Inside the Hall of Conspiracies-a Ravens of Mars short story

Isabel Kalishnikov

Okay, I’ll admit I’m really nervous. I have to admit it because the first step to overcoming nervousness is to say it out loud. Only then will you find the encouragement to overcome it. 

It’s silly, I know. But all human emotions have their little programming protocols. Every single feeling has a quirky method to balance it. With the feeling of guilt comes the confession. With anger, you tun 180 degrees on your heels, walk at least 50 steps and take deep breaths every step of the way. With grief, you cover your eyes, bow your head and leave the back of your neck exposed for a total of two hours. 

And with nervousness, you say it out loud and then breath deeply and evenly. 

Inside the lobby of the Hall of Conspiracies, I feel ready to make the ascension. I look up two stories, past the glass ceiling and up to the higher constructs of this building. Up there, I can see the circular landing platform. Somewhere high above me, my Raven awaits. Perhaps it’s being refueled. Perhaps it’s on lockdown. Perhaps it’s being disassembled or reassembled. Today is the day I get to see my Raven. All the experiences of my childhood. All the jobs I’ve inhabited in my career. All the experiences I’ve accumulated. It’s all led me to this. This is not luck. This is not destiny. This is what I’ve been working towards.

 I decide not to hide my smile as I wave to the security desk. My fingerprints are recognized from across the lobby. The turnstile in front of me illuminates green and I push past the doors. Beyond the security check point are the banks of elevator tubes.

 I am now among the flurry of morning shifters who are all heading towards their duties in the various offices, laboratories and hangars throughout the Hall Of Conspiracies. Most of them look confident and absentminded. They all have their jobs. They’ve all been here days and days previous to this. They know what they’re facing. 

It’s my first day as a Raven pilot. I’m nervous.

I find the elevator tube that will take me up there. I step in and the door closes. I hold up my hand toward the wall. It recognizes my hand print. The wall of the tube illuminates. “What floor please?” I tell it I’m heading to PBC level. Pilot Briefing and Command. The elevator tubes are like no other elevator I’ve ever seen. On planets and gravitational bodies, normally elevators use pulleys. In spaceships and sub-gravity surfaces, elevators use magnetics.

 This elevator has no walls and no ceiling. It’s really just a platform in a tube. I can look all the way up and see the tube stretch into darkness. The platform is raised and lowered using pneumatic compression. I can feel the viscosity of air as I almost touch the wall the curved. The wall doesn’t feel like it’s stationary at all. And the wall is digital... All the way up. The digital display must detect my presence or something. Because projects from the wall as the elevator goes up. Just a big tube with a floor. 

In other words, the elevator is pretty cool. 

When the platform stops, and the wall opens, I step out. I have ascended to the highest reaches of Raven Division. The skywalk in front of me continues up towards the rounded center of the building, After walking up the skywalk for a few moments, it no longer feels like I’m walking upwards. It’s just the gravity feels a little different. At the top of the skywalk, there’s another security checkpoint. I easily pass through and realize I’m really close to the Murder Room. The hallway to the Murder Room is pretty elite. There are no other offices on this level. There is are the locker rooms for our pilot gear at the other end of the hallway. Showers, changing rooms. There are also dorm rooms on this level, just in case we need to be here on standby. Also, there’s a commissary and recreation room. Around the corner is the stairs up to the Mission Control Room and Speerman’s office. 

As I head down the hallway, the other pilots are talking outside the room. A couple of them turn to me. Their flight suits are identical to mine. I actually feel like I’m about to be accepted into a real team. Not just any team. The most elite pilots in the solar system. They nod at me without comment. More like, they’re looking at me. Sizing me up. 

Hall of Conspiracies. Pilot Briefing and Command level, The Murder Room.

A chime sounds throughout the hallway, signalling the briefing is about to begin. I follow them into the Murder Room. As I step through the doorway, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The light changes dramatically. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness. But when they do adjust, the inside of the Murder Room is actually darker. 

“You’ll get used to the lighting when you walk in,” said one of the other pilots. A blond guy. “That weird, itchy feeling and th lighting is to disrupt any attempts to eavesdrop in here.”

“Uhh, is there assigned seating in here?” I ask. 

“Sit where you’re comfortable. And once you get comfortable, move your bones when a senior pilots makes you move.” The blond guy winks at me.

