where he'd gone and it was too 
late to ask. 

On the other hand, if she made it past Rebel-controlled Deck Fourteen,
she might find work as a guard on Decks Fifteen through Seventeen, the 
hydroponics levels. They hired deckless guards. Past them were Decks 
Eighteen through Twenty-three, all wild. She knew that the Engineering 
Decks, Twenty-four through Twenty-six wouldn't accept her. Nobody was 
ever allowed onto them unless born there. 

Down would be the best choice, she knew, and to try for work at a
hydroponics deck. But, to do it she'd have to pass by Deck Fourteen, 
where her parents had ended up as food for the Rebels. Another thing 
she knew, was that she couldn't stay where she was. It would only be to 
die of thirst or until the next Rebel group slithered upward. 

Sitting on heavily-carpeted steps to think, the results of excitement
and lack of sleep hit her. She nodded off, head falling backward onto 
the treads above. 

Veata woke to the feel of a toe in her side. Opening her eyes, she saw
four girls of roughly her own age standing next to and below her. Two 
were grinning and two scowling. The last two held large knives. 

One reached over, feeling her arm. Veata tried to get to her feet but a
hand on one shoulder shoved her back down. She noticed that they were 
all skinny and wore green armbands with an "18" on them. 

"Tender," one girl said, a string of saliva dripping from a corner of
her mouth. "Jacka will be glad to get this one. Up, Food." She grabbed 
Veata's arm and jerked. "I said to get up, NOW." 

Veata kicked out, knocking the other girl down several steps, where she
grabbed a metal pipe to stop from rolling down the stairs. The other 
young women scuffled with Veata, forcing her to her feet. One even bit 
her on the arm. 

"What do you want? I'm one of you. I've been banished." 

"One of us? Uh, uh. Not one of but soon part of," one said, the others
laughing as if at a joke. "You're our Sunday dinner." 

"Come on, Jicki. Come on, let's take her home to get bled. The fingers
are mine." 

"What about buying joltweed from Jeanie, first? I wanna smoke. I need a
smoke more than a sandwich." 

"Screw your weed. We can get it tomorrow. Right now, we can score points
with Jacka. Come on, food. Downstairs." She pulled on Veata, forcing 
her down a step. "MOVE," she commanded. 

"Wait, Tam. I have a better idea. We can have it all," another girl
suggested, "joltweed and brownie points. Think of all the weed Deck Ten 
would give us for this." She reached to jerk Veata's head upward. 
"Jacka loves joltweed and we've got enough food already. The 'ponics 
gave us a ton of the stuff." 

"Ugh, veggies. I like meat." Tam grabbed Veata's left breast and kneaded
it. "See? Tender." 

"No. Let's see how much weed we can get, first," another girl said. "I
haven't been high for weeks." 

They stood and argued, holding Veata tightly as her fate was decided.
Finally, the urge for joltweed won out. 

"After all, if we can't get a good deal we can always eat her
ourselves," one of them said. All but Veata laughed insanely as she was 
forced up the stairwell, leaving the door of her former home behind. 

They tromped upstairs, past civilized Deck Eleven, then to Ten. The door
was already open, with no guards in evidence. The room inside was 
filthy, trash piled up and smelling of ammonia, feces rotting in a 
corner. A pile of what looked like human bones sat to one side of the 
door, visible from the stairwell. 

Giggling, the girls shoved Veata through another doorway. Shivering in
fear, she was pushed through and into a huge room that had formerly 
been a large barracks designed for future colonists. It was neatly 
partitioned into family living quarters. Children were playing at one 
side, apparently supervised by an old woman. They seemed happy enough, 
though thin by Deck Twelve standards. It wasn't at all what Veata had 
expected. 

