Shatterheart - Chapter 1

Hello! Foreword before getting into it. This is a little story I started on over the Christmas/New Year holidays to try to stay sane while dealing with various stresses (Stresses not directly caused by the holidays, but definitely amplified by them). I don't usually write Sci-Fi, so any input is appreciated if you want to offer it. As well, this is a first draft and probably has typos and odd wording here or there. It's just a little side story so I doubt I'll ever revise it, but I hope you enjoy. I'll try to put out chapters once a week or so as I finish them :)

- Chapter 1 -

Warden

Internal Interview Transcript 3490-15668b, Arya Barnes

Designation: Survivalist

Outcome: Hired

Participants: Survivalist Division Assistant Hiring Manager Caleb Orville, Survivalist Potential Hire Arya Barnes

Caleb: Please, have a seat.

Arya: Thank you.

[Barnes appears visibly nervous]

Caleb: So, I got your results back and it looks like you aced every test we put you on during interview 15668a. Our only complaint, and it’s a minor one so don’t fret, is that during team exercises you never opted for a leadership role.

Arya: I felt my skills were better utilized in other roles rather than managing a group.

Caleb: How pragmatic of you.

Arya: I’m sorry, I- [Caleb interrupts]

Caleb: Never apologize for making a good call.

[Silence as Caleb looks over file]

Caleb: So, what brings you to the Warden Federation?

Arya: My fiance. He’s a Drop Warden.

Caleb: Impressive. How did you meet your fiance?

Arya: In school. He was a field instructor during the practical survivalism course.

Caleb: May I ask his name?

Arya: David O’Brien.

Caleb: Ah, David. I actually interviewed him.

Arya: Really? How did he score on the tests?

[Caleb visibly amused]

Caleb: I’m not really allowed to discuss other hiree’s scores. But you have him beat in a few spots.

[Caleb clears throat and resumes business posturing]

Caleb: As we were. What motivated you to become a Survivalist in the first place? Prior to meeting David.

Arya: The idea of exploring the universe and being the first to discover whole planets of new plants and animals.

Caleb: And how much time would you intend on spending on each mission?

Arya: David said survivalist deployments usually last three to five years, so anywhere in that bracket?

Caleb: Solid answers across the board. Do you have any questions for me?

Arya: How likely is it that David and I can be placed on the same missions?

Caleb: As the Commander of his unit, David will have to put forth a request for you to join his team, from there, you just have to accept the request. We don’t have any policy forbidding relationships between employees and it is actually encouraged during long deployments.

[Caleb taps several times on his tablet]

Caleb: Actually, it looks like he’s already posted his official request.

[Arya is visibly excited]

Caleb: Welcome to the Warden Federacy, Survivalist Arya Barnes.

[Interview concluded.]

“This isn’t good,” sighed Calvin Hopkins, clearing the transcript from the screen of his tablet before laying it gingerly on the massive table before him. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his forehead, his broad shoulders rising as he takes a deep breath.

He was a large man, about fifty pounds overweight, dressed in a finely tailored black suit with a beet red tie. His head of peppered black and gray hair was combed back and held loosely by a thin coating of gel. Along the massive black table were lined twenty four other similarly dressed and well manicured men and women. The boardroom was dead silent, no one even moved.

“Sir?” asked a man to his right. He was an elderly, slender man with more white hair on his eyebrows than on the rest of his head.

“After the incident early last week that took the lives of Drop Unit Balto, it was brought to our attention that Unit Commander David O’Brien has a fiance employed with us as a Survivalist. She was queued to join Balto next week after the unit finished their flyby of Shatter B2 and then they were setting out to a Sector 7 planet,” Hopkins said, his deep voice carrying through the room easily without raising his volume.

“How were they lost? Do we have more information yet?” piped up a young woman near the other end of the table, rising halfway from her chair to speak before sitting back down.

“It seems the gravitational field of the Shatter shifted since their last revolution and they were caught in it and pulled down,” replied yet another suited man, this one considerably younger than both Hopkins and his elderly right hand man. He stood up straight from the table, one hand on the button of his jacket. His hair was pitch black and slicked back against his scalp, the sides shaved close to his skin.

