This short story originally published in Mystic Mind Magazine.

The AtomicCo Free Vacation Program

By Justin Sue

            I couldn’t help myself but to keep looking at the flyer. Feeling the wrinkles that had worn the laminate off the edges. Uncovered was a soft and silk-like texture awakened by my constant folding of the paper. I could almost hear my foreman shout. “Put that scrap away and get back to tightening, or I’ll have your pay card suspended!” If he could see me now… The Oasis Satellite of Neuvoia, the flyer read. The colors had long faded to shades of gray and yellow, but in my mind this now thin sheet of plastic and paper was as vibrant as the day that I’d first been introduced to the giveaway. I’d been so excited at the idea that I’d barely slept the whole shuttle ride and could feel the redness beginning to creep over my tired eyes. I closed them and traced my hand over the illustration of leaves and palm trees. My fingers ran down the man-made waterfall as I leaned my head against the window of the shuttle and could feel the coolness of space seeping through. I nearly expected a bump like the windows of buses back on earth, but no. This was smooth and deliberate. Stirring my eyes awake I couldn’t see up ahead, but who would want to? I’d never been to space before and the dim, blinking stars reminded me of the city lights back in Korosiva. These would not be faded by the brown smog of the factories or burdened by the bright lights of the city center which were once so proud, now mere blips compared to the beauty of the blackness stippled by these minuscule giants.

The program set up by AtomicCo was a really nice incentive to ensure that quality was kept controlled. Any employee from any division who came across a debilitating issue with their infrastructure was rewarded, sometimes with credits, but rarely with the Free Vacation Program. It kept all of us in maintenance on our toes. The company was the leader in space faring vacations to exotic planets and satellite locations so naturally they wanted to ensure that not only were the wealthy clients happy to invest but that the employees were always willing to help out.

“This is your automated captain program speaking,” The intercom chimed in a light and sing song voice, waking a few of the other passengers, “we are… four hours… from our destination. If anyone needs to stand for any reason, please pay attention to the indicator for our touch-down.”

            My legs had begun to ache a little and my body was a bit restless due either to the excitement or to the last nine hours of sitting. My chair creaked as I stood, and I instinctively reached behind me for my tool pack. A chuckle slipped from my throat as I had forgotten that today was not a workday, and that creak would have to be somebody else’s job. I folded my flyer into my pocket and made my way through the shuttle to the dining cart.

            The other people on board seemed just as eager to land as I was with a few holding their own flyers, some talking to newfound friends about what they could do together. Most were like me, young and thin, still wearing their grease-covered work boots. I’d made sure to spend some credits on a nice outfit for the trip; a button-down shirt and some pants to go with it. I wasn’t often out of my work uniform, so the fresh fabric felt a bit uncomfortable on my body. I couldn’t afford new boots. It was more than I’d felt comfortable paying for clothes, but I told myself that these types of opportunities rarely arise.

            Heavy steel doors guarded the dining car. As I approached, they whooshed to either side of the wall, allowing me to pass. Stepping through the entryway the faint sound of music danced through the air. It was one of those older classy-sounding songs without any words but gave a sense of relaxed ambience dulled by the droning of the thrusters outside.

            The dining car was fairly empty apart from a bar fly or two who I’d seen take up a seat when we’d first embarked. Had they spent the whole trip drinking? The barkeep was a model G-FN-0800; an older model, but from my experience could still make a mean Gorvani Sunrise. They were designed to emulate the human servers back on earth. Their chassis was painted to match the checkerboard dresses of a waitress and they moved along a track mounted to the wall. It always felt a little uncanny to me how much they were designed to appear human.

            “One, please.” I placed my order, speaking into the touchpad menu affixed to the droid’s chest. In an instant she was whizzing away up and down the barback grabbing glassware and mixers. It was mesmerizing to watch the droid work. No human could move with such grace, and even for an older model she seemed quite spry.

            I felt someone sit beside me, nudging me as if she hadn’t realized someone was there.

“Never seen a droid mix drinks before?” She was woman of about my age and height, but a slightly more muscular build that gave away that she may be from one of the more menial job positions. She wore her work jumper with the arms tied around her waist and a a T-shirt with some old band name faded across the front.

