Blue Plague, Red Redemption

Chapter 11: Damien Parnell

Parnell twisted against the strap of his seat, wishing for something that would offer him a sense of soothing comfort that his meds weren't able to do for him. Over twenty hours into their journey, no one else on the shuttle seemed to be suffering from the same kind of nausea-induced stir-craziness that he was having. Their spacecraft—shaped like a short passenger jet with stubby wings—was at less than half-capacity and the other passengers seemed to be enjoying the extra space to float around or huddle by the observation windows or even get work done via virtual workspaces only they could see.

"You look a bit green," said a man floating past Parnell, and then grabbed hold of a nearby seat, swung around from the inertia, and stopped himself against another seat.

"Impressive move," said Parnell. "I kept bouncing off the walls when I tried to go to the bathroom earlier."

"This is my third time up. Didn't expect to be here again for another two years. But they twisted my arm with more cash than I could say no to. How about you? What ship did they assign you to?"

"I don't know yet. I'm supposed to report somewhere on the station to find out. I had a spot on the Melville, but it's departing without me as we speak."

"The Melville? Now who's impressive? I didn't realize Replin Corp had a staffing contract with that one. You must have been filling a tough role. What's your specialty?"

"Geroprotective genetic programming."

"Right. And I invented z-pinch fusion. Seriously, though. I'm the chief engineer and second in command on the Carpathia. Most of their crew were on the last shuttle, that, uh..."

"I'm sorry. I was supposed to be on that shuttle. I just missed it." They sat awkwardly for a few moments trying to avoid talking about the shuttle full of dead astronauts."I'm just a research doctor," Parnell said softly after a minute. "I make treatments to keep people healthier in their older years."

"No way. You don't— you're not in the Replin astronaut corps, are you?"

Parnell shook his head. The man clearly didn't recognize him, which was a relief. Parnell was happy to enjoy the peace of anonymity for a little while without people placing all their hopes and prayers for the future on him. "I'm just a passenger. Why?"

"Well, that explains it," said the man, looking relieved. "Most of us have known each other for years, trained together and all that. We're the backups for all the Replin crew that—huh—yeah, they didn't make it."

"I'm just a guy passing through," said Parnell with a polite smile.

"Then welcome." The man held out his hand. "Name's Mason."

"Parnell," he replied as they shook.

"Well, Parnell. None of the remaining ships have spin gravity like the Melville. They're all either zero or milli-G, so you better start learning how to translate if you want to avoid getting bruised up every time you go to the head. Want to me to show you a few moves?"

"That would be terrific," replied Parnell, holding back his horror at imagining what weeks or months of this would be like for him.

"Wait a minute. You're not that Parnell, are you?"

"Not if that's a bad thing."

"It is you. Listen, I just need to let you know that I'm grateful. Your Pana treatments saved my parents. Hell, they save a lot of people's parents and wives, children, you name it."

"It was a team effort. Several multi-billion dollar companies, in fact."

"You don't know how to take a compliment, but that's fine."