“Do we have confirmation or is it only theory?” the woman responded stiffly, refusing to look at the man speaking.

“Drop Unit Odynhammer was accompanying them on the revolution in a separate shuttle. They were traveling at a distance when they witnessed Balto being pulled down toward the Shatter and adjusted course before they could hit the gravitational field,” the man replied, glancing back to Hopkins who nodded to him. With that, he resumed his seat.

“Is their shuttle entry capable?” asked another board member, a massive man with arms like tree trunks. His suit could barely contain him and a flat top atop his head matched with his square jaw and tattooed hands.

“Yes, but we have no idea what the interior of the Shatter’s atmosphere is like. For all we know, they were torn apart the instant they entered or they’re sitting safely on one of the fragments of land,” replied the young man again, rising once more from his chair, his gray eyes fixating on the much larger man, “Once any electronic enters the Shatter, it is lost from contact and irretrievable as far as we can tell.”

“So there will be no retrieval mission?” the soldier asked angrily, rising from his chair, “Don’t you dare tell me we’re leaving those men and women to die, Burkley!” his volume grew as he talked, finishing his sentence with an accusatory finger pointed at the young man.

“We’re getting there, Hanson,” Hopkins said before Burkley could respond, heaving himself up from his chair to stand over the head of the board table, “Survivalist Barnes, the fiance of Commander O’Brien, has made a special request to enter the Shatter, voluntarily, to try to reach Drop Unit Balto.”

“Absolutely not, we’ve already lost a shuttle and a full unit. We can’t send another survivalist! Not to mention the cost of a stocked rescue pod!” shouted a frazzled looking old woman at the other end of the table, jamming a finger down on the table’s surface with the click of a perfectly shaped and painted nail.

“The cost of a pod is nothing compared to the lives of our men,” the soldier, Hanson, shouted back, standing from his chair again, towering over his neighbors.

“It’s a suicide mission, literally. Nothing comes out of the Shatter but static!” argued a slender man, leaned back comfortably, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingertips forming a teepee. He wore a pair of thin glasses and a quickly thinning comb over.

“The RnD department has a slew of new ideas that require a human element to work around the limitations of the Shatter. If the mission is successful, we could see some answers to the mysteries presented to us,” Burkley interjected, “And without the bad press of finding someone to volunteer to go in. This has the makings of a heroic story, a woman braving the dangers of unknown space to save her lost love? Tell me that doesn’t scream public approval!”

The boardroom fell silent once more, the only sound coming from the soldier’s clinking dog tags as he eased himself back down into his chair. Everyone sat pensively for a time, mulling over the options.

“We’ll take a vote, whether to sanction and equip Survivalist Barnes’ rescue expedition or not. Voting will be anonymous,” Hopkins finally called, waving a hand. From beside the wide double doors an aid stepped up to the table, laying a piece of paper and a short pencil in front of each of the twenty four board members and finally the chairman, Hopkins.

The voting went on silently, each member scribbling ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ on their paper before folding it and handing it off to the aid. After they were all collected, the young woman brought the stack of papers up to Hopkins. With a polite nod, he took the stack and began shifting through it, placing them in two piles as he counted the votes. Slowly, he laid the last board vote down, bringing the piles to twelve each. No one spoke, all eyes glued on the final piece of paper, Hopkin’s own vote, laid face down to the side. Solemnly, he picked it up and placed it in the right-hand pile.

“The ayes have it,” he said loudly, the room immediately bursting into a flurry of shouting, arguing, and pleading, “Quiet!” Hopkins boomed, slamming a fist down on the table with a crash, the whole table shaking violently, a glass of water nearly falling over. Everyone froze, faces turning to the chairman, “The vote has been cast. Survivalist Barnes’ mission is approved. There will be no more discussion over whether the mission takes place, but rather what we can do to help it succeed.”

“I’ll have the drop pod loaded and see what changes the engineers want to make,” Burkley said formally before giving a curt bow and walking quickly out of the room.