 I squeeze in between the conversations into the bank of seats on the right. The projection screen in front of me shows the error message of no live feed. I don’t feel comfortable enough to join in any conversations around me. So I just look at the screen as if I’m reading it. No live feed. Not very interesting. But I guess that’s all there is to it. Suddenly, I find myself in between an argument.

I hope this briefing starts soon.

This is a short science fiction story from the sci fi cartoon series Ravens of Mars. All content copyright D.S. Meyers 2017. www.RavensofMars.com

Greenies- a Ravens of Mars science fiction short

FRIGATE KANORADO
SATELLITE MISSION

Isabel Kalishnikov

We lowered the satellite onto the deck of the frigate Kanorado. 

“Okay, WarChild. Good job working the claw. Bring it back and I’ll hover around for a set down.”

“Are you sure we can’t just get them to sign off electronically?” He complained.

“No,” I replied. “We have to set down, visually inspect the satellite to make sure we didn’t dent it or break it. Then we need the payload master to sign off. Once the PayMas signs off, we can jump off the deck and head back.”

He sighed. “Okay. What...Ever.”

I could tell by the long what /pause /ever  that he was now aggravated with something else. “What is it with you now?” I asked.

“I just don’t like dealng with Greenies. That’s all.”

“Come on, recoil the claw. Stop complaining. Earth people are just people. Like us.” Although, it was obvious I was talking out of my bowel chute. 

“Come on! They are not like us,” he insisted. “I know I can deal with them. It’s just that, well, you know.”

“Ohhhh,” I nodded my head. “You’re saying I can’t deal with them. Because, what? I’m a girl?”

“You’re also young, even for a Martian slicker. I mean, you are only 12.”

“Spare me your condescending attitude, WarChild.” 

“Hey,  I’m not just responsible for myself, I’m responsible for you, too,” he said. 

“Child, please.” I held up my hand. “I might only be 12. But I’m more than capable of handling a few old people.” 

And it’s true. I’ve grown up mingling among the adults on the the shipping lanes. It is true that I identify my age with the Martian cycle. My calendar has 668 days on it- just like all Martians and Capitalists.  Because the Martian year passes slowly,  I would have with half as many birthdays as a Greenie born the exact same time as me. Meaning, I’m half as old. 

And it’s not just the number of trips around the sun. Earth people just get so old. Scientists think it could be the gravity or proximity to the sun’s radiation. But they become adults. Us Martian folk, we live slow and die younger. 

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to get old. How cool it must be to look seasoned and wise. I wonder what it’s like to move slower, with a measure of patience.

But then other times I think “Ewww. It must suck to get old.”

I was so fixated on these thoughts that I tuned out my turn and approach. I was already hovering on approach over the frigate’s deck. The brown vest was waving me in. The magnetic tracking was just latching onto us. The RavenClaw set down on the deck. We powered down the thruster cycles. 

I unbuckled my harness as WarChild announced the EPS panels were closed. I turned to head back out of the flight deck.

“Hey, take your helmet,” WarChild called.

“Why? I asked. “The deck pad is air and heated.”

“Look, I just want to make sure we’re safe. Just do it. And I promise I wont do anything else to protect you.”

“Ugh. Oh-kay!”  I rolled my eyes and grabbed my helmet. I feigned annoyance. But secretly, there was a part of me that was touched. WarChild is looking out for me. He actually cares about me. And that means something.

But I’m still going to mess with him ove it. “Fine! Anything else, mom? Want me to tie my shoelaces? Maybe go to the bathroom before we leave?”   

We walked out of the back ramp. There were several people standing off to the side, watching a forklift drive over to the satellite. I had the digipad tucked under my arm. I wanted show WarChild I’m a competent girl by handling the Greenies. Any normal person might be daunted by having to be on stage in front of everyone. But I understand my emotional spectrum. Insecurity can be a very useful tool for solving multiple problems at once. Think about it. Insecurity is the fear of inadequency in front of multiple perceptions. So, it stands to reason that if a person can see how their biggest insecurity can be altered, it can change how they are viewed by everyone around. 

“I’ll do the talking. You just stand there looking serious.” I slapped WarChild’s shoulder. “Hey, brah. Who’s the PayMas?”
It was slightly disorienting, hearing my loud words bend in the open air of the deck’s atmosfield. With insecurity,  it would have been intimdating. But I accepted it as part of the weirdness I brought to the moment.  

