Truth in Space, Part 5

Today I bring you Part 5 of my short story, Truth in Space. You can catch up with Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. Enjoy!

Landed on Laos in midst of storm. Instruments acting strange.

October 14, 3021

I’m attributing the lack of a return warpagram to the magnetic interference. Yes, magnetic. Just what they’re looking for. If my foray onto the surface tomorrow proves that it has manageable conditions, then I will have found the site of General Hader’s new base.

I didn’t specifically mention high magnetic levels in my warpagram, but they’ll read between the lines. Why else would my instruments be having trouble? The question now is this: if Laos is the spot, then what will that mean for us? Will I be ordered to continue on to the other stops? Or will I be directed home? I’m not sure that I prefer that option.

But, right now, this isn’t about me. I’m in a bad situation, yes, but Fergus is in a much worse one. I almost didn’t take him with me when I left Vortega. For that brief moment, I truly considered leaving him to his fate. I’ve been miserable ever since at the thought of it. If for no other reason than that moment of selfishness, I have to tell his story.

How much have I already told? I wish this wasn’t so scattered, but I haven’t tried to string these entries together like this before. Okay, there it is. I explained where Fergus learned the tru-

Well, that was the second exhausting conversation I’ve had with this man. Keeping me up late is just part of it. He walked in as I was writing earlier and finally wrung my topic from me. I didn’t tell him why I’m so desperate to tell his story, but I think he knows. He didn’t look as haunted as I feel, though. Anyway, he said his story is a lot broader than what he told me the other night. That was just the mission.

When Fergus went to work for NCSP in the Spring of 3006, he was dating a girl from college. They were going to get married, even though they weren’t formally engaged yet. Within six months, she was gone. According to Fergus, it wasn’t her fault. He was assigned to a very interesting project immediately after being hired, and in his eagerness to start he didn’t read his contract very closely. NCSP demanded more and more of his time, and he saw less and less of his girlfriend. She said she had called him, but he never received those calls. About four months into his employment, Fergus asked for a week’s leave so he could fix things. They refused. After that, tensions grew even more. Looking back now, he’s convinced NCSP intimidated his girlfriend and deliberately drove her away.

He never married.

I was nearly crying while he told me that, because it felt like he was telling me my own story. My boyfriend, Trevor, and I broke up two months after I started working for NCSP. We met in our senior year of college in my last physics class. He was studying to be a pilot. I remember never getting his calls while on the grounds, which was almost constantly once I was ordered to move into housing on the premises of the launch complex. And the look on his face that last day… I’ve never forgotten what he said: “Get out, Cass. Get out while you can.” I wish I had.

After Fergus lost his true love, he got pulled farther into his work. By the time he’d been working for a year, he literally had no life outside of NCSP. The easiest thing to do was just keep working. And he liked his projects. Six years after being employed there, he was assigned to Project Wanderer, which would result in his fateful space mission. He helped program the original ship, which went through several prototypes as tests failed or passed. The project hit plenty of slumps, especially when they couldn’t develop a communication method fast enough to travel thousands of lightyears. Then they invented the warpagram. It could only handle five words at a time back then, Fergus says, and, as they would discover, it wasn’t as reliable as expected. But eventually everything was ready. Fergus was the natural choice for navigator, having worked on the ship for so long.

Four months’ travel brought the trio of pilot Adam Hausler, engineer Katherine Dallas, and navigator Fergus Darby to the edge of the Zako Sector and the dwarf planet Veritas, where Adam finally told them what was going on. Adam had been pensive more most of the trip, not saying a lot. He wasn’t supposed to share the objective with Fergus and Katherine, but four months was as long as he could take the weight. Western Earth was seeking a tactical advantage in an all-out war, and they were the only ones who could stop it. As they launched toward Vortega, they had a long discussion and decided that this mission would end on their terms. If they went back to Earth, NCSP could potentially still use their knowledge – there are methods I’ve only heard whispers about – so they decided to destroy the ship. With no ability to do that on the ground, their only option was a crash landing.