            “Huh? Oh, I have. My brother had one at his wedding a few cycles back.” The droid handed me my drink. “I’m just not used to so much technology. Most of the stuff that I see is either broken or old. I work in the AtomicCo maintenance crew.”

            She pulled out a small flask and held it out to the droid. “Same. I’m from the shuttle graveyard- er- I guess you guys call it the scrapyard, night division. You win a trip too?”

            Graveyard wasn’t the most glamorous job. Most of the people who worked it were maintenance dropouts or those looking for stable work with little responsibility.

            “Yeah!” excitedly I pulled out my flyer and spread it out to show her. “I’m thinking of trying out the mineral spring the second we get off, but the Canyon tour seems fun too.” I pointed to the lower section of the old paper that listed all the extravagant amenities that Neuvoia had to offer.

            I waited for her to tell me what she was hoping for, but she continued to stare straight ahead, waiting for her flask. All of the drinks and food onboard the shuttle were comped by AtomicCo so many of the passengers made sure that their first order was to gorge themselves on meat pies and soda water. Maybe she was hungry? I put the flyer back into my pocket and leaned my elbows on the counter. The droid wheeled over with the woman’s flask and placed it in front of her, but before it could touch the countertop, she snatched it and took a long swig.

“What did you find to win the giveaway?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the barback.

            My hand went to my other pocket and pulled out a small rivet, no bigger than my thumb nail and I held it aloft toward her.

“I found this.” Turning it over in my hands it was difficult not to drop it, but it was so very precious to me now. “I found that the rivets that AtomicCo were using all had a tendency to snap under specific atmospheric pressure.”

Placing it carefully on the counter near her I glanced down to ensure that if it fell there wouldn’t be a grate, I’d need to fish it out of.

“They ordered a whole bunch of new rivets with higher density central shafts and gave me a ticket for their Free Vacation Program. Almost missed it, too. My foreman really didn’t want to give me the time off, but I’d saved it all up in case an opportunity ever arose.”

She took the rivet and examined it in the light, never moving her glance, but instead positioning in front of her. “My crew dug up some of their old program boards.” Her voice was flat, and she interrupted herself to take another drink. “Those boards store data on previous excursions so naturally they’d not want them where just anyone could get their hands on them.”

            The droid leaned over the counter to hand me another drink, but I politely declined.

 “I want to keep my wits about me once we land,” I said. “I don’t want to forget my whole one-in-a-lifetime satellite stay.” I chuckled to myself, but the woman just kept her gaze locked ahead, staring at nothing in particular. “So…” I struggled to try and keep the conversation going. It’d been a while since I had someone to talk to. “What did you do once you called the AtomicCo Quality office?”

She spoke up before her drink had fully cleared her mouth, causing her to gulp hard, “First… I had to know what was on it. Hooked it up to a speaker in my flat and played out the recording.”

“Oh,” I sputtered, turning slightly to look at the intercom. I turned back to face her. “So, you got something of a sneak preview of the whole program then?”

“Something like that.” Her voice trailed off.

“Well, you’re obviously here, now. So, what happened when you told the Quality office?”

            Her stare broke. “I didn’t.”

            It’s like a sheet was taken off of her face as she suddenly appeared lucid again. Her head gave a slight shake like the kind you do when a fly lands on your nose. She waved her flask back at the droid who was already attending to another customer.

            “Hey, droid!” She shouted at the barkeep, leaning on the counter, “I need another refill!” it continued taking an order from the patron as she continued yelling. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Her flask went flying across the room and panged the droid in its head, but it didn’t deter her from her duty.

            I should have gotten up. I should have just returned to my seat. I should have continued to feel at ease and happy about where we were headed and thought about the mineral spring again, but I couldn’t, and I didn’t.

            “You never turned in the boards?” I asked, placing a hand on her forearm in an attempt to balance her back onto the seat, but she kept shouting, now standing and cursing the machine.

            I could tell from holding onto her arm that she was strong like the other folks from the scrapyard I’d run into back home.

            “How did you claim the reward if you never turned them in? How did you win a giveaway?” I tried to distract her with questions, but she insisted on yelling and soon the whole car was looking at her. All the patrons with their oily coveralls and muddy boots were now turned from their seats to look at her and me as she raved at the droid which was now making its way back to us.