"We'll have to take you to the boss here. His name is Jimmie. He'll
decide where to place you, or if you should go to another deck," Tam 
told Veata while hugging her, one arm over a shoulder. "Welcome to the 
REAL Rebels." The other girls, quite a switch in attitude, stood 
laughing at Veata's shocked reaction. Tam brought out a small 
antiseptic patch, placing it over Veata's bitten arm. 

"Come on, I need a smoke," Jicki said, "We can talk later. You take her,
Tam. We'll meet you at Jeanie's crib." 

*** 

They found Boss Jimmie sitting in a lunchroom, eating a bowl of soup. He
appeared to be made up of various balls. A round stomach forced him 
back from the table, topped by a head like a billiard ball, two 
cauliflower ears projecting from the sides of his head. He also owned a 
bulbous nose. As he ate, the spoon, clasped in fat hands at the end of 
short arms, dripped liquid onto a t-shirt with a picture of cartoon 
character Oscar Rat prominently displayed. To Veata, he didn't look 
imposing enough to decide her fate -- not at all. 

"Sit down. Veata, right? Have some soup." 

He motioned and a preteen boy hurried over with a large bowl, sitting it
down on the opposite side of the table and almost tripping Veata as she 
pulled back a chair. 

"You know my name already?" She looked, suspiciously, at the food.
Several lumps of meat floated on the surface. It smelled delicious and 
she hadn't eaten since the morning of the day before. But she couldn't 
help shivering, wondering if it were human meat. 

"Dig in, girl. I can see you're hungry." He beamed a bright smile
through crumbling teeth, saying, "It's the same thing you'd eat on the 
Twelfth. We get the same supplies you do." 

She couldn't help it. She started eating and, indeed, the meat seemed
exactly the same. 

"Of course I know your name and all about your problems. That's why
you're sitting here and not in the slave quarters. Being banished for 
life, you can never tell the so-called 'civilized' decks about us. We'd 
rather your people think of us as savages. 

"We've had peace for several years now. No more raiding of each other,
though our young people do sometimes invade your decks to steal what 
they can. I can't always control them. And Jacka, on the Eighteenth, 
does sometimes go wild and kidnap you guys when he gets low on meat. 
Again, I can't control the other floors. Basically, though, we have a 
constitution and try to keep to it. With an armband, you're safe on any 
of our floors." 

"Do I get an armband?" 

"Depends. Depends on whether I can trust you to follow our rules, all of
them. If not, you'll join the slaves, mostly your people that we've 
captured. They don't have it hard but, without armbands, are restricted 
to this floor. We can't chance them getting back home. We don't eat 
them, though ... unless they die." 

"Then what is the meat in this soup, anyway. It tastes like beef." 

"Think, girl. THINK. Have you seen, or even heard of any live animals on
the ship?" 

She had to consider the question. "No. I don't remember any." 

"Haven't you been taught that all the frozen and stored meat has been
used up, and long ago?" 

"Well, yeah." 

"And what happens to your citizens when they die?" 

"I dunno. The priests take them somewhere." 

"Sure they do. To the kitchen." He grinned. 

"Ugh! You mean this WAS human meat." 

"The same human flesh you've been eating all your life, honey. It's by
design. The living need minerals and protein found in meat and we're 
the only meat available." 

"It's not easy to grow enough vegetables for us humans. Slowly, we're
running out of chemicals for the hydroponics. By the end of your 
generation, we'll be in trouble." 

"Why," Veata asked, "don't you make peace with my deck, Deck Twelve, if
you're so like them?" 

"Ha-ha. I was wondering when you'd get to that." He sat up straight.
"See me?" he pulled on the front of his t-shirt, dropping crumbs onto 
table and floor. Then Jimmie fingered his wild hair and scraggly unkept 
beard. "That's why. We don't like all those bullshit rules. Here, we do 
what we want, when we want. Can you get joltweed, marijuana, on Deck 
Twelve? Hell no. 

