Surviving The Theseus

Randy Noble

Copyright 2010 Randy Noble

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Regina Valensky walked down a wide, open
corridor, watching people excitedly go about their vacations. Her
mind slipped back and forth on why she picked, of all vacation
spots she could have picked, a space cruise ship called Pyramid
One.

The cheese factor was not without its charm,
but it became too much, too gaudy, too "in your face." Bright neon,
spot, and laser light flashed all around her, from the various
businesses touting their bounty, whether food, souvenirs, or
gambling.

She caught a few guys checking her out, which
brought a smile to her face as they walked by her. Regina never
went on vacation, and the only reason glowing lights surrounded her
now was because her superiors forced her to take vacation. Not
because she built up too many days off, but because her peers were
getting picked off at an alarming rate.

Regina was a Search Out and Destroy officer,
a SOAD or killer, murderer, widow maker. Take your pick. She had
heard them all and worse, much worse.

As much as she distrusted just about
everyone, she needed to be around people, to study them, their
mannerisms, interactions, and idiosyncrasies, which made everyone
so unique and so damn hard to understand. But understand she must,
or die she would. Hunting the worst of the worst took understanding
others so she could blend in, become what she needed to be to get
closer to her goal: the kill.

But, Regina was not on Pyramid for
business, just forced pleasure. She looked for a place to go eat
and have a drink, walked by
Pyramid Burgers, The
Pyramid Palace, King Tut’s,
and kept going, one after
the other of restaurants and bars with some sort of reference to
the cruise vessel. Each restaurant's flashy façade, adorned with a
gold ten-foot pyramid for an entrance, or a golden likeness of King
Tut, or the Sphinx.

Finally, near the end of restaurants, she
found a lounge called The Club, which had a large golf club
decorating the entrance. She stopped, her black running shoes
squeaking on the black and white tiles, and then walked inside.

Inside the bar, Regina was transported back
in time, back to the sports bars of old, where televisions of
varying sizes were hung all over the bar showing golf, football,
baseball, hockey, basketball. All the sporting events shown were
from the past as well. She walked by several pool tables, video
games, and then towards the bar. The bar was an island of stools,
glasses, and liquor bottles. Regina sat down.

After ordering a steak, baked potato, and a
beer, she found a booth, sitting back to relax for awhile.

“Hello, Miss,” came a voice beside
Regina.

Regina looked up to see a short, thin man in
his forties. The first thing she noticed was his nose, because of a
large bump on the middle of it. “Hello?” she said.

“Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you
might let me buy you a drink,” said the man, standing in front of
her, his eyes on her breasts.

Regina tried making eye contact, because it
said so much to her, but his eyes on her breasts said even more. “I
don’t think so.”

The man sat down across from her. “My name is
Roy.”

Regina scrunched her face in a bemused
fashion, a slight smile on her face. She couldn’t believe the
audacity of the man. “Look . . . Roy, I really just want to be by
myself.” A strange vibe emanated from Roy. The guy just felt
wrong.

Regardless of what she was doing, she always
carried her weapon. She was used to wearing it in a holster around
her shoulders, but didn’t want strange looks from people if she
wore her trench coat. Instead, she hid the gun in a holster on her
leg. She would rather have a large bulge around her calf, instead
of the inevitable questions she got wearing a trench coat in the
middle of a space ship. She figured she wouldn't need it with this
guy, probably just some perv.

“A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn’t be
all alone,” Roy said.

“Nice one, Roy. Cheesy, but nice. Look,
really, I’m trying to be nice about it, but you really need to go
away now. I won’t ask again.”

Roy stared at her, silently for a few
seconds, and then he stood up. “Sorry to bother you. I had to
try.”

Several beer bottles or glasses smashed, from
behind Regina. She turned to look, watching as a waitress scrambled
to catch her tray as it toppled over with the rest of the glasses
still on it. They crashed to the ground. “What the fuck is wrong
with you?” the waitress said, as a young, male patron shrugged his
shoulders innocently. Regina lost interest and turned back around.
Roy was gone.

Regina finished her beer, and had one more
with the intention of going back to her room, but she didn't
remember going back to her room, or where she put her gun that was
in the holster on her leg, or anything after that second beer.

A small, diamond shaped ship with a
blue-steel shine sped through the black void of space, chasing
another ship just like it. Behind them were three more, close in
pursuit.

“Are they stupid, or is it just me?” asked
Cindy Everette.

“They’re stupid all right,” replied Michael
Steen, steering the ship chasing the one in the lead.

The cockpit seated four, and a rear holding
area fit eight, but Cindy and Michael were the only two on their
ship.

