Assume test
A very short Sci Fi story - when the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of the crew of a single ship.
Image by SIMON LEE in Unsplash.
From their silent orbit the desert below was a scar across the verdant world, its edges frayed into gold and green plains, shining its own light into the sky. Near the coast the jungles were only broken by the dark smudges of cities and the clean barren fields that stretched for hundreds of miles as two wide continents faced each other over a bright green ocean.
Nick moved the camera, zooming in over the edges of the other continent and searching for signs of… anything. He could barely distinguish the military base from the surroundings. Day after day the ship drifted in orbit, forgotten by the world, and he watched for the telltale signs of impending devastation. He’d never expected to be this bored when he was drafted more than five years ago, but this was all he knew how to do.
“Course correction in three…” Captain Hughin counted down.
In the darkness of the bridge Nick was pushed gently against the restraints of his chair for a few seconds, before he was floating freely again in the zero-G. A single burst to stabilize their orbit. The only light in the crowded room was from the displays where data flowed constantly.
“Trajectory achieved,” Hairy Erik said. “Next adjustment in around three months. Starting the countdown.”
“Good,” the Captain said. “Erik, it’s your shift.”
The Captain unstrapped, navigating out from beneath the cluster of screens that hung above his chair and making for his quarters.
“So,” Erik said with his usual smirk as soon as the Captain was gone. “Cards?”
“Can’t,” Nick replied. “This frozen screen is too entertaining.”
Erik chuckled, before the all too familiar silence settled.
“Have I told you guys about that time I went skiing?” Roger rumbled from the corner.
They all knew the story and it wasn’t even a good one. Roger grumbled on as Nick watched the screens, the fate of an entire nation, of an entire world, resting on them.
Inside the shower cocoon Nick rubbed his arm with the damp sponge, scraping off the sweat. Once done, he placed it back into the little pocket marked with his name. Warm dry air blasted from all sides. When the hurricane came to a stop, he exited. In the sudden silence alarms were blaring. He rushed forward, scrambling from handhold to handhold, still naked and humid, stumbling across the corridors towards the bridge.
“Single launch,” Hairy Erik was saying as Nick got into his seat.
“Coordinates?” Nick asked as he strapped into his station.
Data flowed into his consoles. He watched the coordinates as the system tracked the expected trajectory.
“No visual confirmation,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel. Every time it was the same, the most boring job in the world until it wasn’t.
“Secondary data coming in now, no signals from the ground,” Roger added.
Nick switched from the expected flight trajectory to the coordinates where the launch was detected. A sprawling base set in a plateau surrounded by mountains and bright enough to see in the night: an enemy stronghold, much like the ones in his own country.
“Origin point is not a known grade-A site,” he said.
“Estimates?” the Captain asked.
“Low probability,” Hairy Erik said. “Expected impact site over water. The flight path is erratic.”
“Another test?” the Captain mused out loud.
“No activity from the ground, neither our side nor theirs” Nick reported.
“No other launches. Quiet in orbit,” Erik added.
“Assume test, but don’t get complacent. Track it. Be ready to input your codes. Nukes going hot.”
They watched the missile disappear into nothing, gone from all their sensors deep in the ocean. A test, but cold sweat still dripped down his back even as the ship slowly wound back down into stealth mode.
Nick stepped out of the airlock into the endless void. He hated this part. It reminded him how small he truly was.
With small bursts of air he maneuvered away from the ship until the tether was taut. Following the coordinates in his visor he positioned himself carefully, tiny jets to position him at the exact spot. Finally in place, he retrieved the metal canister from a pocket and held it out in front of his face, aligning it perfectly with his sensors.
Delicately, so as not to tilt it, he released the canister.
“Packet in position,” he told the crew over the comms.
A little burst of air from the floating cylinder and the canister sped away, soon lost in the darkness. The report was on its way to the rendezvous while the ship stayed hidden. Nick pulled on the tether back to the ship. The craft had no shine to it, a black smear and curving gentle angles flattened into a disk. Even the engines were hidden beneath panes, an invisible mote drifting dark.