"You have crime there, we don't. If someone steals here they die or get
their asses kicked and they frickin' know it. No trial, no bullshit. If 
they do, by some miracle, live, they face a one-way trip to the 
kitchen. Our rules are simple but strictly enforced." He grinned. "If, 
for instance, I even tried to make people behave like on the civilized 
decks, I'd be out on my ass. And I'm the Deck Leader." 

Veata shivered. And she'd been thinking of going down the stairs. "Is
Deck Eighteen that bad?" 

"Wild, compared to us on Ten. Jacka's high most of the time and doesn't
try very hard to control his people. They know, though, they have to 
behave up here." 

Finished with his soup, he called the boy over and told him to take
Veata to a bunk. 

"Stay loose and talk to your roommate," Jimmie told her as she left.
"She's also from Deck Twelve and can show you the ropes. I'll decide 
what to do with you in a couple of days, whenever I get around to it. 
And, for the Captain's sake, don't even think of opening a Holy Door. 
We feel the same here as Sallie does." 

The boy led Veata across the large room to a section marked "AA-3."
Inside, she was surprised to see not only the two girls from Eighteen, 
Jicki and Tam, but her old friend, Jeanie from Twelve. A strange smell 
permeated the enclosure, with all three girls smoking marijuana. 

"There she is. How did you make out with Jimmie? He didn't grope you
yet, did he?" Tam exclaimed. "We were telling Jeanie how we put you on, 
about eating you." 

"He'll get around to to screwing you. As deck leader, he has the pick of
all the girls on the Deck, even slaves and visitors," Jicki warned her. 


The three of them laughed again as Veata's face reddened. 

"She thought she was going to be dinner," Jicki said. 

Jeanie got up, walked over and hugged Veata. "Glad to see you got off''a
that stuffy deck. You'll like it here." 

*** 

The next morning, at the breakfast table, a woman came over. 

"My name's Junko and you'll be working with me in the supply room.
Anybody can direct you. Come on over after you're done here. No big 
hurry." 

Ten Deck was far more relaxed than the Twelfth. Veata, as an assistant
and trainee in the deck's supply room, was only required to help move 
things around, dust and sweep up the large space. The room contained 
everything from bedding to electronic supplies and spare parts, neatly 
arranged on shelving or stacked to the ceiling. Copious records were 
kept but Veata was a long way from handling them. 

It was easy work and the girl settled down to working, sleeping, and
smoking joltweed produced in special growing tanks. On the New Horizon 
alcohol was at a premium, needed for other uses so, although it was 
being produced, drinking was scarce. On Rebel decks, the main relaxant 
was pot, most of which was grown on Deck Ten. The civilized decks had 
outlawed the plant as cutting into the productivity of their residents 
but it well-fitted the philosophy of the Rebels. 

In one corner of the room, there was a small square door, only 18-inches
wide. Inside, a metal chute seemed to drop to nowhere. Her boss didn't 
know what it was used for, so they'd piled boxes in front of it and 
left it alone for hundreds of years. 

"Probably to dump junk in before the wars," Ms. Junko told Veata. "Since
we don't waste anything, we have no use for it." 

One day, while idly looking through boxes of miscellaneous items, Veata
came upon a strange device. It was a foot long and very thin, with an 
eyepiece at one end. The other end was rounded off. She didn't know 
that it contained glass fibers and was used to see into machinery such 
as piping. The thin and flexible stem could bend around corners, 
allowing a person to inspect in closed places. Although it contained a 
light, the battery was long dead. 

Bored, she played with the supple scope, getting a look down the inside
of an iron pipe held toward a light, seeing the pits and dirt inside. 

Still curious, although often warned about keeping away from Holy Doors,
an idea came to the girl. After work, the scope cinched tightly under 
her belt and extending down a leg, she went over to the deserted and 
usually-empty deck chapel. Its Holy Door, like the others, was welded 
shut. The door itself was covered, every inch, by religious writing and 
pasted photos of the Captain, as seen in the Book. 