Both Cindy and Michael were strapped in with
shoulder harnesses, Michael with one hand on a large joystick-like
yoke controlling the ship, and his other hand on a small, gray
handle controlling his speed. Both the yoke and the throttle were
holographic controls; the only way they became tangible was with
the black gloves he wore. The gloves were covered in small, clear
beads.

Cindy checked a three dimensional
navigational screen, scanning the area of space within the
vicinity. She also wore the same type of black gloves.

Cindy looked up as the runner took a hard
left. Michael had no problem following every movement the runner
ship took -- every twist and turn no match for Michael’s experience
as a pilot.

All the other ships followed suit, giving
Michael a slight lead.

“I betcha anything they’re kids, and
probably SPARS kids,” Cindy said. SPARS meaning
Space
Patrol and Rescue Squad.
What Cindy and Michael were
and their buddies behind them.

Another left.

It baffled Michael how anybody could think
they could lose you in space. There was nowhere to hide. “You’re
probably right. Although, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to find
out how to access one of our ships, including the controls. It’s
posted all over the Universal Network.”

Michael, young at twenty-eight to have the
SPARS rank that most don’t see until they are at least thirty-five,
pissed off other SPARS, or at least those that didn't know him.
They thought of him as an ass kisser, but all it took was a
crapload of time on duty and dedication. He commanded a 1D ranking,
just three positions away from the highest rank of 1A. There were
four number one rankings, from 1A to 1D, standing for Alpha, Bravo,
Charlie, and Delta. From there, rankings went up in number, from 2
to 10, but only number one had the sub-rankings.

A voice spoke up in Michael’s ear, his
leader, George Pratt. “Mike, are you gonna just follow him around
all night, or take some fucking initiative? Do something soon, or
I’ll pull out in front of you.”

He didn't actually know what he was waiting
for. Bored and nothing better to do. They had all been cooped up
for days, running the same drills over and over again, getting
ready for security on the Planetary Games. This was their real
first chance to get out and let loose. Well, most of the others
wouldn't call it that, but Michael would.

All of the SPARS wore the same gear,
including what looked like a pair of round-rimmed glasses, speakers
in the handles, a microphone in the front band, communication
controls activated by voice, vision control for normal vision and
infrared, and a camera, too small to see, recording everything.

“The boss man has spoken,” Michael said to
Cindy, even though he knew she got the same message.

George spoke up again. “Ahh, Mike, I can
still hear you.”

Michael smiled, knowing George heard him as
he was well aware of the eight-second delay after no one spoke,
before the communication channel cut off and would have to be
re-initiated. A “Comm Off” command would have cut off communication
immediately, but George never gave it.

The runner pulled up and over them. Michael
followed.

The chase offered so little challenge that
Michael looked down at his olive green cargo pants and shirt
fatigues, making sure there were no food stains.

“Let's give these guys a Flat Fanny,” Michael
said.

“You got it, boss man,” Cindy said, the
lowest ranked person in the group, at a 9, but stronger than others
with higher ranks, by Michael's standards.

Cindy touched a floating icon of a gun
on the navigation screen. A weapons information screen came up,
with two options:
short range
and
long range
. Cindy
touched
short range
. Now the
screen displayed a three dimensional, rotating image that looked
like a flat bullet, with a listing of five classes beside it, from
Class A to Class E. Cindy clicked on Class C.

After Cindy selected the class, a
radar-like screen popped up, showing all of the SPARS ships and the
runner. She touched the runner, and a confirmation message popped
up:
Target acquired. What area do you want
to target?
The words hovered above the panel in her
three dimensional display. Several options popped onto the screen
next and Cindy picked
Engines.
A final confirmation came up:
Locked
and loaded. Fire? YES NO

Cindy chose
Yes.

“Class C Flat Fanny on its way,” Cindy
said.

Michael continued to match every move the
runner made.

Regina woke the next morning, still clothed
in the jeans and white t-shirt from the night before. Twelve hours
went by and she had no memory of the events that passed.

Showering took some of the fog away, and
fresh clothes. She knew she didn't get pissed on two beers so Roy
was her only suspect at the moment. Attempt at a failed date rape.
He definitely never got under her clothes, but her skin crawled
nonetheless at the thought of it. So what the hell happened?

When Regina stepped out into the hallway from
her room, not a person was stirring, not even a ship's employee
anywhere. No noise. Deathly quiet. It was odd. Very odd. Since she
boarded the vessel two days before, it had always bustled. Always.
No matter the time.

Regina walked cautiously down a long corridor
on the fourth passenger level. The only sign of any activity,
strange as it was to see, were piles and piles of clothing strewn
or flopped down on the carpeted floor, as if everyone on board went
on a naked tirade.