The group of four turned slowly toward us. “I am the Payload Master,” the one man said. They looked like three adults and an older youth. Perhaps he was a Martian. The oldest of the the four was the PayMas. He had streaky, white blond hair that flared out from his headphones. He had stark, green eyes. A Greenie with with greeny eyes. His face was windburned. Lines were etched around his eyes where he smiled, or squinted. And he was tall. 

WarChild and I stood before them, looking up at them. They were all condensed humans. Fleshy. Blocky. Definitely looked like Greenies.

“My goodness,” he said. “Martians look younger every year.”

The slur didn’t even phase me. “Maybe you’re just getting older. I mean, like old. How old are you? Sixty?”

“I’m thirty-five,” he replied. He smiled at his group. “I like this one. Seriously, how old are you?”

“I’m twelve,” I said,

“Wow,” he said. “That’s pretty young.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “Even on Mars, I’m a prodigy. Imagine how accomplished I’ll be when I’m your age.”

I could tell I hit a nerve. He grimmaced. Or maybe he was passing gas like an old person. 

I held out the digipad. “You mind signing this? We would like to be on our way. I’ll wait if you need to find your reading glasses.”

Everything About Mars Is The Worst

This is a good article about how screwed we would be if we tried to move to Mars right now, from fivethirtyeight.com-

Story By Rebecca Boyle

ILLUSTRATION BY TUCHI

At first glance, Mars seems pretty nice. The sun warms its rusty surface to a balmy 70 degrees Fahrenheit during the day, and gentle breezes ruffle its dirt. Spacecraft touch down and either plant their legs, so they can scrape and till its umber soil, or roll away, so they can trundle over rocks, up hills and down craters. Eventually, humans may be able to stake their flags in that solid ground, and build habitats, and maybe grow food.

No other world in the solar system offers us this chance. Mercury is way too close to the sun. Nearby Venus has far too much atmosphere, whose pressure and noxious gases would crush and choke visitors from Earth. Jupiter spews bullets of radiation, which will endanger human and robot exploration on its rocky or watery moons. Our own moon is airless, and it’s dark for two weeks at a time. So Mars is pretty much it, at least for the foreseeable future.

Too bad it’s such a jerk...(Continue reading Everything About Mars is the Worst)

Joyride With WarChild- a short science fiction story

HALL OF CONSPIRACIES
RAVEN HANGAR

Isabel Kalishnikov

WarChild emerged from the male locker room. I knew enough about him to know that he would come back to the launch bay to do a post-flight inspection of the RavenClaw. I admire the diligence but I was about to interrupt his work.

I waited until he was half-way across the hangar before making my move. That’s when I let off the clutch and roared my lunercycle across the floor at him. He never even saw me coming. Here in the hangar, my cycle’s engine was masked by the sound of mechanical activity.

I screeched to a stop right in front of him. The high-pitched screech of my tires echoed throughout the hangar. He jumped back a few meters and had a crazed look of surprise.

“Get on!” I shouted.

He was so surprised that he did as he was told. “W-what’s going on?”

“Put the P-helmet on.” I shoved the second air helmet in his hands.

“Okayyy. You do see I’m not wearing a pressure suit, right?”

He put the helmet on and to my surprise it fit him perfectly.

“Hold on. And I mean hold on tight.”

With that, the motorcycle lurched into action. The cycle shot between two fuel trucks.

“Oh my Lord!” he shouted. “That was close!”

We were getting to the end of the hangar. I slowed and brought the cycle around in a sharp arc. “Hold on. Do not lean. Just stay perfectly still.”

“Is this supposed to be some kind of team building?” His tone was snarky.

I resisted the urge to get defensive. “That’s exactly what this is. Now, something you should know about my cycle. If I hit something start to flip, I just need to hold onto the handlebars. You, on the other hand, might get flipped over my shoulder so it’s in your best interest to warn me of all things.”

“You are planning to keep your eyes open, right?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. But I don’t intend to zig or zag until you say what we see. So it’s not a good idea to warn me at the last moment. Here we go. Hold on.”

I gunned the cycle. Even with the extra weight, the cycle bolted. In no time, we were going much too fast.

“Look out!” he shouted. A red vest had emerged from behind a stack of ordinance. I had already seen him, but pretended not to.

The cycle picked up speed, heading back the other way. “Don’t say look out. Tell me what I don’t see.”

