Friday, October 16, 2015

Sometimes I write too...

This was something I wrote as a start to a Sci-Fi novel may years ago (2005):

The lower passenger area inside the interplanetary transport, Newfoundland, rattled sporadically as tug droids maneuvered the ship’s hull to a position where the docking clamps of the orbital spaceport Omega could reach it.

Anxious silence, punctuated by short screams, pervaded throughout the dimmed cabin area. Even routine maneuvers like spaceport docking was a cause for nervous trepidation.
The passenger roster was mostly comprised of humankind, mixed with a few other species, indigenous to this sector of space.

Nate was watching a small boy across the cabin show signs of restlessness as he uselessly tried to remove the safety restraints so he could float through the cabin area as he did most of the trip. His mother made attempts to try soothe him but to no avail, he wouldn’t give up. It is a fruitless endeavor, restraints are normally locked in place for the duration of the docking procedure to prevent anyone from floating around and getting hurt through uncertain moments of the transport.

Nate smiled, inwardly thinking “I know how you feel little one. I’m not one for restraints either.”

After being confined to this area for nearly 3 days, the duration of the journey from the wormhole located at the edge of this planetary system to outpost, Omega. Nate longed to be free as well. Orbital Outpost Omega was a space station, orbiting the planet Regal 5, represented the furthest footprint of the Earth centered Solarian Empire.

 “I hope someone is researching a way of making wormholes that you can just walk thru and get there, “thought Nate wishfully.

He knew that they only placed worm holes far away from inhabited spaces. It took a lot of energy to produce a wormhole large enough to pass a ship through to another place on a galactic scale, so much energy that its destruction would obliterate matter in all directions for millions of miles and irradiate or scorch other matter for billions more. The catastrophe of New Burma Colony made that a rule. Memories of those sensory broadcast feeds from childhood haunted him. It was the first time he realized what burning flesh had smelt like.

Of course there were other ways to waste time during the trip, movies, sensory feeds, or network emulsion, but all those activities cost money. Nate lacked that this moment, just like most of the beings packed like sardines on this level of the transport.