Adam asked if their souls were ready. Uncomfortable, Fergus moved away from them. He remembers the pilot and engineer praying together before the three sent one final warpagram, not knowing if it would get through: SPEAK THE TRUTH. When Adam tried to talk to Fergus again, he told the pilot he was ready. But he was terrified. And as the ship hurtled toward the surface of Vortega, he gripped the nearest thing to him: the solarium.

His face went deathly pale when he told me about the crash: horrifying screams from the crew, an ear-splitting screech of metal, a deep rumble, and a wall of searing heat. When Fergus came to, the ship was a smoking heap, and his crewmates were dead. Tucked against his chest was the solarium, somehow untouched.

He nearly froze that first day, but by pulling the ship apart, he managed to make himself a ground-hugging shelter. He buried his friends near the spot. Turns out the ground contains a lot more than sodium deeper down. His solarium contained several green plants that he carefully nurtured. And that’s how he survived: dirt, plants, and, most surprisingly, ice. Nearly every other day, he said, clouds would form and drop ice crystals. For five years.

My neck has a horrible cramp in it, and the sun is just peeking over the horizon. It’s washed the whole planet in an almost dangerous fluorescence that reflects how I feel: numb. How can I keep going after hearing a story like that? I’m wrung-out. I almost feel broken. I need to sleep.

The Shield of Faith: Use it Like Cap Does

Our pastor recently started a series on the armor of God, and, though we haven’t actually gotten to the shield of faith yet, that’s the particular piece that’s captured my attention.

In Christian circles, talking about the armor of God too easily becomes relegated to Sunday School, something that’s easily made into cute graphics and object lessons. Yet it’s a powerful picture of spiritual battles. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Ephesians 6:12) Having established that, Paul continues in that chapter to lay out the armor a Christian needs in this fight. Among these pieces of armor is the shield of faith. Now, what soldier can we think of who’s known for a shield?

Oh, perhaps…Captain America?

Ah, yes, my favorite superhero is indeed known for his mighty shield. As I thought about the shield of faith, I realized that there are many parallels between it and Cap’s shield. So, how does he use his?

• To Defend Himself – Cap’s shield is his greatest defense. Made from the one of the most powerful metals on Earth, the fictional vibranium, this shield repels all attackers and all weapons. Even Thor’s hammer can’t break it. The Internet is quite fond of Cap’s so-called “turtle-mode,” where he tucks his whole body behind his shield. Why wouldn’t he, though, when it’s so incredibly successful as a defense? Our shields are composed of faith, something far more powerful than vibranium. 1 Peter 1:5 talks about us being protected through our faith (this version even uses the word “shielded.”) Just as Cap repels all weapons with his shield, we can repel all attacks of Satan.
• To Defend Others – Have you ever noticed how often Cap uses his shield for the benefit of other people? He covers teammates and civilians with it. He deflects attacks away from people with it. In addition, teammates often pick up the shield and use it themselves. Bucky in The First Avenger and Natasha in Age of Ultron, to name a couple of instances. Captain America’s shield is not just for him. It defends many more than just the superhero it belongs with. In the same way, faith is a refuge. The faith of one is mighty in defense of another. We’re called to stand in the gap (Ezekiel 22:30), to lift each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), and to defend the weak (Psalm 82:3-4). Life is not a solitary adventure; we need each other. And, sometimes, we need someone else’s faith.
• To Inspire People – In many ways, this is more of a byproduct than a deliberate use of the shield. However, byproduct or not, it is powerful. Captain America’s shield is incredibly inspiring. You see that shield and you know everything’s going to be okay. With that shield, Cap freed allied prisoners from Hydra, fought Chitauri in New York, defeated Hydra again close to home, and fought and won countless other battles. Can you imagine how inspiring it would be to stand by that shield? Knowing that Captain America was on my side would take a lot of fear away. And it would inspire me to greatness. Faith can be inspirational, too. Think of some of the true-life stories we love best, stories where one person believed in something bigger than him- or herself. Stories of beating great odds, of standing firm and having faith. These are the stories that stay with us. Knowing Cap fought for me would be comforting; how much more so is knowing God Himself fights for us. Sometimes all it takes is one person’s faith to draw people, like a candle in the darkness. Sometimes all it takes is one man or woman standing firm and believing to inspire faith in others. 
• To Attack Enemies – This was the most interesting point to me as I sat in church thinking about the shield of faith. It’s easy to think of a shield as defensive, which is how it’s typically portrayed. However, a shield can also be offensive. Especially in the hands of Captain America, a shield is a weapon. Though he does use guns, Cap seems to prefer his shield for breaking windows and locks, knocking people out, and deflecting enemies’ own weapons against them. Of course, he’s also got some awesome hand-to-hand skills… The integration of the two is flawless, though. I can see a correlation to using the shield of faith with the rest of your armor. I don’t think we usually consider faith to be a weapon, but it is. Faith can move mountains (Matthew 17:20) and break down walls (Hebrews 11:30). Faith is supposed to be active. Use it to take thoughts captive and to pray peace into people’s lives. We are not meant to stand still in this spiritual war, cowering behind our shields. Instead, remember Who you’re putting your faith in: The King of the Universe, Who sets up rulers, demolishes strongholds, and brings victory. You serve a God of awesome power. That shield in your hand? It’s a weapon. Use it for His glory.

