Project Eden - Chapter 1

Or, "Kurt in Space"

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

Introduction

Below is the first chapter of a sci-fi novel I’ve been trying to write longer than any other piece of writing I have ever worked on. I’ve started and stopped this thing so many times since first incepting it 2012 I’ve lost count. In August of last year, between binging horror movies, my mind wandered, as it often does, to Kurt, Winston who you will meet in chapter 3, and the galaxy spanning adventure I’d been struggling to write for over a decade.

Two of the sci-fi series I’ve enjoyed more than any others in recent years have been the Red Rising series by Pierce Brown, and the Sun Eater series by Christopher Ruocchio. Each is told in first person, with Red Rising being told in first-person, present tense, and Sun Eater in first-person, past tense. I’d tried writing Kurt’s story in first-person before and been unsatisfied. As I usually was any time I tried to put the vision in my mind onto the page. When I tried it this time though, something felt different. The words were flowing in a way I’d never experienced before with Kurt’s story, and by the end of October I’d written a little over 100 pages and completed what I considered to be Part I. Since then my progress has slowed as events in my persona life and the re-election of Donald Trump wreaked havoc on my mental wellbeing and the creative spark I’d first felt while bedridden in August finally winked out.

I still have to write most of Part II, but the first several chapters of Part I are what I consider to be pretty polished and I wanted to share them because why the hell not?

So, here is the first chapter of Kurt Vandal’s story. If you like it, let me know! If you don’t, well, you might want to skip when I publish chapter 2 next week.

And as always, thank you for reading.

Chapter 1

I left Earth aboard a shuttle three months before humanity would undo itself. Over five centuries of progress, of healing all the wounds we had inflicted prior to Contact—wiped out in a matter of moments. Tectonic plates collided, dust and sandstorms covered entire nations, while mile high tsunamis battered the coasts and wiped-out island nations. I saw all this through camera feeds of satellites that showed the cataclysm in real time; Earth’s reckoning captured in dazzling detail. In that moment it was as though I was in a dream, much as the prior three months had felt.

Upon reflection, it’s tempting to assign greater value or meaning to the events that will go on to define us as people, but the truth is nothing so glamorous or mythologizing. I wish I could say that I knew when I was called to the logistics department of my company, Voyager Holdings, that I sensed the universe had selected me for something greater. Some larger purpose. At the time all I felt was irritation at my weekend being delayed. The month prior my entire team had been working mandatory overtime, trying to rush to production the software we’d been building for one of Voyager’s many ambitious, or depending on who you asked, outlandish, projects. One that I would become intimately familiar with much later.

The day began the same as any other. With our dog, Frank, licking my face to let me know he was ready for his breakfast. Carrie, my girlfriend, was nuzzled against my side, her head resting on my shoulder. If I’d known then that it would be the last morning we would share in the same bed I would have lingered to take in the scent of her hair and appreciate the slope of her hip under my hand as she was nestled against my side. As it was, I rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping Carrie before tripping over Frank’s round little body, knocking a plastic cup full of water off the nightstand in the process. Carrie’s pale green eyes shot open at the noise, and it only took a second for her to smile and laugh good naturedly at my clumsiness.

“Having some trouble, dear?” Carrie asked.

“I was trying not to wake you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Yeah yeah. Coffee?”

“You mean sludge? Cause that shit ain’t coffee.”

I smiled down at her and asked, “Would you like some sludge?”

“Love some, thanks!”

I turned from the bed and an expectant looking Frank was staring up at me, patiently awaiting his breakfast. Carrie had heaved herself out of bed, her bobbed hair mussed, and one of my old hole-ridden t-shirts hung off her shoulders. The seams had separated enough on the arms that her freckled shoulders were visible through the gaps. A sliver of light filtered in through the cracks in the shades and illuminated her, and I couldn’t help but smile. If feelings could be bottled and drank like wine to savor some far flung day in the future I’d have put a stopper in the one I experienced every morning I got to wake up next to her.

I gave Frank his chow and poured a cup of what could be generously called coffee, or sludge, for myself, black, and one for Carrie with lots of artificial cream and sweetener to mask the wretched taste, without failure every morning she grimaced at the first sip, her nose, like her shoulders, was covered in freckles and would wrinkle at the objectionable liquid. Looking back, I believe one of the greatest kindnesses the universe ever bestowed upon me was making sure my clumsiness granted me one last morning with the woman I loved.

“I know I say this every morning, but how do you drink this stuff without any added flavor?” she asked.

I shrugged, “It’s an acquired taste.”

“I think we could puree one of Frank’s turds and it might taste better than this stuff.” She said, before taking another swig.