“Fuel hose! Straight ahead. 30 mark, 20, 10, 8, 6, 4, jump!”

There was a rubber hose stretched across my path, big enough stop my front wheel and send WarChild flying. I dropped the gear and gave some gas. The engine whine, the bike jolted, the front wheel popped up. The back wheel hit the hose and we jumped into the air. Even with the added weight of WarChild, I managed to land the cycle cleanly.

I brought the cycle wide to the right and we headed toward the Mace Raven.

“Low clearance! 2 meters.” was all WarChild had time to say before we ducked under the wing. “Cargo carts; two of them staggered; left side 10 and right side 11; gap 3 meters!”

“Got it,” I replied. We slalomed between the carts that were coming off the back ramp.

“5Hole! Hope he moves!” he shouted, pointing to the pilot standing right in our path.

Mace Raven’s pilot jumped out of the way, dropping his flight pad. He shouted some kind of slur that involved a power tool.

My pulse, racing with fear. I love fear. It creates a heightened state of awareness. Most people hate fear. They fixate on how bad it feels.

I relish it. I can see what normally wouldn’t be seen, think of solutions normally hidden and hear sounds normally ignored. I knew everything going on in the hangar.

I was even aware of Speerman, up on catwalk above, watching my antics. Oh well, no stopping now. He’s already seen this stupid stunt. If he intends to clip my wings, he’ll do it whether I stop or not. Might as well finish this lesson.

“Secure for VFF boost,” I called over my shoulder.

Breathlessly, he said “VFF is the booster system on the Ravens.”

“In my cycle’s case, it means Very Freakin’ Fast.” I popped a wheelie again and we took off. WarChild leaned into my back. Strangely, it felt comforting. Why? Why would I feel that way?

Because. My edgy co-pilot and I were about to merge together- either in death or understanding.

I aimed the cycle past another fuel truck and straight toward the airlift. The doors were opened and I brought the cycle screeching sideways to a stop. The lift, big enough to carry a Raven up and down from repairs. Inside the chamber we were tiny.

My shout echoed in lift. “Lift Operator, take us down to the repair bay.”

To my surprise, the doors actually closed and the lift buckled into descent. I wasn’t so sure if my credentials could yet get me easy access to and from the building. Getting a no from the lift operator would have only ended the ride a little early.

I felt WarChild lean as he kicked a leg around and try to get off. “This was great. Good work, team! I think the ride is over.”

I gunned the cycle and it jumped just enough to make him rethink getting off. “Oh, no. The ride hasn’t even begun.”

“I want off.”

“You get off this bike and it’ll be the end of your career within the Ravens.” I stretched my mastery of knowledge. I couldn’t guarantee any such thing any more than I could guarantee I’d have a career after this stunt. I was jeopardizing everything I’ve worked for. Perhaps by staying on this bike, I was dooming his career too. It was a risk I was willing to take. I’m normally not so full of, of boyvado.

He scowled at me. Walked right up to me. “Whatever you say, Miss Thing. But you better be going somewhere important with this little thrill ride.”

“Yes. I am going somewhere important. This is a training mission. You are going to trust me. Or we both die.”

“You’re so adorable,” he replied. “You actually think I’m scared.”

The lift door finally opened unto the Tube. We were 200 meters under the surface of the Deimos and Capitol City. The Tube was the transportation hub for critical materials. Vehicles, machinery and hazardous materials could all move freely without the concern of traffic. Of course, there was a department of control for The Tube. And I didn’t think they’d take too kindly for a couple of ill-mannered scamps on a motorcycle.

I throttled my little cycle. To be honest, I’ve always wanted to bring my cycle down here and just open up her little 900 hydrogen cc heart. A reluctant passenger would slow me down and take some of the fun out of it. But, oh well. You know.

I brought the cycle to bear on the main artery of the tube. At this hour, construction traffic was pretty light. A few heavy trucks were milling up and down the roadway. Their reflective paint stripes gleamed in my cycle’s headlights. Big, hulking trucks hauling debris or building materials. Pulling onto the underground boulevard, I gunned it and cut in front of a big earth mover. It wailed on its horn.

“Here’s the game,” I said. “Let’s see who can outlast the other. I want you to count to 100 without stopping or pausing. I’m going to try to get us to the up-swing in the boulevard. Let’s see who can beat the other.”