I think faith too easily becomes a platitude: “Have faith; everything’s going to be better soon.” “Just keep the faith.” Yeah, thanks. That’s basically meaningless without a solid knowledge of real faith. However, faith in God Almighty can accomplish great things. It’s a shield for believers, defending, inspiring, and attacking. We’re not fighting this battle on our own. We’re fighting on the side of the Lord God, Who has already won. Know that your shield is powerful, and use it for its designed purpose.

Truth in Space, Part 4

Hello, everyone! Here’s the fourth part of my short story, Truth in Space. Catch up with Parts 1, 2, and 3.

Warpagram: In flight toward Leos. Will contact upon landing.

Return Warpagram: Stay on target.

October 13, 3021

I agonized over today’s warpagram forever. What was I supposed to say? That I’m feeling nauseous, which I never do in space? That I’ve picked up an extra passenger? Yeah, that would go over well: “Oh, by the way, I’ve picked up the last scientist you sent on this mission. He’s not too happy with you; hope you’re excited to see him!” Despite my sarcasm, I don’t find that the least bit funny. I’m in so much trouble. And then that return warpagram… I’m feeling legitimately ill right now.

Fergus watched me pace for the better part of an hour before he finally asked what was wrong. I think telling me his story the other night wore him out, because he hasn’t said much else to me. Of course, I suppose it would be strange to talk if you’ve gone the past five years without human contact. I find him staring into space sometimes. Other times he looks like he’s seen a ghost. But he doesn’t explain these moments, and I’m not sure I want to ask.

When he asked about my pacing, I gave him my dilemma: the base at Konachi will be expecting a report, but what can I possibly say? After marveling that warpagrams have progressed so far, he suggested I give the minimum facts. After all, they can hardly fault me for brevity when I only have ten words available. Though sending it gave me some breathing room for today (I can only send one per day), it didn’t make me feel any better.

We’re heading toward the planet Leos, which, by all preliminary research, is similar to Earth. No water that we can tell, but with the ability to create water in the lab on a large scale, I doubt the NCSP will be concerned by that. As long as the temperature is manageable and the planet’s surface is solid, they can easily create a protected city. Their biggest requirement is magnetic interference so the base will be hidden from the eastern countries’ instruments.