The room was normally only occupied during services. Veata fought
extreme nervousness as she hurried to the gaudy surface. She was in 
luck, the door being merely welded shut and the keyhole open, hidden 
under a taped photo. 

Heart beating fast at the effrontery, she jammed an end of her device
through the keyhole, completely through. Going back to the entrance, 
Veata again peered both ways, seeing nobody outside. She stumbled to 
her knees on the way back inside, briefly wondering if it was her fault 
or the Captain's spirit sensing her fall from grace. Looking through 
the eyepiece, she had a view of the other side. 

It was an office -- only an office -- she saw. With her wide view, she
noticed something white lying in one corner. Never having seen a 
complete one before, she didn't recognize a human skeleton. Another, 
much smaller one -- that of a dog or cat? -- lay near it. Although not 
recognizing the import, her hyped-up mind instinctively knew the larger 
one resembled a person. 

"Demons!" she cried out. Shocked at the sight, Veata couldn't stop
herself. Then, the implication hit her. She had been staring into HELL 
itself. Fearing its occupants saw or would sense her, she backed up, 
bumping into Domus, the Deck Priest, who was coming in for some 
purpose. 

Turning, she clutched at his robes. "I saw hell, be ... behind ...
there. There!" 

It took only seconds for the confused priest to see her device, shining
from the keyhole. 

"Sacrilege! You're evil, which is why you see hell. Mortals aren't meant
to see behind that door." 

It was his turn to back away from the girl. "You're cursed. Cursed by
the First Officer. Get away from me." His face whitened as he pushed 
her away before turning to run out of the room. A scream formed on 
frozen lips, the priest too frightened to move his tongue to let it 
out. 

A few seconds later he succeeded and the girl heard it reverberating
throughout the deck. 

Veata ran. Even in her panic, she knew she was dead and would probably
be on the breakfast table by the next morning. Leaving the room, noises 
of screaming and cursing on her right told her she could expect no help 
from her and Janie's room. That left only the supply room. It was 
closed but she had a key. 

The girl hurried there, locking the door behind herself. Leaning against
a wall, she sobbed, waiting for her heart to slow down and trying to 
think. Where could she hide? How could she get out alive? Her eyes fell 
on the little incinerator chute. It was the only other way out of the 
room. 

Unlatching and throwing it open with a clang, Veata smelled a musty odor
mixed with the scent of old oil. She tried to put both feet inside. 
With nothing to hold on to, that didn't work and she could already hear 
people talking outside the supply room. Steeling herself, the youngster 
closed her eyes and forced head and shoulders inside. 

It was a tight fit and the dusty and dirty chute wasn't very slippery.
Palms flat against metal walls, she forced herself deeper. Once around 
a bend, the downward slope became slicker and she sped downward along a 
shiny metal surface. 

As Veata fell, she picked up speed. There was nothing to catch onto to
slow herself. When she tried, her hands, knees, and elbows burned but 
didn't make much difference. 

In seconds, Veata's clothing, arms, and shoulders became warm, then hot.
The journey was dark and uncomfortable. Briefly, Veata wondered if this 
was the Captain's revenge? That maybe she was on her way to hell 
itself. 

After a slight turn, there was a little light. She could see the surface
of the chute rushing past her eyes, only an inch in front of them. 
Bending her head until it bounced against the top, she could see a 
brighter light below, coming up quickly. 

Panicking again, Veata forced herself to clutch the sides with both
knees, feet and clothed elbows burning from fiction. Although it slowed 
her, she could feel increased heat and smell smoke as her clothing 
rubbed against smooth metal. 

"Thump," and the girl found herself lying on a metal surface. It felt
like every bone in her body was sore or broken and the smell of ozone 
filled the air. Veata knew she must be in hell. Shivering 
uncontrollably, she closed her eyes and waited for death from the the 
First Officer. 

"Where the frickin' hell did you come from?" It sounded like a man. 

