Chapter 4
Ialso have a plan.
To get off the planet. To finally do what I’ve thought of for so long, and yet never had the nerve to do. I go to the military industrial quarter of the city, and I audition for the mission.
The business of selling what was left of home has already begun. My ties to Weltheim are being severed. It is time I took to the stars.
The actual ship is right there sitting on a launch pad.
It is larger than I imagined it would be, a big white vessel that has protrusions around the exterior with windows and such.
A continuous line of people is moving supplies into the belly of the beast. It’s hard to describe the shape exactly.
Sort of as if a plane had a lot of other planes bumping out of it.
I don’t know that much about spaceships.
Let’s hope that’s not a problem in the interview process.
I join the throng of people apparently willing to get on a ship to fuck-knows-where at the very last moment. These missions are not military in nature, and that means there’s all sorts of civilians who get taken on them. Exploration and colonization needs normal people to work, so I gather.
I should be a shoo-in. My father founded this whole city. I should get to found another one somewhere else. That’s just logical.
A large man with white-gray hair and a whole mess of scars, wearing a black and gold uniform that only serves to make him look even more imposing, is striding back and forth on a plinth in front of this crowd of hundreds.
“It is in our blood to want to travel and extend territories. The same way a raven flies, or a flower rises to the sun. We need to go. Off-world missions are open to everyone. Our society believes that talent is in every single facet of the population, and off-world missions require a broad set of skills and temperaments. Final extras selection for the Alheim Mission begins now.” The mission chief gives his address to the candidates.
“All major roles have been filled, but we still have some positions available for general workers. Maintenance, exploration, carriers. Grunt work, in other words. It won’t be glamorous, but it will take place among the stars. ”
A cheer goes up from the others who just want off this fucking planet at any cost. I didn’t know it was such a common desire.
“You will sit an examination, a personality assessment, and undergo a physical exam as well as a rigorous obstacle course. This assessment will last all day for successful applicants, but you may be dismissed at any time. There are two thousand people here today, and we have only one hundred spots on the ship, so the odds are you’ll be asked to leave, and asked to leave early. Don’t take it personally.”
I look around at my competition. Freya was right about the size of the others. Everybody on this parade ground is much larger than I am, even many of the other women. I tell myself it’s not about size. It’s about everything, and I am everything.
I line up for the testing people to register myself.
I’m feeling good about all of this. I can do this.
I’m talented at things. Sure, I haven’t done any higher education and I don’t have obvious skills, but I’ve proven myself as a farmer, and that’s a whole set of things I know.
Plus, I’m female, and we’re notorious for being good at populating places.
The registration person looks me up and down as I get to them. I am ready to give my name and show my ID like the others in front of me have. But I don’t even get that far.
“How tall are you?”
“5′5,” I lie. I’m more like 5′4, but if they can’t be bothered measuring me, I’m not going to go out of my way to be overly revealing.
The guy looks me up and down again and shakes his head.
“Rejected,” he says. “Return to your home.”
“Why?”
“There’s a minimum 5′8 height requirement for women,” he says.
“Why? Wouldn’t small people be more efficient on a spaceship?”
“It’s about seating and bedding and the way the ship’s interior is constructed. G-forces are evenly distributed along certain body lengths in certain ways. Short people don’t fit the gravity chairs. Thank you for your interest in the Alheim Mission.”
Just like that, my dream of being an intrepid explorer is dashed.
Or is it?
They just got done telling us that real explorers go not just where nobody has gone before, but where others tell them not to go.
He’s just told me not to get on the ship.
Seems like he actually really wants me on the ship.
I don’t think the short-people-get-squished thing is valid anyway. It’s a few inches. How much can it really matter? I bet it’s fine.
Nobody physically escorts me from the selection area. They just assume I’ll leave. Like the old adage says, when you assume, you make an ass out of you, and a space traveler out of me.
I slide out of the selection area and walk into one of the service doors, where the people who are carrying stuff back and forth to the ship seem to be based.
If anybody notices me doing this, they don’t say anything.
I’m sure a lot of people are seeing me, but at times like these, when you walk around as if you own the place, people think you do.
Once I get into the service area, I find overalls for people to wear while loading cargo. They also have hairnets, and little plastic covers for shoes. And masks.
Nobody is currently watching any of this stuff.
I put all those things on, and move toward the sounds of things that are being, well, moved.
“Get that crate,” a supervisor says, snapping his fingers at me impatiently.
I go and pick up a box, and I carry it up into the ship. It’s massive.
There are so many places to hide, I am completely spoiled for them.
I decide to avoid the bunk areas. People will go into those and set up for takeoff.
I also don’t want to go too deep into the storage areas, because those will be high traffic, and could be rearranged or worse, move during liftoff.
I’m not sneaking onto this ship to be crushed by a crate of powdered milk or similar.
I find an office, and I decide to tuck myself away underneath the desk.
I don’t know who the office is for, but it’s not very large, which makes me think it’s probably for someone lower in the hierarchy.
The desk is molded to the floor and the wall, because the last thing you want in a spaceship is stuff that moves around a lot.
Even the chair is designed to slot forward and back, but not be pulled out too far.
The design creates a nook that is perfect for someone my size to tuck away in.
They thought I was too small? Hmph. We’ll see about that now.
Takeoff is tomorrow at dawn. Which means I’m going to be quite hungry by then. Fortunately, there’s a bathroom attached to this office, so I won’t be in a completely dire state. I tuck myself in and close my eyes…
I wake up to the feeling of a giant squishing me into the floor at full strength.
We are taking off, and every part of my body is protesting at the incredible forces required to launch a machine of this size off the face of a planet.
I would like to move into a more comfortable position, but that is pretty much impossible.
I have to stay where I am until the pressure comes off as suddenly as it seemed to come on.
There’s a brief moment of weightlessness, and then the gravitational stabilizers are initialized and I feel myself sticking to the floor in a way I am more habitually used to.
The feeling of relief is incredible, along with the sudden rush of pure panic as I realize I really did this.
I am no longer on the planet on which I was made.
I am in space. And nobody knows at the moment, except me.
It’s terribly exciting and also maybe the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
Some would say the fact that it’s only a ‘maybe’ indicates a general instability on my part, but those people are thousands of miles away, and getting massively more distant with every passing second.
I sit around underneath the table for a bit and listen to the ship starting to come to life.
I’m wondering as to when I should reveal myself.
It’s not like they’re going to turn around and send me back to Earth, after all, but I also feel like doing it too soon is a bad idea.
They’re probably going to freak out, and I don’t want to freak them out at or near launch.
The punishments on a Viking ship are pretty brutal for the crew.
For stowaways… well. I actually never heard of an interstellar stowaway before, but I bet it’s not a pleasant fate.
My best bet is to try to fit in with the lower level operations staff.
Cleaning crew or dinner or something like that.
I bet there’s a chance I can go undetected for weeks, months, or even years like that.
They’re never going to suspect that I don’t belong here, because they don’t think there’s any way someone could be on the ship and not belong. It’s the perfect plan.
A voice crackles over the ship’s system, deep and masculine and sort of old, but not too old.
He’s got that gravitas that makes people feel happy being shot into space with him.
Enough silver in his hair to give him some distinguished appearance, not so much that anyone is going to try to retire him.
Every person on this ship was chosen with intense care. Except me, of course.