            “Is there a problem, miss?” the droid asked before she began wailing on it. Her fists didn’t seem to do much but prompted the droid to continue repeating its question.

            “Is there a problem, miss?” Every so often its questioning was interrupted by a well-timed punch to the voice modulator.

            “Is there a problem, mi-” between her strikes and the clanging of denting metal I could hear her, no longer shouting, but crying. Tears began to flood her face as her swings stopped and her body gave out with her slumping over onto the droid who raised its arms to keep her from falling over the counter.

            “I’m… fine…” She whispered, wiping her nose, and standing herself up.

            “Very well, thank you for travelling with AtomicCo,” it said in return. Which seemed to almost trigger her again, now gasping to catch her breath between light sobs. She was so strong and yet in that second she was like a child not getting her way. She tucked her arms under one another after abruptly shoving her seat back.

            I tried to talk her back, “Are you okay?”

            “I told you, I’m fine.” Her voice was stubborn and hoarse as she made her way out of the car in the opposite direction from where I had entered.

            She must have been seated in the stern of the shuttle. Should I have followed her? Maybe I’d have made things worse for her. No one likes to be stared at, but at the same time I didn’t understand her. I’d intended for my questions to be a distraction, but they kept repeating in my mind. How did she claim the reward if she never turned in the program boards? How did she win a giveaway if no one knew she had discovered something? I began to feel sick.

            There was a whoosh of the door opening as she stepped through, but her arm struck out in defiance of her body. As she allowed herself to rest in the doorway I heard her sigh before she began to speak again.

            “It’s not worth the effort to… it’s not worth the effort,” she repeated, “just enjoy your flyer and try not to look out the windows.”

            The intercom came on again, distracting me from her. “This is your automated captain program speaking, we are now… three hours… from touch-down.”

            As the buzz of the intercom faded back out I returned to her, but she had already gone. A few of the others in the car got up from their spots as well, including those who had been there much of the ride, and all went their separate ways back to their assigned seats. In a minute or two it was just me. Even the G-FN droid collapsed back into her storage cabinet. No need to guard free liquor I suppose.

            A cluster of thick and confusing emotions wound themselves in my gut as I made my way back toward my seat. The other passengers were either going over their worn-out flyers, circling their most heavily anticipated ventures or sitting with their heads against the windows, the stars passing by outside slower now. “Am I the same as them?” I asked myself, the words escaping my lips in a dull whisper. I came upon my seat, but that feeling in my stomach pushed me further and I continued walking as if compelled by the gurgling miasma that now moved from my gut into my brain, filling me with those same questions again. What did she mean, “I didn’t”?

            “Excuse me,” jumping from my mouth, the question came like that sickness in me seeking escape. I’d made my way to a man sitting in the back of the shuttle, his chin in his palm as he stared lazily into the void of space that grew more and more menacing. “I know this isn’t my seat, but do you mind if I sit next to you?”

            Without a word he kicked under his chair to reveal his bag of belongings and pulled it up onto his lap. I took it as a signal that I was invited beside him. Beyond him the void seemed to call. The once vibrant stars that had entranced me with their beauty now seemed sinister, staring. They didn’t appear to me any longer as light traversing the desolate expanse of darkness to greet me, but now they felt like eyes, staring from just beyond the triple tempered glass. I’d installed these windows dozens of times and seen the other maintenance workers hit them with high-velocity vibrations to ensure that they would never shatter, but still I felt unsafe.

            The man wore a nice button-down shirt similar to mine, but his had a floral print that heavily contrasted his withered, almost gray face and a new pair of pants with the fold crease still visible. He must have waited up until today to put them on, possibly he bought them before for a special occasion that never came or like me was not permitted to go. As I stared him up and down, I noticed his boots. They were clean and thin, but not in a worn way. They almost looked to be made of canvas. It had been so long that I’d only ever seen men and women in work boots that I’d forgotten what they were called, but they had string across the tops that must have been used to tighten them like those on the backs of our work vests, but smaller and more numerous.

            My mind compelled me once more, “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up winning your giveaway, sir?”