“I’m reasonably sure this is stupid.”

We launched ahead. Before he got to 10, I swerved between a transport van and flatbed truck. I could hear him counting through the speaker in my helmet. As he got to 20, we came upon three dump trucks moving in formation. I dodged across the two directions of the magnerail tracks at a sharp enough angle that my wheels didn’t stick in them. I heard WarChild continue counting calmly. Either he didn’t see the danger in jumping the rails or he was calm. As he got to 33, we caught up with the MagneRail as it made its way up the line. We began to pass it on the left. It was when he got to 42 that I saw two more transport vans coming at us. They flashed their headlights at me. So, I steered the cycle up the pipe wall on the left to dodge them. WarChild got to 48 as two construction trucks came at us, side by side. I sped up enough that I was able to cut to the right, just before the magnerail.

But there was an over-sized bulldozer in our ongoing lane moving really slow. So I dodged up the pipe wall on the right and passed it. I caught a pause in WarChild’s counting. He cleared his throat and continued.

“You know this boulevard?” I asked my FO.

“Yeah, I know the Colonel Adler Boulevard.”

“Good. Because, I don’t.” I took the helmet off his head, flipped it around and put it on my head backwards. It smashed my nose but it covered my eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Oh my gods. Really. You are not doing this sci-fi samuri shrap on me.”

I revved the bike and then shot us forward even faster. There was nothing to see. In terms of cheating, I could only see the bottom of the helmet and the bike’s front wheel. So, I really did have a sense if we were driving straight down the pipeline.

He shouted over the bike’s whine. “Oh-kayeeeeee. Right bank parallel, 15 degrees. Okay,

I managed to get us back to the building. Security was tighter at this part of the afternoon. They wouldn’t let me bring my motorcycle in this time. My Raven credential card had still not been activated. So I had to find a place to park my bike outside of the Hall of Conspiracies.

“Look, I’m going to head back up while you park your wheels.”

“Okay then,” I replied. “Do you feel like we had an emotionally scary yet, light-hearted breakthrough? Between you and me, I mean?”

He sighed, rolled his eyes up and waved his finger. “Okay. I admit that you have good reflexes and relatively good situational awareness. Okay?”

He turned to the revolving door. And over his shoulder he said “But I still don’t trust your judgment. Not yet. Taking a bike on the Adler Boulevard? For real!”

He banged his helmet against mine. “You better know what you’re doing. I mean it. You better know because it is us. Any decision you make, you make about us.”

He’s starting to like me.

This is a short science fiction story from the sci fi cartoon series Ravens of Mars. All content copyright D.S. Meyers 2016. www.RavensofMars.com

Before the Rookie Test Flight, Part 2- short science fiction

HALL OF CONSPIRACIES
RAVEN HANGAR

Isabel Kalishnikov

“Tower, what’s going on?”WarChild asked.

We had a fluctuation in the magnetic pad. Stand by.

“They need to give us a little more warning or just let us go.” He replied sharply into my helmet. But I could hear by the reverb that he hadn’t clicked on just my helmet. The tower heard him too.

Copy that, RVN 07. Safety measures are in place for a reason.

I clicked my helmet. “Tower, my copilot is right. Be advised: We are capable of lifting without magnetic assistance if that would be safer for everyone.”

I took a few deep breaths. My pulse was racing. I looked at him and he at me. We both shook our heads and rolled our eyes. I felt my heart racing. I was so ready to jump off the pad. It was about to happen and then tower yanked the moment away. We sat there for far too long. I clicked the timer. I wanted to see how long this was taking so I could accurately record it in my flight report. Ten minutes went by. I began to hope they would just cancel our flight. I had pumped myself full of adrenaline and then had to repress it. I felt tired. I yawned out loud.

RVN 07. You have the ten count, they suddenly said. Ten seconds! To fire up the boosters and mentally prepare myself.

“Now, they’re pushing us off,” he said to me and then openly, “Copy that, tower.”

 Five, four, three, two, one.

I suddenly felt a surge of panic, not feeling ready for the moment. There was a vibration underneath the RavenClaw that was building. We were pushed out into the air. The hydraulics hissed and a cloud of gas blew out of the side as the compressed gas was released. And suddenly we were in free space. The sudden silence gave way to the pounding of my heart. That moment of silence seemed eternal.