Hopkins let out a long sigh as everyone followed suit, rising from the table and meandering their way out of the room. Parties on opposite sides of the argument shot annoyed glares at their fellow board members on their way. Eventually, he was alone with the aid as she gathered up water glasses and the pile of votes. He scooped up a black wood cane from where it rested against the edge of the table and limped his way over to the vast window behind his chair. With the rubber stopper on the end, he jabbed a small glowing touchscreen panel on the wall, the light on it flicking from red to green. With the soft whirring of motors, the thick metal slats over the glass were lifted to reveal the starry expanse of space.

In the speckled void floated a massive, blindingly bright anomaly. It looked to have been a planet at one point, patches of green and blue indicating forests and oceans while some darker areas appeared mountainous. The entire surface of the planet had been torn asunder, a strange purple and pink light spewing forth from deep canyons across its surface, obscuring the land with a fog of light and radiation. It looked as if the planet had somehow detonated, the core exploding outward into space before becoming frozen in time, mid-destruction, leaving thousands of miles wide segments of land floating inside of its powerful gravitational pull. As Hopkins watched it, the land slowly shifted, moving as if liquid around the center.

It was a Shatter, one of four that had been discovered across the universe since the Warp Drive had been invented in the late 2050s, allowing for faster than light intergalactic travel. It existed in a strange ‘dead’ area of space where no asteroids, planets, or stars were ever projected to move and somehow maintained a static position in the universe, fixed and unmoving. Every identifiable celestial body moved, rotated, swam through space as if in a river, all but the Shatters. No one could see what was beyond the strange atmosphere to answer the obvious questions about its origin. Even the most powerful telescopes returned nonsensical, kaleidoscopic pictures and any sensor or craft sent down to it seemingly vanished into thin air the moment it fell into the Shatter’s gravitational pull. The only way to observe it seemed to be by physically flying as close as possible, taking readings on the space surrounding it and trying to see as much detail as possible from the windows of the craft.

Gingerly, Hopkins reached out and placed his palm on the glass, over the Shatter, and closed his eyes. His well maintained nails were a pale yellow, a small blotch of blood on the stark white shirt cuff that protruded from his jacket sleeve. He had just closed his eyes, his mind wandering off into a daydream, when a voice brought him back to reality.

“Chairman Hopkins,” said a nasally man’s voice, seemingly coming from everywhere, speakers in the corners of the room broadcasting him.

“Director Maynard,” Hopkins sighed, his eyelids dragging open tiredly as he rolled his eyes.

“It has come to the Board of Director’s attention that you intend on sending a manned pod into a Shatter?” he sounded irritated.

“My, what a coincidence!” Hopkins said with fake enthusiasm, turning away from the window and limping back to his chair, “It has come to my attention that there’s a whiny backbiter on my Local Board who bitches to the Board of Directors any time a vote doesn’t go their way!”

“Hopkins, this is no time for jokes,” replied the annoyed Maynard.

“Who’s joking?” Hopkins chuckled, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, “Now what do you want, Director Maynard?”

“Every other branch of Warden has abandoned Shatters until scientific advancement is deemed sufficient enough to reengage with them and we encourage you to do the same,” Maynard said loudly, “Your insistence on remaining near B2 has already cost us billions in sensory equipment, shuttles, and insurance payouts. Nearly fifty Warden employees have lost their lives in that Shatter since you took leadership of Local Board 18! And for what? What have you accomplished?”

“My job as Chairman of Local Board 18 is to ensure that Warden is at the cutting edge of space exploration and advancement, in case you’ve forgotten,” Hopkins replied in a low, rumbling voice, “If that means working at a location for a few years to maintain our dominance in the field, then so be it. But I will not give up on the Shatter. It hides secrets the universe will pay handsomely to own and I will be the one to bring them to Warden.”

“The Board of Directors will be voting on a motion to remove you from your chair next week. If successful, you will be demoted to a Local Board member.” Maynard said, matter of factly, “Have your affairs in order,” and the line went dead.

Hopkins leaned back in his chair, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, a thin trickle of blood peeking out of his nose.