Fergus hasn’t spoken since he helped me with the warpagram. He knows where we’re headed, and I doubt he approves. Yet he says nothing. I can’t decide if his attention is fully here or not. He sleeps a lot; that’s what he’s doing now, actually. I don’t journal when he’s out here. Even though he’s part of the reason I haven’t burned the pages yet, I’m not sure I want him to know about them. Knowledge is power and that kind of power could get my family and I killed. The journal is a huge liability, but part of me wants to keep it. I feel like Fergus’ story should be told, and I don’t think he’s going to get to tell it himself. I know how these people work. He won’t make it back to civilian life. His mission doesn’t exist publicly; soon enough, neither will he. Having been the one to find him, I may not make it either. And I’m scared.

I just threw up in the sink, violently enough that I was briefly disoriented afterward. But then my situation came rushing back at me in a wave. I don’t know what to do other than complete the mission. And then maybe I can get this story to the right people. And, somehow, maybe it will make up for the destruction I’m enabling.

Time, Meaning, and Moments

“Time and tide wait for no man.” – Geoffrey Chaucer

                                 “You may delay, but time will not.” – Benjamin Franklin

“Time, the devourer of all things.” – Ovid

I’ve been thinking about time lately. How it shapes us, how it imparts meaning. We’ve all heard and experienced how time seems to go more quickly when we’re enjoying ourselves and how it seems to drag on when we’re not. I recently watched the Harry Potter films for the first time, and one of the magical items caught my attention. One of the professors at Hogwarts has an hourglass that slows down when conversation is stimulating and speeds up when it’s not. In effect, then, it allows more time for something enjoyable.

I find myself wishing that was real. Wishing that good times didn’t have to end and that unpleasant times would just be a wisp, a momentary blip on the radar. Wishing that I could control time.

Yet where would that leave me, truly? Would the result be what I wanted? Or would I lose an important aspect of meaning?

In Ecclesiastes 3, Solomon lays out a fascinating discussion about time, which begins with this in verse 1: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” Seasons. Moments. Time. It’s not meant to be stopped; it’s designed to march on. That doesn’t always make it easy, though. Seasons are a part of life. That’s easily recognized when we look at the natural world and its progression through Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall, and back to Winter. Yet the transitions can be difficult. I often get sick during season changes.  My body struggles to adapt when we go through Daylight Savings Time or the leaves begin to drop.

The same is true with other seasons in our lives. Change is hard. It can be painful to move away from something wonderful. That’s where I find myself now, at the end of an amazing, life-changing season.

I don’t want it to be gone.

Yet I can’t stop it, anymore than I can make summer stay a month longer or keep people from moving away. As much as I want to, I can’t keep these changes at bay. They’re seasons. And seasons end.

Perhaps they’re more meaningful because they end. Because we know that someday our moments will come to a stop, we can treasure them. Imagine if time didn’t matter. Imagine a world where things never ended. After a while, whatever we were doing wouldn’t matter anymore, would it? And if nothing ever ended, how could anything else begin? Endings and beginnings go hand-in-hand. When one thing ends, something else always begins. It may not seem as good right away. It may not be what you wanted. It’s life, though. When you think about it, it’s beautiful, because, just as wonderful things end, challenging things end too. And each season has something to teach us.

My summer is a new season, entirely different from the one that’s ending now. Am I sad? Definitely. I’m leaving a known situation, one that I’m comfortable in, and beginning something new. Yet I know that God’s the one changing my seasons, and, regardless of what this one holds, I know it’s for my good.

Here on Earth, our lives are measured in moments. Each moment means something because it ends. I want to treasure them. I want to use them as God designs them to be used. I want to live a life of meaning.

How do you impart meaning into your moments? Are you at the end of a season in your life? Let me know in the comments; I love to chat!

Truth in Space, Part 3

First of all, I’d like to quickly apologize for the sparseness of my posts over the past few weeks. I have been rather busy, but posts will return to their normal weekly routine now. I was unable to post this earlier, but here’s today’s post, Part 3 of my short story, “Truth in Space.” You can find Parts 1 and 2 here.