The whine of the xitris thrusters gave way to the boom of the main boosters. The RavenClaw dropped a little before I pulled him up. His nose pointed up until we were even with the Capitol skyline. I’d flown simulator after simulator of the Raven series. I’d been copilot on two missions. But nothing until now compared to this superhero sensation of pushing into flight. Speed, it’s the greatest power in the universe. It is a drug.

The buildings and blocks of Capitol City zoomed underneath, giving way to the rural outskirts of the moon. The blackened craters came up over the horizon and floated along. The blinking lights of other sky traffic thinned out. We easily achieved an orbit over the lunar surface of Deimos. We followed the contour of the ground until Mars came up over the horizon.

“Now, let’s see if Rampart Control is a little more helpful.” WarChild radioed to the control of the shipping lanes. “Rampart Control, this is RVN 07 on a heading of 323.”

Roger that, RVN 07. We have you on radar. You are cleared to merge onto M-1. Your authorization is Initiative Alpha. You have the shipping lane. Your pointman, RVN 09, is waiting for you.

Great, TarFace is going to think I made some rookie mistake that delayed us. The cratered shadows stretched below. Given the clearance to enter the sky, I pulled up. The ground pulled away from us. The butterflies in my stomach all began flapping their pretty wings of nausea.With a light growl, I tighten my insides and suppress these feelings. Yes, it’s basically how I deal with love.

The RavenClaw leaps up into space. The ground is gone. The feeling of speed disappears. We are now hanging in space.

I throttle up and the feeling of acceleration pushes at my back. I look into the rear view and see the twinkling lights of Capitol City reduce. Looking forward, I twist the RavenClaw out towards the M-1 Shipping Lane.


This is a short science fiction story from the sci fi cartoon series Ravens of Mars. All content copyright D.S. Meyers 2016. www.RavensofMars.com

Before the Rookie Test Flight, Part 1 : A short science fiction story

HALL OF CONSPIRACIES RAVEN HANGAR

Isabel Kalishnikov

I climbed onto the flight deck and slid into the pilot’s seat. I couldn’t reach the flight pedals on the floor. I couldn’t see over the dash. The seat was too far back. I wanted to move it. But the seat was in a fixed position.

I’m a tiny woman. It doesn’t take that much to push the blood into my brain. So I can constrict myself by sitting upright more. Plus, I’m probably the shortest pilot. I need to see over the dash panel.

“Ready when you are,” he spoke through my helmet.“Testing greater primaries.” I flipped the switch. I could feel the servomotors moving the flaps. It was a shrill whine sounded distantly from the corner of the wing.

“Good,” he replied. “Next.”

“Secondary primaries,” I flipped the switch and lower whine sounded.

“Good. Next.”

“Secondary thruster nozzles,” I clicked propulsion control.

“Whoa!” he shouted into my ear. “Are the safeties on?”

“Of course they’re on. I’m not actually gonna’ fire them up.”

“Uhh, you need to make sure you call that out, okay? That’s a safety check.” “Okay, okay.” I rolled my eyes. He was right, of course. But, again with the rookie treatment. “All propulsion safeties are on. You’re not going to make me read each one out, are you?”


“It’s fine as long as you can tell me they’re all functioning. I just don’t want to get disintegrated today.”

“That’s fair,” I replied. We went through the rest of the preflight. We tested the positioning gyros. I think that preflight was important. Not just for checking the RavenClaw. But also for checking each other out. I had no idea whether WarChild was meant to be a temporary assignment or permenent. My last co-pilot was a disaster. And so was the one before that.


My first copilot was brilliant. Too brilliant. She got promoted quickly. The day RoseMark got reassigned, the trajectory of my career stalled for a few years. Two crummy copilots and a lay-off. At age 12, I was beginning to think the best days of my career were over.

And from out of nowhere, comes this assignment to the Raven Division. Pilot, of a Raven. Just out of nowhere. I had applied almost a whole Martian year ago. 600 days ago. Now suddenly, I was tapped for the program. It seemed strange. But I know better than to be curious in the face of good fortune. Why be curious? This is the opportunity I thought would never happen.

When all the preflight ritual was complete, WarChild and I left the hangar to get our flight suits on. There wasn’t any time to go and hang out in the pilot’s lounge. Everyone calls it The Swamp. It was a place where pilots could look over flight parameters, relax or do any number of things pilots do between routine missions. Well, I prefer to be on the flight deck of the Raven. Who knows if my assignment to the RavenClaw is temporary. I might just be filling in. Like WarChild, maybe I’m only going to become a B-alternative. It’s important to bring myself down a few notches.