“They might use pureed dog turds to flavor this stuff, actually.”

You could buy real coffee, but it was exorbitantly priced and well beyond our means. We had to make do with the artificial stuff to get our caffeine boost. The oats we cooked on the little stovetop, however, were real. We sat in amiable silence for a while longer before we each had to finish getting ready to start the workday. Carrie to her production assistant job as at Nova Media, me to mine as a software engineer at Voyager.

We kissed goodbye at the bottom of the stairs outside our building and headed in opposite directions to our respective offices.

The day wore on, much the same as every other, until I received that fateful call to the logistics department.

***

The clock on my terminal told me it was 3:47 PM, and in a little over an hour I would be out the door and on my way to the apartment. Our three-year anniversary had been two weeks prior, but we had to postpone celebrating until my team had completed their assignment. As though summoned by my daydreams of our evening together, Carrie’s face appeared on my terminal and I smiled as I answered her call, straightening my mussed up sable hair before turning on the camera.

“Kurt Vandal’s desk, Kurt Vandal speaking.” I said when Carrie’s face appeared in a window on my desktop.

“Oh, hello Kurt Vandal. This is your girlfriend, Carrie Witmer.

"Oh, Hello Carrie Witmer. How might I direct your call?”

“Well, Mr. Vandal. I was calling to make sure there hadn’t been any last-minute overtime orders from management.”

“None so far.”

“Excellent. So, what does the evening look like?”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag,” I said, leaning back in my chair and putting my hands behind my head, “but I did manage to snag reservations at Flauta.”

Flauta didn’t do reservations, but it was the best restaurant in our neighborhood that we could afford. It was where we’d had our first date and became where we went for special occasions. We had at one point in our time together made a game out of pretending it was very upscale and would get dressed up in our nicest clothes to go eat at modestly priced Mexican food.

“You didn’t!” Carie nearly screamed in play-shocked delight.

“I did!”

“But they’re supposed to be booked out months ahead.” Carrie looked at me, very impressed. How I loved her. How I still do.

“You think your boyfriend can’t turn on the patented Vandal charm and talk his way into dinner at the city’s hottest restaurant?”

“No, I don’t. So, how did you get them?” Carrie asked.

“Wow. Zero hesitation.” I said, smiling all the while.

“Nope. So, how’d you get them?”

“My boss knows the owner, and I might have mentioned missing our anniversary due to work and may have also offhandedly brought up his connection to the owner.”

“Have they mentioned it before?”

“Only every chance she gets.”

“So, you guilted your boss into helping you do something nice for your girlfriend.”

Carrie laughed, “Of course how else would you have pulled me?” She said and mimicked my own gesture from a moment of go, lacing her fingers together and placing them behind her head, a look of smug satisfaction spread across her face. After holding the pose for a moment, we both cracked up.

“I’ll see you in a little while my love,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure there were no last-minute shenanigans afoot.”

“No, it’s been quiet since lunch. Just killing time till I can walk out.”

“Leaving right at 5 o’clock?”

“Leaving right at 5 o’clock,” I lied, though I didn’t know it at the time. And then lied again, “See you at home.”

“K. Love you.” Carrie said.

“Love you too.” This time I told the truth. One I carry with me to this day.

The call disconnected and I leaned back in my chair, waiting for a moment that would never arrive. It was no more than five minutes after my call with Carrie ended that I received a summons over the office PA system.

“Kurt Vandal please report to Logistics on lower level 12. Kurt Vandal to Logistics on lower level 12. Thank you.” A droning atonal voice called out. Alerts sprung up on all my terminals as well that read: EMPLOYEE #6201213 Report immediately to the Logistics Dept. – LL12

I had never been to the Logistics department, and certainly never been to the 12^th lower level of our office. There were depths to the place that as far as I was concerned existed only as buttons on the elevator panel. I knew summons like that weren’t entirely unheard of though. People from my own team had been pulled for “special assignments” at various times over the years, the details always vague, and they were never allowed to divulge exactly what the assignment was lest they face the wrath of Voyager’s legal and HR department.

When I didn’t move from where I was planted in my cube after a moment the voice made the announcement a second time, a hint of venom to it now. All my terminals chimed again as well, urging me on. Unsure of what else to do I gathered up my satchel and headed toward the elevators. I made my way through the cube farm where the software team worked on the 9^th floor, waving to people I knew, wishing them a good weekend, nodding to others I knew by sight but couldn’t name. None of them said more than two words to me, the relief that it had been mine, and not their names called out, was plain on all their faces. Relief, and from my friends, pity. A knot began forming in my stomach while the elevator doors grew larger.