Warpagram: Storm kept me on ship. Stay another day?

Return warpagram: No, continue as planned.

October 12, 3021

I haven’t destroyed yesterday’s entry yet. I was interrupted while writing (thus the unfinished sentence), and I’ve been occupied ever since. I should burn it right this minute, but I’m hesitant for some reason. I think it has to do with the man snoozing at the other end of the ship. Yeah, he was my interruption. The sound I heard wasn’t the wind; it was Fergus creeping around the ship.

It’s a quaint name, Fergus. Sounds like someone you’d find in an old novel, not the Space Age. Yet there he is, gray tinging his surprisingly-kempt black hair and beard. He’s definitely human and he says he’s from Earth. And, yes, I believe him. Fergus has been on Vortega for five years.

He’s the original me. Not literally, of course, but positionally. Five years ago, the National Coalition for Space Progression, which began long ago as NASA, sent a three-person team on a mega-lightyear mission like mine. Only they didn’t tell the public about that mission. Anyone witnessing the launch must have thought it was a trip to one of the lunar colonies.

Fergus was the crew’s navigator. And the only survivor. When I heard him last night, I slipped outside to investigate. I came perilously close to shooting him with my laser gun when he jumped around the corner of the ship. I say perilously because I truly am a dead shot with the weapon. He looked so startled to see me, but he couldn’t have been as surprised as I was. I mean, when I’d been told that I would be the first to venture more than 500 light years beyond Earth, the last thing I expected to see was another human being. Took me several minutes to even think rationally. Keeping my gun trained on him was purely instinct. I finally let him come inside the ship once we were both shivering and I was positive he had no weapons of any kind. Then we stayed up all night as he told me his story.

Unlike me, Fergus was not a recent college graduate when he blasted off into space. Instead, he’d been a researcher for the NCSP for ten years. Before that, our stories are similar. We were both recruited right after graduation and had little contact with our parents during school. He studied space navigation and nuclear chemistry, while I majored in dimensional physics. But we’re both only children and A+ students. In other words, no one lifted an eyebrow when either of us went to work for the NCSP. We were the people everyone expected to succeed and no one truly cared about.

Sheesh! My lack of sleep must be making me overly psycho-analytical. Or it could just be the disturbance of Fergus’ presence. Or it could be both. Maybe I’m just going plum crazy. Anyway, Fergus’ story really rocked my world, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Thus the lack of sleep. He and his partners were sent on a year-long mission, like me, to the Zako Sector. Their first stop actually was not Vortega, though. It was a dwarf planet about fifty light years from here.

“It didn’t have a name,” he said. “Just a meaningless collection of numbers and letters. We named it Veritas, which is Latin for ‘truth’.”

He got really quiet at that point, looking around the cabin. When he finally focused on me again, he said they named it “Veritas” because that’s where they learned the truth. Up to that point, only the pilot knew the real purpose of their mission. Fergus and the engineer, Katherine, though they were mapping the sector and looking for signs of life. I’m shuddering now just thinking about his words. When he said them, I got violent shivers down my body. See, that’s what people all over Earth and the lunar colonies think I’m doing. Ignoring the fact that the NCSP essentially is the Western government, the public thinks I’m living out the fascination humans have had with space for over a millennium. Instead, I’m scouting out a place deep in the Zako Sector for a military base. The government of Western Earth is planning to wipe out the rest of the world, and I’m helping them do it.

Truth in Space: A Short Story

A few months ago, I created a ten-entry journal based on a prompt from the book Take Ten for Writers. It was a lot of fun to write, so I decided to share it with all of you. The entries are fairly short, so I’ll share one or two at a time.

 

Warpagram: Successful arrival first stop. Smooth trip. No inhabitants.