Stop being so excited, Bangway. You’re only setting yourself up for disappointment if you think this is permanent.

No hanging out in the Swamp. It’s back to the flight deck of the RavenClaw for us. That walk to the RavenClaw will be a memory I’ll carry with me into the afterlife. I tried to walk confidently. It felt like every pair of eyes and camera was on me. My new flight helmet tucked under my arm. The flight crew was going over the flaps and foils. They started turning and watching us walk up to the vehicle. This was my crowning moment.


…Until I tripped over a hangar cleat, dropping my helmet. I quickly scooped it up and got to my feet as if it didn’t happen.

WarChild shook his head. “That’s fabulous. Dropping your helmet is bad luck, you know.” “You better hope not,” I mumbled. As we began to make our way up the rear ramp, blue vest personel attended to our suits, checking our cords as we walked. We climbed up onto the flight deck level. The gray vests were unplugging their personal pads from the flight consoles.

“All presets are entered according to pilot specs,” reported the first gray vest.

“Okay,” responded the blue vest. “Pilots are getting settled in.” I took my seat. My blue vest took out his socket wrench and loosened up the seat rivets. He pulled it forward. Then he asked me how it felt.

“I would like it upright more. I like sitting up.” He shrugged and adjusted the bolts on two other points in the seat. Then he pulled the air hose out of the headrest of my seat and plugged it into the back of my helmet. He felt under the jawline of my helmet for any tears to the air hose.

“Okay,” he said to me, “Say your vowels please.”

“A,E, I, O, U.”

“Now, give me a foo fighter.”

I took a deep breath and then pushed as much air as possible into the mask. “Foo, foo, foo fighter.” “Your air mix looks good,” Blue Vest said. He unplugged his reader from my console. “Double check. All straps look good. All tags are pulled.”

Then, he kissed my helmet. Startled, I smacked him away. “Hey!” “It’s for good luck,” WarChild snapped. “And considering you dropped your helmet, we definitely need to break even before we get out of the hangar. Don’t screw with pilot superstition. Especially on your first flight.”

The other Blue Vest unplugged his reader from WarChild’s console and then kissed his helmet.

Oops.We plugged into our flight chairs. I checked all feeds and connections. All electronic systems looked good. All monitors and displays were illuminated and positive.

“Tower check,” WarChild called.

Roger, RVN 07. You are good. Countdown 10 minutes.

“Copy that,” he replied. Then he sighed.

Now, the long 10 minutes. For a couple of those minutes, neither of us spoke. I closed off my open mic from the tower. “I didn’t mean to come off as bully back there.”

For a moment WarChild said nothing. Finally, “Copy that.”

After a couple more moments I said “This is a very big flight for me. I need you on my side.”

“It’s a two-way street, sister.” His answer was quicker this time.

“Good. Then, I think we’ll play nice together.”

To my surprise, he chuckled. It sounded sincere.

RVN 07, rotate right and wait for further instructions.

“Copy that, Tower,” WarChild replied. And to me, “Okay, BangWay. Let’s play nice.” We watched as TarFace’s Raven slowly taxied to the edge of the launch pad. The launch pad tilted the RavenBlade so that it was facing down towards the ground. Xitris clouds began to drift out of the bottom of the vehicle. I could hear the whine of its boosters as the afterburners heated up.

“Launch check complete. Call.”

RVN 09, you are on ten count. Five, four, three, two, one. Launch. The launch pad tilted forward and RavenBlade jumped off the launch pad. It roared mightily. Forward, it leaped into the lunar night. A swirling cloud of xitris reverberated throughout the hangar.

RVN 07, taxi to position 1B and wait for final count.

“Copy that, Tower.” I eased the vehicle forward. We floated to the white square. My heart was pulling from my chest, urging to go into the night after the RavenBlade. The hydralics under the pad began to whine and the pad tilted. Once the magnetic launcher throws us off, we’d already be angled for our SkyQuest boosters to give us lift. The RavenClaw was facing down- 30 stories down. The first time sitting like this, it was completely unsettling. I did another scan of all my pre-flight readings. Everything looked good. All systems were green.