Veata didn't react, afraid to move or open her eyes. She felt hands
picking up and lifting her shaking body. 

"Come on, girl. You ain't hurt that bad. Take it easy." It was a woman's
voice that time. "How did you get here and from which deck? We gotta 
get you home." 

"Not so quick, Sinthia. We gotta run that point through Blackie first." 

"Well, anyway, we can fix those burns. The ones on her knees look pretty
bad. They're right into the flesh and must hurt like hell." 

Hearing the conversation, not one about hurting her, Veata forced her
eyes open. She saw two normal appearing people, no demons in evidence. 
But then, she realized, she'd never seen a real demon, so how would she 
know what they looked like? 

"I see you're awake, girl.  Sam, find her some dungarees. There're some
clean ones in locker 23." She unbuckled Veata's trousers and tried to 
take them off without forcing the girl's knees to bend. "Let me put 
some of this stuff on you. It'll help with the pain and has medication 
in it." 

The salve was cool and took some of the pain away. "Thanks," Veata
managed to whisper. "You.... You ain't a demon, are you?" 

"Where the hell you get that idea? Did you bump your head on the way
down?" The woman lifted Veata to her feet, where the girl managed to 
choke a scream into a whimper. 

"You'd better come with me right now, even though it hurts. In an hour
or so, you'll be too stiff to walk or bend your elbows. Your joints are 
gonna swell way up. We got us a doctor but she's working on Deck Four 
right now. Won't get back for hours yet." 

"Where are we?" Veata asked, painfully stumbling down a long corridor,
huge machinery humming and vibrating on both sides of the aisle. The 
woman supported some of her weight but the pain was still excruciating. 


"You're in maintenance, part of the propulsion section," she was told,
"and, like Sam said, since you're not cleared I shouldn't tell you even 
that much. We down here have our little secrets. If the mystique gives 
out the rebels might take over. So stop with the questions, all right?" 


Veata was led to a cabin and laid down onto a clean cot. After finishing
stripping her and putting more cool salve on, Sinthia left. 

*** 

For the next week, Sinthia and Juili, the doctor, were Veata's only
visitors. And they refused to tell her any more about where she was 
except to say that her fate was being determined by a higher authority. 
"We won't kill you but I don't really know what the deck captain will 
decide. We've found out you're a rebel and a curious one. 

"Now, curiosity is a valued trait here in maintenance where it has
solved many a problem. Most residents of this frickin' space truck have 
had their curiosity bred out. I can't really understand your obsession 
with those damned Holy Doors though? Enough to get killed or kill 
yourself over the stupid things." 

"Stupid! You don't understand. The Captain is sleeping. If we wake Him,
we're doome--" 

"Bull! The captain has been dead for six-hundred years. He ain't gonna
hurt no one." Sinthia was angry, catching herself. "Oops. I shouldn't 
have said that. Damn it. I'm not used to watching my tongue." Her face 
reddened. "Now, I'm gonna have to tell the captain I said it. Our 
captain, that is." 

She got up to find her boss, hiding a grin from Veata. She'd slipped on
purpose. Now, there was no way the girl could be returned upstairs, 
knowing her god was dead and spreading the word, including where she'd 
heard it. Sinthia laughed, knowing her captain wouldn't dare take a 
chance on another war, one of believers against unbelievers. 

*** 

Sinthia was right. Captain Black, in charge of the maintenance decks and
commonly called Blackie, had little choice. He didn't believe in 
killing criminals except as a last resort; and then only the violent 
ones. He realized that returning Veata to the decks above might ferment 
a revolution. 

Sinthia's remarks would be construed as heresy by all the residents,
including the deckless, which might start a war against the “infidels” 
in maintenance. Veata had to stay, though she'd never be trusted 
outside the maintenance section. Feeling it was his responsibility to 
explain, he called her in for an interview. 

"Sit down, young lady," he ordered. 