They all gathered in the tiny kitchen, floating against the walls.
“We’ve been stuck on this ship for two years now,” the Captain said, extracting bags of yellow juice from a satchel and handing them out. “We need to celebrate.”
Nick took a sip from his. “Beer?!”
They all tasted the packets and soon the room was filled with unusual laughter.
“Launch,” Erik shouted from his chair in the control room.
Nick was almost asleep but his hand immediately thumped the button to sound the alarm.
“Planning trajectory, hold for coordinates.”
Data streamed into his console and he was suddenly wide awake.
“No visual confirmation,” Nick said. “Expected to go suborbital. Waiting for resolution.”
The Captain and Roger barreled into the room and settled into their stations.
“Second launch,” Roger announced. “Third. Fourth. Multiple incoming.”
“Atmosphere breach, visual confirmation,” Nick said.
“Profile?” the Captain asked.
“Partial match with known ICBM,” Nick said. “Analyses inconclusive. Launch from grade-A and B sites.”
“Reported moderate probability of nuclear capability,” Erik said.
“High comparative activity on launch sites,” Roger added. “No new launches.”
“Impact location?” the Captain asked.
“Estimating…” Erik said as the silence stretched. “The Capital. Several impacts within a ten kilometer range.”
Nick felt cold sinking down into his stomach.
“Input your codes, weapons hot,” the Captain announced.
“Wait,” Nick said. “Why only four launches? This can’t be a first strike.”
“What else would it be? They are targeted to the Capital,” the Captain said. “Input your codes, now.”
Nick’s hand hovered over the console.
“Nick!” the Captain shouted.
“We need to be sure. If we retaliate with nukes–”
“What you need to do is follow orders. Input your codes. Procedure is clear, we need to retaliate before it is too late.”
“Not yet,” Nick said. “We need to wait. We need to be certain… Contact the ground teams.”
“We can’t break cover,” Erik said. “Not now. The procedures exist for a reason.”
“Enough of this,” Roger said. He unstrapped and floated over to Nick, pointing a thick finger in his face. “Follow the training. Multiple nuclear capable launches, projected to hit the Capital. What is the response in this scenario?”
“What if we are wrong?” Nick said. “Why would they only launch four missiles? Think! If it was a pre-emptive strike there should be hundreds. If we are wrong–”
The Captain loomed over him. “Do as you are told, soldier. You need to input those codes now.”
Nick stared at the screens. All projections uncertain. He had no data with which to argue, only a feeling deep down, a fear of unleashing something that could not be contained.
“I refuse,” Nick said.
They watched the missiles streak across the sky.
“Please, Nick!” the Captain shouted as Erik hammered his fists into a console.
Anti-missile systems fired. One flare. Two.
Impact.
And again.
All eyes were on the devastation that followed.
But no mushrooming clouds rose into the atmosphere.
Relief flooded him. He’d been right. But that wouldn’t stop them.
Something crashed into his face with a crack. Blood flew in thick globules.
“Traitor!” Roger shouted as the Captain tried to pull him back.
They locked him in his bunk with handcuffs. He waited. They brought him food and water, but by the next morning Nick was streaking across the atmosphere in a shuttle. The craft bobbed in the still waters, steam rising in clouds, as he tried to balance on the airlock. The boat coasted up to him and he jumped on, hand raised to block the blue glare of the midday sun. Marines faced him with heavyset faces.
“Hands out,” an officer ordered.
Nick put out his hands for the handcuffs. They hauled him across the waters, across bumpy roads and dark tunnels, cuffed and bound to the floor with a sack on his head. Then they made a show of him, a parade across the seething streets of the hit Capital where mobs waited for the culprit. Rocks and worse hit him from all sides in an endless barrage that made him thankful for the dark dampness of his cell when it finally arrived.
The end.
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Wow! This is right up my street. Thanks so much. Gotta admit, though. I’m a sucker for a character called Nick🙂
I really enjoyed it. The technical language is very well integrated and it highlights the action beautifully.