            “The belts.”

            “I’m sorry, I don-”

            He moved his hand over his seat belt which he still had fastened, sliding his thumb under it to stretch the slightly elastic material. As he let go it bounced back into place.

            “The belts,” he continued, “were likely designed to handle the slight jostling that may come from maneuvering through an asteroid field or the shock from entering atmospheric layers. They didn’t; however, test well when it came to crashes.”

            He turned to face me and began gesturing broadly with his hands. “I work in uh… demolition for older shuttles and we found that when the belts are subject to tremendous strain like that of a body abruptly being pushed forward by sudden impact, they snap like shoelaces.”

            That was the word, shoe.

            “How long have you been working for AtomicCo?” I beckoned over his hands, nearly silent as I didn’t yet know the ramifications of a panic aboard a shuttle were there some nefarious secrets afoot.

            He leaned back in his seat and gazed up toward his personal air conditioning vent and blew out a hard breath. “Oh, a few cycles now.” He took a pause just long enough for me to think he may have forgotten the question. “Let’s see… about thirty-five years and counting at my last estimate.”

            I pressed further, my stomach beginning to boil, “What would happen if someone chose not to disclose to the Quality office?”

            He stared blankly at me. “Like, if someone just didn’t bring up what they found and was maybe discovered to have kept it a secret?” I bit my tongue. I’d ventured too far in my questioning and now the gurgle in my body was shouting shutup! Shutup! Shutup!

            I could tell he was a bit flustered, and I tried to think of ways to reel back what I’d said. I searched the sitting area fervently and kept coming back to his… shoes? Yes, shoes.

            He placed his hand on mine. It was rough yet tender and he brought his voice down to a whisper about where I was when I’d asked. “We don’t need to think of such things. It may cause a lot of people to get hurt. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if a person might be arrested for doing such a thing, keeping it quiet and such.”

            I felt the eyes of space staring at me.

            The man continued to try and calm me down and we sat for a while in silence with him returning to his window and me averting my gaze to the floor or the intercom. I was caught lost in thought when the intercom buzzed to life.

            “This is your automated captain program speaking, we are now a mere… two hours… from touch-down. Please return to your assigned seat.”

            We shook hands and he’d mentioned that he may see me again once we landed. He was very interested in seeing the palm trees as he’d never seen a real tree before, but he’d read a lot about them in books. Before the invention of carbon modifier systems trees were the primary source of earth’s oxygen. I thought that fascinating and made a mental note to find him in Neuvoia and talk a bit more about trees under the shade of what would possibly be one of the last remaining in our galaxy.

            As I reached my seat, I could hear the subtle clicks of the others all clasping their seatbelts and drew mine as well. I thought about what the man had said and took out my flyer to get my mind off of such things. The trees seemed grayer now and more difficult to make out, as if that last jumble into my pocket in the dining car was the last it had in it. As I attempted to trace the shape of the trees my fingers began to find the creases of the page where it felt like if I pushed just a little harder, I might be able to wear a hole in the image. The laminate was nearly completely gone apart from a few patches around the border, but even those were inconsistent. The waterfall that I’d imagined sliding down now no longer took to my touch and instead felt like a smear of ink that maybe only resembled a waterfall. The whole image actually now seemed like it could be no more than a greasy napkin with words hurriedly scribbled over the top. I carefully folded it and placed it on the seat beside me. I wanted to stare at the ground, but my curiosity had me in a tight grip now inside and out. I could feel the eyes staring at me through the glass, but I had to look. I had to see if maybe Neuvoia was yet visible. The coolness of space through the glass shook me for a moment as I pressed my cheek against the window, attempting to maybe peer around the shuttle and make out a tiny silvery planetoid shape. I couldn’t see anything. The windows were not meant to allow for a passenger to view forward.

            The ship suddenly seemed to lurch forward, and I could see the heads of the other people onboard all bounce forward in unison before slamming back into our padded headrests. There was some nervous chit chat and a few people shouting before the intercom came on with its prerecorded light-hearted voice lines.

            “This is your automated captain program speaking, we are experiencing some light turbulence as we approach our destination. Do not be alarmed as this is procedure when entering the atmosphere of a satellite or planet, even those partnered with AtomicCo. Please remain seated and keep your seatbelts fastened.”