Veata, although still in some pain, had healed to the point where she
could walk -- though she still couldn't bend swollen knees and elbows 
very well. He watched as she carefully, breathing hard, managed to sit 
on a straight chair, legs stiffly spread. He felt no sympathy for her 
efforts, feeling she'd brought it on herself. 

She saw a huge man in dirty overalls, a smear of grease over
dead-looking eyes. The scowling face further intensified her 
nervousness. 

"For the first time, at least in my lifetime, we're forced to accept a
new maintenance worker, one not born on these decks ... and I don't 
like it, or you. So let's get that straight from the beginning. 

"I've talked to your religious leaders, including Egbert. He swears by
you, although others, like Sallie, prefer swearing at you. 

"Now, as to your religion, you may keep it if you like but we know
better. One thing, though, is that down here you WILL follow all the 
rules and not take off on tangents. We have plenty of work for you and 
won't allow deviation or subversion of our rules. 

"Since Repairwoman Sinthia professes an interest in you, you'll be her
assistant and follow her orders. You will not, ever, leave these decks. 
So don't even dream of it. And you will be watched constantly." 

Fidgeting in her seat, Veata dared to proffer a question, "I -- I have
to ask, sir. How do you know the Captain isn't sleeping ... somewhere 
on this ship? It is huge and nobody knows all the rooms and cabins. 
Please, sir." 

"Since it seems to be so damned important to you, ask Sinthia to show
you the Control Room. You can tell her that I approve. The sight might 
calm you down, make you more tractable. 

"Holy Doors, my frickin' ass. Here," he said. Writing a short note, he
sealed it with a stapler on his desk and gave it to Veata, "give this 
to her." The former glare coming back to his eyes, he finished with, "I 
hope to hell I never see you back here in front of me like this. And 
you'd better hope so, too. This IS your last hope for a future on this 
ship, don't screw it up. The only thing left to you is a long walk in 
outer space ... without a suit. 

“Now get the hell out of my sight. I don't have time for this shit." 

Veata lost no time in following that last order, almost running back to
her cabin to fall on the bed and shiver, eyes closed. A little later, 
she rose to clean up and change soiled clothing. Captain Black had 
really frightened her, enough to wet her trousers. 

*** 

"I have to investigate an overheating blower system on Deck Eight.
That'll take at least a couple of days," Sinthia told Veata. "While I'm 
gone, I want you to take this electric-buffer and clean the 
extrusion-slope of engine six. It should keep you busy for a couple of 
weeks, at least." 

She showed Veata how to deactivate and crawl into a huge four-story-high
propulsion engine. At that time, the eight massive machines only fired 
once every ten years or so since early in the Voyage. Even then, it had 
been only briefly to make automatic course corrections. They would stay 
inactive until needed near the Destination. They had last fired for a 
day or so seven-years before, so Captain Blackie figured they were now 
cool enough to clean carbon residue off the chutes. It was somewhat 
like cleaning a rifle barrel after use, from inside. It took that long 
for the things to cool and residual radiation to fade to a safe level. 

"Remember to turn the switch to 'on' every day, once you're finished.
After that, I should have time to show you to the control room," 
Sinthia told her. "I don't think you'll like it, so try to prepare 
yourself. It'll knock hell out of your beliefs." 

For the next few days, Veata, even with sore knees, spent twelve-hours a
day inside a slick metal tunnel, five-feet tall and extending fifty 
feet into a blank wall of steel, protection from outer-space. It was 
the slipperiest metal she'd ever seen. So much so that only the 
burned-on crud let her stand upright wearing magnetic shoes. She had to 
start at the far end, on hands and knees part of the time and using a 
handle to scratch across the top, working her way back to the entrance. 
It was hot, slippery, dirty manual labor. Whenever she felt she just 
had to quit, to say "the hell with it," she'd picture Captain Black's 
face in her mind and keep scrubbing. Having, before her heresy, been a 
privileged person only made the work harder. 

