Calan - The Immortality Paradox

Chapter Twelve: The Reaper of Sylfaenydd, Part One

Date: 221, OA19,654

Location: Orbit of Tanwen, Canol System

Malachi Forbes hoisted himself up the central, runged aperture of the rotating ring. As he propelled headfirst into the central capsule, his body reacclimatised to weightlessness. The streamed lights encompassing the belt cradles blinded his view. Coriolis effect caused by the centripetal force was also giving him an unbearable headache. Like the nails of many physicists were raking across his cranium. Twisting on his horizontal axis, he stabilised himself perpendicular to the artificial gravity. Equilibrium resumed. He reached out and caught one of the flailing shoulder belts, pulling it firmly across his chest. After some mild contortion skills he slipped on the other, buckling them together across his chest. The automated system did the rest, dragging him carefully back into the cradle until his collar bone, elbows and feet were nestled cosily into the cushioned berth.

Though space travel was inevitable in his line of work, he tried to keep duration to a minimum. Physical repercussions were a detriment to the hard work he put into his personal training. He could already see signs of deformity in his gastrocnemius and biceps, like deflated balloons. Bloated sections taking a disproportionate amount of skin. The worst part was the accumulation of fluid around his eyes, requiring a lot of effort to even keep his eyelids open. Their brief excursion on Sylfaenydd hadn't helped; a surface gravity one and a half times what he was used to on Gnezdo Boga. No matter how hard his bodysuit worked to counter the effects, natural functions only had so much tolerance. His body was crying out for a recess.

The Tesak Yacht, despite its fearsome name, was not entirely indestructible and certainly not versed in long-haul flights; especially ones that consisted of ramming into a dense atmosphere in landing and subsequent takeoff. The Calan's home world had a gaseous-rich atmosphere of oxygen and inert noble gases, and due to its high-density and a robust magnetosphere, the Yacht's aeroshell suffered discernible damage on entry. Silas promised the external impressions were purely aesthetic, but Forbes knew he was only protecting his reputation as a proficient navigator. The majestic craft had been gifted to him by the Regal Family of Jones at the denouement of an especially tricky assignment. Forbes had a secret fondness for its elegant configuration.

Incurvate windows above him allowed a view of the forepart of the ship; an elongated tube covered in an abundance of photovoltaic cells. At the tip, which was obscured from his perspective, he could imagine Silas making the final calculations for a slingshot. As the central core in which he resided rotated, he caught a glimpse of the Rainbow Nebula; a cluster of newly-formed blue-giants, flexing their luminosity in a stellar nursery ten light-years away. It provided a beautiful backdrop.

He opened a communication link with the cockpit. 'Slonoviy!' An uninspired nickname referencing his oversized ears. Silas had not shown his disfavour as of yet. Though it was often followed by a string of reciprocal insults.

The thick Washington accent gushed from the concealed speakers in Forbes' berth. 'Receiving, Malachi.'

'Disable the artificial gravity. Reroute the energy to the regenerative systems. I want this ship to be good as new by the time we get back to the Hub. Also, make sure we pit stop when we're back in the Kray system - I want to restock uranium for the reactor.'

'Is everyone secure?'

Frustratingly, Forbes surveyed the individuals already strapped into their respective berths. There was Yeva Rabinovich, fast asleep, her crimson hair streaked across her face like an abstract painting. Nikita Pudovkin turned and smiled at him, wires and batteries connected to her forehead in a tangled web, as she gorged on the entertainment system. One missing.

'Olson's taking his sweet time. Disable it anyway.'

'Understood.'

A distant system deactivated, leaving the audible wavelengths of temperature regulation, air recycling and light generators. Then, there came a clatter from the aperture ladder. A lone hand appeared, offering an obscene gesture towards Malachi. Montgomery Olson finally emerged, dragging himself through zero gravity with dextrous aplomb.