October 10, 3021

After a long voyage from earth, I’ve arrived at my first stop, the planet Vortega. Named after the head researcher on this project, the place makes me dislike the man even more. Everywhere I look, the smooth blue terrain creates a blindingly bright reflection of its sun. I keep my protective glasses on, even inside the shuttle. It fits Julius Vortega: overwhelming, flat, uninteresting, cold. Even in my specialized spacesuit, I could feel the chill creeping against my flesh. I only stayed outside for about ten minutes, long enough to survey the immediate area. Long enough to develop a sickening feeling in my stomach.

They don’t know about my writing. There’s a reason I never use the tablet. Paper can’t betray you with an electric signal. And fire proves a faithful friend when it’s eating my words. It may seem stupid to be this paranoid when I’m more than a thousand light-years from earth. But saying I’m paranoid implies that I have no basis for my fear.

I’m to remain here for exactly three days, taking samples and making surveys. And, though solid ground beneath my feet should feel comforting, I long to be surrounded by open space again. Somehow I feel safer in the vastness up there.

They told me cameras would be impossible on the ship with the speeds I travel at. On that alone, of course, I would have been highly suspicious. But overhearing one of their scientists tell Katie Tora, Assistant Director of this project, on the eve of launch that the cameras failed made me feel much better. Besides, I searched the ship bow to stern. Five times.

For some reason, though, here on Vortega I feel watched. Hunted. I thought they weren’t that interested in this planet. It looks desolate; I’m only supposed to stay three days. This first stop just didn’t seem high on the priority list. I know they didn’t tell me everything, though. Perhaps I’ll find out the first piece of missing info here.

 

Warpagram: Surveyed territory. Somewhat reflective surface. Too cold for settlement.

October 11, 3021

Yesterday’s warpagram was stupid. “No inhabitants”? What was I thinking?! Subconsciously, I must have been rebelling, poking fun at the false objective that they announced to the public months ago. And that’s exactly how they read it, I’m sure. You can say they haven’t responded for other reasons. I know better. First stop and no response?

Sarcasm is deadly in this business.

I think it was even colder today. Though that could be because I tramped around the planet for five hours. I couldn’t feel my fingers when I got back, despite my double-layered gloves and the portable heater I toted around.

They should have sent the four-member team they told the public they were. Instead, it’s just me, lugging around scientific equipment and trying not to get lost. It’s easy enough to do on a planet that looks the same all over and blinds you in the process. It’s even easier when you’re as directionally-challenged as I am. I did not get chosen for this mission because of my navigational ability.

At least I’m more competent on the ship. Possibly more competent than they expect… Not that it matters. They’ve got the whole trip pretty rigidly programmed.

The wind is whistling around the ship, making me grit my teeth. Earlier, while I was scouting, it really picked up, rushing at me like a frighteningly fast predator and dashing my soil reader into the ground. I haven’t been able to fix it. I have a spare, but I’d rather not use it unless I absolutely cannot repair this one. With the number of parts lying on the floor in front of me, though, I have my doubts.

I kind of lost myself there for a moment. Space tends to do that to me. But the wind jerked me back. It’s so eerie here…

Before my equipment was ruined, I did learn that the soil here has a high concentration of sodium. No idea what that’s supposed to mean. But then, I wasn’t majoring in geology or planetary chemistry before getting yanked into this.

Sometimes, I miss home so badly that I can’t breathe. I never put that in the log, of course. I never note the nights I cry myself to bed or the hours I spend rehashing the most ridiculous conversations. I only got to spend two days with my parents before training. Like the rest of the world, they think I’m up here with three other people to increase our knowledge about the universe. They have no idea that I’m bringing destruction on all of us.

Is that the wind I’m hearing, or is it something else? What if -

 

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I’ll leave you there. What do you think? Are you engaged?  I look forward to hearing your thoughts!

Easter

I’m here for a moment to say one thing:

And though there are certainly days when I don’t act like it, I know that every day I live is because of Him. Because He lives.

Happy Easter, everyone!