Although she slept in the same room as Sinthia, the other woman was
normally too tired to talk much, only eating and sleeping when home. 
The people in the lunchroom, not used to new residents and knowing how 
wild she could become, avoided intimate contact. They were friendly but 
hesitated talking about their jobs. Veata figured they didn't trust her 
-- at least as yet. Besides, Veata, herself, was tired after that 
physical labor. She rarely felt like talking, either. 

By the tenth morning, Sinthia finished with her blower repair on Deck
Eight. After breakfast and back in their cabin, she stopped Veata, who 
was about to dress in dirty clothing to clean the engine. 

"Don't change. We don't want to get the maintenance-stairs filthy with
those coveralls," she instructed Veata, grinning. "You said you wanted 
to see the Control Room? I'll show you this morning but be prepared for 
a shock. Come on, we might as well get started. I hope your knees are 
up to it. We have a long climb ahead of us, all the way to the top of 
the ship." 

Indeed, the girl's knees and elbows were about back to normal size. She
followed her roommate and boss to a door on the side of the deck. It 
was unlocked but rusty, probably not oiled in at least a century. 

"I've never been there, myself but, according to the blueprints, we
can't miss the control room. It's at the top of the ship. We don't 
normally use these stairs. We have hidden elevators to the other decks 
and these are for emergencies. But the control-room elevator door is 
welded shut at the top and we've no real reason to break it open. From 
there, there's nothing to see but empty space. I hear it's boring as 
hell. I'd be surprised if anyone's been up there in many years. Maybe 
in generations. Nobody wants to climb over twenty decks to look out at 
absolutely nothing." 

"How'll the ship land when we get to the Destination?" 

"It's all automatic -- something called an 'automatic pilot.' Before he
committed suicide, Captain Mathews set it and showed our deck captain 
at that time how to work the device. That info has been passed down for 
centuries and is the reason our Leader is called a Captain. 

“There's a switch that will inform us when the landing process starts,
so that we can be certain everything is set up and turned on down here. 
All the engines need to be turned on and working. Blackie has the 
Landing Manual and he and his assistants have studied it. Until then, 
we're too busy to station people up there to spend a lifetime sitting 
on their butts." 

The two of them set off, climbing sets of alternating metal steps
spotted with landings where they could rest. The thudding of boots 
hitting metal reverberated throughout the narrow enclosure as they 
proceeded upward. It wasn't long before the sounds of heavy breathing 
joined with those of ringing metal. 

"What happened to the rest of the crew?" 

"Before sealing himself in, Captain Mathews released them to join with
the passengers. There were only two crewmen left and no women. Out of 
the original hundred and twenty-four, counting crew and passengers, 
there were only fifty-five people left on the ship after the first war. 
The crewmen were supposed to try to end the conflict while Mathews 
would be in the control-room, if needed, and where the rebels couldn't 
get at him. Later, he went crazy from loneliness and killed himself. 
After not hearing from him for awhile, our people forced the upper door 
to this stairwell open, finding him dead." She shrugged. "Since the 
doors behind the Control Room were already sealed, we left him in 
peace." 

They stopped on a landing. "Whooooo! Only two more decks to go. I'm
frickin' beat," Sinthia said, leaning against a wall. 

"How did the Captain die?" Veata asked. 

"Hung himself. We have our own hangups, such as some of us believing in
Mathews's ghost inhabiting the room. Many of us would refuse to be up 
here." 

"And you?" Veata asked. 

"Me? I'm nervous as hell, myself. And I don't believe in ghosts. But,
what if?" 

"That makes two of us," Veata whispered to herself. 

"What you say?" 

"Nothing." 

Rested, they finished the climb, the metal stairs ending on a small
landing. The door there opened inward, exposing a room lined with 
electronic instruments. They were still shiny, though covered with the 
dust of centuries. Across the room, past desks and padded chairs, a 
large window flashed sunlight onto the floor, dust motes stirred up 
from their entrance, obscured any view outside. 