RVN 07, standby for magnetic pad check. “Launch check complete, Tower.” WarChild clicked his voice into just my helmet. “If you don’t bring me back in one piece, we’re definitely not going to be friends.”

“Don’t make any grand promises,” I replied.

RVN 07, you are in ten count. I eased the SkyQuest Drive. The boosters began to scream. Flight displays began to glow. The handles began to shake with tension. I took a deep breath into my lungs.

Five, four, three…

Abort, abort, abort!

Another voice interrupted.

“Abort!” shouted WarChild.

“Powering down SkyQuest,” I yelled as I exhaled forcefully. “Okay! We’re down, we’re down. What just happened?”

...To Be Continued in Before the Rookie Test Flight, Part 2


This is a short science fiction story from the sci fi cartoon series Ravens of Mars. All content copyright D.S. Meyers 2016. www.RavensofMars.com

Partnering Up- a short science fiction story

HALL OF CONSPIRACIES
RAVEN HANGAR

Isabel Kalishnikov

My patrol in the RavenClaw. All the school. All the training. The work. My dream was about to come true. I hadn’t felt this kind of euphoria since before my spiritual crash. Nothing could bring me down. Nothing.

“Hey,” said TarFace. “Your co-pilot is coming out. There he is. Now listen: This guy is only temporary. Okay? He’s just a fill-in. So don’t stress out about him.”

“Why would I? What’s wrong with him?”

“What? Nothing,” TarFace replied. He smiled. “He’s good. He’s been a temporary fill-in at co-pilot for a long time. He’s a solid, B-level alternative.”

“Temporary? Alternative?”

“Okay, I’m off to do pre-flight.” TarFace turned on his heels and waved over his shoulder. “See you in the sky.”

I watched TarFace walk to his co-pilot. They slapped hands and smacked each other on the shoulder the way guys do. They shared a laugh before focusing on their Raven.

My temporary, alternative co-pilot floated across the hangar like a shadow over towards me. I held up my hand to slap his. He stopped and looked me. Then he looked at my hand, hanging in the air. He blinked a couple of times. But he left my hand hanging.

“I’m WarChild,” he said. He was a wisp of a man. More like a boy. His voice was slight, kinda timid. He seemed kinda weird.

To be honest, everyone seems kinda weird to me.

“I’m BangWay (apparently).” I replied.

“BangWay?” he asked. Then he muttered to himself. “Great. Bang way. That’s just the name I want my pilot to have.”

“I didn’t pick it. It was all Speerman. Sooooo, shall we do the walk-around, or what?”

“There’s no other reason to meet you,” WarChild said kinda’ icily.

I brushed it off and looked back at RavenClaw. He was gleaming. The angles of his wings all curved in distorted directions. When looking at him up, his wings stretched this way. The speedvane overhead stretched that way. The nearer booster block angled away from us.

We walked under the wing, visually inspecting the primary functions; seeing every flap looked flush, every thruster port looked tightly closed, the landing serifs looked sturdy. We walked to the back ramp, checking the seals along the outside edge of the ramp. No visible cracks on any of the gaskets. The struts responsible for lifting the ramp to closure all looked straight and greased.

“Primary check look good?” I asked my new co-pilot.

“You’re the pilot.” He sounded sassy. “You tell me.”

There was no reason for him to treat me like I’m a rookie. I mean, I am the rookie. But that’s no reason to treat me like one. This is my moment of victory. There is nothing else I want to do with my life than fly a Raven. This can’t fall apart. I can’t fail. I am not going to let this guy ruin this. But I can’t be confrontational. I have to make this work.

“Looks good to me,” I said. “Look, every preflight on every vehicle I’ve done requires consensus from the co-pilot.”

“Yes.” It sounded like he sighed when he said it. “I’ve green-marked every thing we’ve seen. Okay?” He started to turn.

All of the sudden, I grabbed his arm. I surprised myself as much as I surprised him. I hoped the words just came out of my mouth as fluently.

“WarChild, are we in this together?” I asked.

He sighed and then forced a fake smile. “Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?”

I let go of his arm. “I don’t know. But I take preflight very seriously. So we need to be able to communicate effectively.”

“You got it.” He said.

“Say my name.”

“Okayyyy? You got it, BangWay.” He whipped his head away and walked around the side of the ramp. “Let’s open mic each other. I’ll do the visual on our Secondary preflight check.”

“Copy that,” I said, testing my helmet mic.