Chapter One
Tanasia O’Hare
The combination of blinking lights, and monotone orders over the mental intercom system can overpower the brain at times. Making it close to impossible to follow the orders being barked at top speed. The human race may soon enough be assigned a number per person. All in the pursuit to find a more efficient method of communication.
The ship was not in utter chaos, but it could be considered so to any rookie. I have seen it in worse conditions in the past ten years that I have been a part of the space stations crew. True chaos is when we are in peril, here and now, we are only busy. The station maintenance drones buzzed above my head as I ran down the corridor. First day on my position as a field agent finally has arrived. Too my luck, I am late. The drones had been doing some metal intercom repair over the night, setting my internal clock back an hour. Only problem is that I was never able to have them chance my personal settings back along with it. My three o’clock awakening was pushed to four against my will. Now as I haul to my introgression appointment before they close down for the morning. I run praying that I will not shoot me off into space for my unintended tardiness.
“Good Morning ISS Citizens. Today is December 20, 2310. Daily announcement download in 3...2...1” an human voice, then ambient click and every citizen was invaded with knowledge. Daily and up coming events that are relevant to our individual lives flooded into our brains instantly. I knew everything from the fire outbreak in section five, to the lunch special. Every single day with the quick and privacy invading interruption of my thoughts. “Earth update in 3...2...1” following with another click and more knowledge on every little detail going on, on the primitive land beneath us . Another click for birthday announcements and the intercom shut off for the day. Unless of course there was some message from the President of the United States, or the President of the United Nations. Those messages have not occurred in two years, but on ISS, or the international Space station, they are not looked at as uncommon.
We are in charge all the earths knowledge, research and history since the beginning of time. Unfortunately, that requires almost no privacy. Messages from authority can be received through the brain’s installed intercom system to reduce hassle and confusion. Interpersonal and Work related communication other than talking takes place through microphones and listening devices disguised as piercing in the nose and in the cartilage of the ear. Which of course can be monitored at anytime by authority.
I burst thought the doors to the medical wing, took a flight of stairs down to introgression and arrived an hour late to my appointment. Sweating, cursing, and probably looking like a mess I had arrived. I stopped in the middle of the tile flooring, stale cold air swirling around me. The human medic and his accompanying drone nurse came forth to great me. No sign of urgency flashed across the doctors face, relaxing my nerves slightly.
“Happy Birthday Ms. O’Hare. Tardiness will only be excused on birthdays. Follow suit. The lab awaits.” The doctor spoke to me. Black electronic eyes bored into mine, then turned for me to follow. His thin frame proceeded down the lonely corridor, with the wheels of the drone behind me.
Walking past covered operating rooms, the reality of the situation hit me without warning. We will walk into one cold sterile operating room, I will have to lie down on the plastic bed and close my eyes to stop my internal screaming. Yet I will only have seconds before they ask me to open them so they can put the clamps on my eyes. The eyes roll backwards during sleep, and the clamps will have to come before they can knock me out cold. Only upside of being under the control and will of the surgeons, is if I don’t give them a reason to hate me, I would receive night vision along with a rare few others on the ship.
The handsome and taciturn face of the surgeon will be the last thing that I see before the drone injects me with the chemicals. It will be the last face I will see before I go from researcher, to field agent.
Field agent, where I will get to see planet Earth for the first time in my existence. The idolized status above the position of authority. The only position where you are required to get extensive introgression surgeries. What new genes I will posses frightens me, let alone the fact that I might not wake up from the surgery. Which hasn’t happened in 100 years, yet there is still the possibility.
In the ISS, there is no time to fear, no time to for hesitation, and absolutely no time for errors. So, with one last blink, swallow and thought of reassurance. I sit down on the table, as the drone carries over the lethal looking eye clamps. No turning back. Even if I did, there was no where for me to go. I am in space. with the only way down to earth in front of me.
A little idea that I just started. I am only posting the first chapter unfortunately.
The year of
ALLY
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