            The lights of the cabin began to slowly dim to a red that seemed to fill the cabin like water, first from the bottom and then growing to the top. The walls of the shuttle housed tiny digital lights which allowed them to emit their out vibrancy. They were a pain to change, but as we began to drown in the red ambience that began to fill the shuttle, I found myself longing to be back home changing tiny bulbs. The announcement didn’t seem to calm anyone down as the chatter continued to build alongside the light. The voices of the passengers like the bubbling of air in a cabin becoming engulfed in water. The turbulence continued and I could hear the unanimous gasps as people clung tightly to their flyers.

            Through the impending chaos I could faintly make out shouting coming from beyond the dining car. Maybe I was imagining it. I pictured the woman from before dashing her way through the aisles making proclamations akin to the corner hecklers proclaiming the end times. My mind painted her crashing through the door and being tackled to the ground by the G-FN droid as she attempted to warn us of some impending doom, but the door remained still. Another thud of atmospheric turbulence hit us as the intercom came on again, but between the thudding of metal and the now desperate screaming of people now standing and calling for help I could hardly make out the announcement. Those further ahead and nearer to the intercom seemed to be sobbing and beating on the wall below the speaker, but I was too far back to hear anything beyond them.

            My flyer had fallen from the seat, and I reached over, not to catch it, but to grab at the belt of my neighboring seat. Working quickly, I tied the extra belt over mine in hopes that maybe it might survive any coming impact and I along with it. Once the two were tied I pulled them hard to ensure that no force would have a simple time separating me from that chair. The starry eyes had now nearly come to a complete halt, and I could hear the mechanisms beneath me begin to lower their landing gear. I was all too familiar with the sound as we would test each set a handful of times to ensure that passengers could land safely. They were pivotal in the maintenance course of procedure, almost as important as the thrusters and fins that guided the shuttles. The heavy CHACHUNK! of the machine below my feet signaled to me that the landing gear was fully down.

I went over the procedure in my head. Next comes the thruster cool down as the shuttle prepares to land. It should sound like a large fan turning off or a furnace snuffing out. I counted down as we often did when testing the shuttles landing guidelines. 3… 2… 1… I awaited the thrusters, but they continued a heavy buzzing. They weren’t turning off! I didn’t have much range of motion with both belts on, but I could look out the window and now, coming upon us was our destination. The heavy chrome exterior that I’d read about and the large branding visible from far out that read AtomicCo were not visible. I saw not a satellite, but a planet. It was small and white, surrounded by debris. That’s what we must have been hitting, not atmosphere, but debris of crashed meteors caught in its pull. The thrusters continued their droning as we began to descend. No, not descend. Fall. We had entered the planets pull and were now falling toward this white moon-like planet, it’s many craters seeming miniscule in comparison to the massive one that bore down on us, its center beamed red like a massive iris staring up at us, pulling us closer into it. This planet, ghostly and white wanted to consume us, it’s gravity like the tendrils of a great animal pulling prey into its maw.

As the shuttle began to succumb to the weight of gravity I could hear pinging above me, below me, all around as its familiarity suddenly came into full view. I pried myself from the window just as a small ball of metal landed at my feet. It couldn’t have taken me more than an eighth of a second to realize what I was looking at. My hand launched into my pocket, searching desperately, but it wasn’t there. It didn’t have to be. I knew exactly what I was looking at with no need to compare. The shuttle was coming apart at the seams and there at my feet was the thread meant to hold it together. It was a rivet, the old style that was only used on the outdated space farers. Even in the deep red hue of the cabin I’d have known them anywhere.

As we approached the planet, that stark white, eyeball of a planet, I tried to reach for the rivet. In my desperation I had fooled myself into thinking that if I could just reach it I could fix this. It was my job to fix these things. It was all of our jobs. The whole shuttle was full of people who had not only birthed these ships, but buried them as well. We knew every flaw and every square inch of these damned things. Thoughts began to flood my brain like red light floods a shuttle, so slowly and yet rushing, gushing from my ears and turning my stomach inside out and into my brain. I was able to extend my finger out to the rivet and as we made impact it flew into my palm, and I caught it before everything went black.

