Read Online The Origami Dragon And Other Tales by C. H. Aalberry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. H. Aalberry
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off.
“I need you to
work this weekend,” said the shadow minster impatiently.
“I did last
weekend, and the one before. Can’t Jen do it?” suggested Ti,
knowing that it was a futile suggestion. Jen was the shadow
minster’s second aide, but also his favourite niece.
“It’s Jen’s
sister’s birthday, and she can’t miss it. I pay you more than Jen,
so I expect more from you!”
“But-”
protested Ti to the shadow minster’s back.
He turned his
screen back on, and was surprised to see the journalist still
there.
“Sorry,” said
Ti, but she waved his apology away and pointed at the bottom of the
screen.
Ti saw a window
labelled TruthSearch. He didn’t recognise it, but he knew what it
was. He read the sentences and number displayed in the window.
“Jen doesn’t
have a sister!” he said angrily.
“And she gets
paid more than you,” said the journalist.
Ti was furious,
but not completely surprised.
“So... any
plans for the weekend, then?” the journalist asked with a wink.
The Anomaly
Matthew was an
astronaut (1st Class) and was highly trained for the rigours of
space work. He was fit, experienced and smart. He had a Ph.D. in
physics and another in existential philosophy. Decades of rigorous
mental and physical training had put him at the peak of his
performance, the best of the best in a competitive field. He should
have been on one of the explorations around the sun, or manning one
of the first hyperdrive flights.
He should have
been testing something, winning something, leading something. He
should have been doing something, anything, to justify all that
training. The station’s crew consisted of Matt and a second
astronaut, Chen, who was equally as qualified for working in space,
and equally annoyed at their assignment.
“Does it ever
worry you?” Matt asked Chen one day.
“Which bit? The
Anomaly? The fact that this is station is Observer Three, but I
have never heard of a One or a Two? The fact that I’m spending a
year of my life babysitting a ruined and archaic space station in a
forgotten corner of the solar system with a man who ate my whole
week’s chocolate ration while I was asleep?” Chen said
cheerfully.
Matt said
nothing; he still felt a little guilty about the theft.
“It worries
me,” said Chen, now serious.
Neither Matt
nor Chen felt that they deserved to be stuck changing fuses in the
half-abandoned shell of the universe’s worst space station, but
that was exactly how they spent their days. As punishment for
stealing Chen’s chocolate, Matt had agreed to change any fuse that
broke for three full days. He hung in the air, shoulder deep in an
air filtration unit. It was a particularly hard fuse to get to, and
he groaned as he pulled himself deeper into the electronic heart of
the machine. He pushed his arm behind a foam insulation pad and
felt around for the fusebox.
“Found it,” he
said to himself.
He pulled out
the faulty fuse, threw it gently over his shoulder and replaced it
with a fresh unit. Then he packed the insulation back in place and
slid out backwards, curling up into a ball in the air and then
stretching each of his limbs out as far as they would go. He swam
awkwardly towards a wall, and then pushed off towards the corridor,
scooping up the broken fuse as he did so.
“Fuses!” he
cursed, wondering who on Earth still used them.
Whoever built
Observer Station 3 must have owned shares in a fuse factory. They
were in every life-support and sensor system, and seemingly always
breaking. Matt replaced dozens a day, and cursed every time he
opened a new box of the things.
Keeping the
station running was a full time job, and there was always something
to fix or replace.
Fuses!
Insulation made from foam! Doors that were opened by pulling on
heavy levers! Matt had never seen such things in nearly two decades
of working in space. It seemed to him that the Observer Station had
been built by neurotic amateurs from parts they had found
“I need you to
work this weekend,” said the shadow minster impatiently.
“I did last
weekend, and the one before. Can’t Jen do it?” suggested Ti,
knowing that it was a futile suggestion. Jen was the shadow
minster’s second aide, but also his favourite niece.
“It’s Jen’s
sister’s birthday, and she can’t miss it. I pay you more than Jen,
so I expect more from you!”
“But-”
protested Ti to the shadow minster’s back.
He turned his
screen back on, and was surprised to see the journalist still
there.
“Sorry,” said
Ti, but she waved his apology away and pointed at the bottom of the
screen.
Ti saw a window
labelled TruthSearch. He didn’t recognise it, but he knew what it
was. He read the sentences and number displayed in the window.
“Jen doesn’t
have a sister!” he said angrily.
“And she gets
paid more than you,” said the journalist.
Ti was furious,
but not completely surprised.
“So... any
plans for the weekend, then?” the journalist asked with a wink.
The Anomaly
Matthew was an
astronaut (1st Class) and was highly trained for the rigours of
space work. He was fit, experienced and smart. He had a Ph.D. in
physics and another in existential philosophy. Decades of rigorous
mental and physical training had put him at the peak of his
performance, the best of the best in a competitive field. He should
have been on one of the explorations around the sun, or manning one
of the first hyperdrive flights.
He should have
been testing something, winning something, leading something. He
should have been doing something, anything, to justify all that
training. The station’s crew consisted of Matt and a second
astronaut, Chen, who was equally as qualified for working in space,
and equally annoyed at their assignment.
“Does it ever
worry you?” Matt asked Chen one day.
“Which bit? The
Anomaly? The fact that this is station is Observer Three, but I
have never heard of a One or a Two? The fact that I’m spending a
year of my life babysitting a ruined and archaic space station in a
forgotten corner of the solar system with a man who ate my whole
week’s chocolate ration while I was asleep?” Chen said
cheerfully.
Matt said
nothing; he still felt a little guilty about the theft.
“It worries
me,” said Chen, now serious.
Neither Matt
nor Chen felt that they deserved to be stuck changing fuses in the
half-abandoned shell of the universe’s worst space station, but
that was exactly how they spent their days. As punishment for
stealing Chen’s chocolate, Matt had agreed to change any fuse that
broke for three full days. He hung in the air, shoulder deep in an
air filtration unit. It was a particularly hard fuse to get to, and
he groaned as he pulled himself deeper into the electronic heart of
the machine. He pushed his arm behind a foam insulation pad and
felt around for the fusebox.
“Found it,” he
said to himself.
He pulled out
the faulty fuse, threw it gently over his shoulder and replaced it
with a fresh unit. Then he packed the insulation back in place and
slid out backwards, curling up into a ball in the air and then
stretching each of his limbs out as far as they would go. He swam
awkwardly towards a wall, and then pushed off towards the corridor,
scooping up the broken fuse as he did so.
“Fuses!” he
cursed, wondering who on Earth still used them.
Whoever built
Observer Station 3 must have owned shares in a fuse factory. They
were in every life-support and sensor system, and seemingly always
breaking. Matt replaced dozens a day, and cursed every time he
opened a new box of the things.
Keeping the
station running was a full time job, and there was always something
to fix or replace.
Fuses!
Insulation made from foam! Doors that were opened by pulling on
heavy levers! Matt had never seen such things in nearly two decades
of working in space. It seemed to him that the Observer Station had
been built by neurotic amateurs from parts they had found
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