What caught Sinthia's attention was one panel, which was flashing tiers
of small red bulbs, the universal "Danger" signal, with a few flashing 
milder yellow "Caution," signals. 

"Damn. Something's wrong here." She hurried over to that particular
panel. "I don't know what but it might be serious." 

Veata, however, was drawn to the window. She still recalled that
long-ago dream. 

Standing at the window at the top of the "New Horizons," she saw huge
trees, some higher than the ship itself. They were different than the 
pictures she'd memorized from the Book but still ... the same. She 
couldn't help letting her gaze go up, up and up. Her sight went past 
the trees, looking for the ceiling and ... and ... and there was NO 
ceiling -- only purple-tinted space with two brilliant globes -- too 
bright to tell details -- one yellow and one white. Suns, she recalled 
from her schooling. Something no one there had seen for six-hundred 
years. 

They had landed! And nobody noticed. 

"Run back downstairs Veata. You're younger and can do it. Get Blackie up
here, NOW. Someone's turned off the Landing Notification switch. Maybe 
the automatic pilot is off, too. We need Blackie. If he can't correct 
it, we'll crash and all die." 

Veata couldn't answer, or turn away. She was mesmerized by the shining
globes. At Sinthia's voice, she jerked her eyes away and opened her 
mouth to speak, nothing coming out. 

The girl did manage to look downward, seeing multicolored trees below,
ever-thicker as her gaze drifted downward past what she could see of 
two ramps leaving the ship to curve down and out of sight in the 
shrubbery. Except for one being twisted around a tree near the bottom, 
they looked like the entrance ramps in the Book, which showed happy 
people coming into the ship. 

"Did you hear me girl? Hurry. Tell him it's an emergency and that we
need anyone that knows anything about running the ship. Now, leave that 
frickin' window and move." 

"We.... We don...." Veata forced a deep breath, letting it out in one
burst. "We don't need repairs," Veata called out in a hoarse whisper, 
trying to yell. "We don't need repairs. We're here. We're here ... at 
the DESTINATION." Legs turning to rubber, she collapsed into the 
nearest chair, staring at the sky outside. 

"What the hell you talking about?" Sinthia came nearer the window,
seeing for herself. "My God! We've landed and who knows how long ago? 
We've landed and didn't know it." 

"Then why didn't anyone check?" Veata whispered. "You guys downstairs
could have checked." 

Not hearing her, Sinthia was deep in her own internal world, thinking.
"I'll bet we screwed ourselves by welding all those damned ramp doors 
shut. None of the exit doors could open and with the alert system 
turned off, WE DIDN'T FRICKIN' EVEN NOTICE." 

With no hurry in getting Captain Blackie, they both stood, arms around
each other's shoulders, and watched a yellow sun set in the north. 

The End. 

* At time of story, approximately 1,000 residents on ship. 

Decks: 

1 Religious Training, the smallest deck at the bow. 2 Civilized Former
Office Areas. 3 Civilized Former Office and Officers Quarters. 4 
Civilized Former Recreation Deck. Entertainment. 5 - 10 Former Quarters 
Reserved for Colonists. Now wild. 11 Civilized Former Food Storage 12 
Civilized Former Freezer Deck 13 Civilized Former General Storage for 
Trip. 14 Former General Storage for Trip. Now Wild. 15 - 17 Hydroponic 
Decks. Neutral and Off-Limits. 18 Former Heavy Equipment Storage for 
Colony. Jacka's Domain. 19 - 21 Former Heavy Equipment Storage for 
Colony. Now Wild. 22 Civilized Former Supplies for Colonizing. Now 
Wild. 23 Civilized Former Supplies for Colonizing. Now Wild. 24-26 
Engineering. Special Rating, Skilled Workers, Neutral and Off-Limits.


Tweet