I awoke to stars; tiny white giants in distant space staring down upon me. I couldn’t feel the pain of broken bones or shrapnel tearing at my flesh. I just saw stars.

Slowly the blackness of this peaceful night sky began to pull away from me as my vision came back. Maybe my mind wasn’t prepared to see what had become of us and so graced me with the last joy I’d had. I felt the coldness of that window now spread across me as the stars expanded, bursting to dim the darkness into white.

When I came to, I slowly became aware of where I was. The shuttle lay around me in ruins, its silvery frame blending in with the snow that covered this planet’s surface. One of my belts was loose, but not broken while the other was in ribbons intertwined with the stronger of the two. It came apart easily and I fell into the snow that had crept its way down the lighted emergency walkway. It took me some time to get my bearings.

If there were any survivors at all, none of them were up and walking yet. Maybe they could be buried under the snow? My feet dragged and I felt lucky that I had kept my old boots.

The whole back half of the shuttle was still intact. Craning my neck, I could see the area that the man had been in before all of this, but he wasn’t there anymore. I told myself he might have gone for help as making my way to the end of the shuttle might have been too much for me. The adrenaline was already starting to fade, and I was beginning to feel the bruises and the pulse of blood trying desperately to recirculate.

Pieces of metal and circuit littered the snowscape as my boots made their way to the control console. This walk had been made so many times in so different a space. My foreman’s words echoed in my mind, “The program board functions as a sort of black box. Make sure that it’s installed tightly into the console so that in the unlikely event of a crash its last recording can be retrieved.” I nearly laughed at the thought, “unlikely event,” but as I inhaled, I felt the cold air attack my lungs. These were not the palm trees I was promised.

It felt like hours that I searched, but I found the crushed, half buried console and began to dig it out, unlatching the clasps that held it in place. Inside, the console were the program boards, the little rectangles of gold and green that started me questioning this whole free vacation program in the first place. I gingerly carried them under one arm as it became more and more apparent that the other was broken, likely shattered.

Connecting a board to an intercom was one of the first things we learned in the maintenance guidebook. The woman from the dinging car may have been experienced in removing them, but I had installed more that I’d have been happy to count. Removing it wouldn’t have been any issue regardless. Any safety measure installed on the console was badly damaged by the crash. What was the last message. A warning? Brace for impact? We’ve drifted off course? Something must have gone wrong.

Wires fit into place easily enough. The copper ends reached out for one another, and I obliged them. With the last two sets connected the familiar buzz of the intercom came to life. It was comforting to hear a voice, even a pre-recorder one. For a moment I allowed it to play through its messages, counting down the hours until touch-down. I had to wait it out as my education on wiring was minimal and to try and rewire so that I could skip to the end might have been detrimental.

“We are approaching our destination. Please remain seated.”

As the last few messages played, I began to search the rest of the console for a communication relay or map to my location. There weren’t any so I returned to crouching beside the speaker and huddled my body into a ball for warmth.

“As you know AtomicCo prides itself on being the number one choice in space travel. This is why we have awarded you all a one-way trip to Galana, the barren ice planet.”

My face perked up out from my arms, crossed to hide me from the wind. Revealing my face again to the elements stung, but what did it say?

“You must understand that your discovery of a flaw in our state-of-the-art safety systems would reflect poorly on the company. It is for this reason that AtomicCo devised the Free Vacation Program as a means to remove any unwanted knowledge that may put the company in jeopardy including you!”

The recording began to degrade, I’m assuming as planned.

“We’re sorry to see you go but rest assured that your contributions have not gone unnoticed. Thank you for helping to keep AtomicCo up and running!”

While the recording continued, I took a moment to stand and take in the future that AtomicCo had set out for me. Beyond the massive crater I could spot pieces of other shuttles all of similar class to the one we were aboard. Their emergency lights were still flashing red beneath the snow. The eerie white and dimly fervent flashing of the lights gave just enough visibility to the area to clearly make out the debris surrounding the planet. Shuttles. Almost on que the light and whimsical voice of the recording started over…

“Thank you for choosing AtomicCo! Enjoy your stay.”