I pushed a hand through my hair and pressed the down button and the elevator doors closest to me slid open, a soothing robotic voice announced “Going down” as I stepped on.

Before I could push the button labeled L12, the voice called out again. “This cabin has been reserved for Kurt Vandal, please scan your badge and look at the camera above the panel to authenticate yourself.”

I did as I was asked, and the voice called out yet again, “Thank you, Mr. Vandal. Please make a right turn upon exiting the cabin. The Logistics department is expecting you.”

The elevator went down and down and down before coming to a gentle stop.

“You have arrived at Lower Level 12. Please remember to turn right upon exiting the cabin.”

The doors slid open, and I was met with smooth concrete walls; a black plastic sign was adhered to the wall opposite the elevator, with one arrow pointing right that said “Logistics” underneath, and another pointed left with “R&D” printed underneath. I just shook my head and started walking, turning to the right as I had been instructed. It was at this moment that I thought I should let Carrie know I would be running late, but my hand terminal had no signal, it wasn’t even connected to the office network and there were none listed to join. I decided to go back upstairs for a minute so I could send her a quick message and discovered there were no buttons to summon an elevator car, only a sensor to scan your badge. I scanned mine but an angry red light told me I didn’t have the proper clearance to do so. I looked up and down the hallway for a sign of a stairway, which in my gut knew would also require me to scan my badge, and would tell me I did not have the proper clearance to access either. That was when I heard the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat from down the hall.

“Mr. Vandal, would you please head this way? Some of us have a weekend to enjoy.” A woman’s voice called through a speaker system I could not see.
I took a few tentative steps forward.

“That’s it. Come on. The sooner you get down here the sooner we’ll be done.” The voice called.

As I grew closer to the sound of the voice, I could see a section where there was a black metallic door propped open. Once I arrived at open door I was greeted by a woman approaching late middle age with thick rimmed glasses that sat on the end of her nose, and which hung from her neck on a chain made of plastic jewels that glimmered in the bright LEDs that lit the hallway. She gestured toward a shabby desk where she plopped down with a heavy sigh and indicated I should take the plastic chair in front of her. I did and it wobbled and creaked as I sat down. There was a black plastic name plate on her desk that said “Prudence Johnson”.

“Hello, Mr. Vandal. How are you?” Ms. Johnson said, not looking at me.

“I’m-“

“That’s great, please sign in.”

A tablet was thrust under my nose, and I scribbled my name with the attached stylus.

“Thank you. Please step through the door.” She said and pointed to her right.

A locking mechanism undid itself, and the door opened inward. I hesitated, but before I could give more than a fleeting consideration to bolting and searching for a stairwell a new voice called out to me, “Mr. Vandal.” I turned and saw a thin man in a short-sleeved button up shirt looking at me with watery eyes, “We’ve been expecting you,” He stood to the side and gestured through the open door, “Please, step inside.”

As I stepped into the other room the door sealed and locked itself—and my fate—behind me.

“I’m Bryce Collins, Logistics.” The thin man said, holding out a hand, which I shook, and resisted the urge to wipe the cold sweat his palm transferred onto mine on the leg of my pants.

“Kurt Vandal, Automation.”

“We know. As I said, we’ve been expecting you.”

“What is this all about? I wasn’t expecting to have to work this weekend, and I have dinner plans with my girlfriend. She’s expecting me. I have no signal down here to let her know where I am or why I might be late.”

“Rest assured your friends, and family will be alerted to your absence.”
“Absence? Absence from where?”

Bryce’s eyebrows, which were made of by far the thickest hair the man had on his body, arched in surprise. As though it should be obvious where I would be absent from. “Earth.” he said, like the single word response should have explained everything.

“Earth?”

“Yes.”

The urge to grab Bryce by his limp collar and shake him until he started making sense was almost overwhelming, but I composed myself and asked, “And where will I be going?”

“Surely you are aware that part of your employment contract included the possibility of being given special assignments from time to time.”

I knew about the clause in all our contracts that mentioned “special assignments”, but I never guessed it would include the prospect of being sent off-planet. Space travel was not something a person on my rung of the social ladder could ever hope to experience.

“Yes, but nothing that would send me up the well.” I said, gesturing upward with my right hand.

“Ah,” Bryce replied, “That little wrinkle.”

“I’d argue it’s more than ‘a little wrinkle’, Bryce.” I said, and my cheeks began to flush. Bryce ignored my frustration and continued with his spiel.

“Mr. Vandal. If you would please just step into this room,” He gestured at an open door to his left, “we have an informative video prepared that should put your mind at ease.”

It didn’t.