A selection from "John's List" by Brent Knowles

John’s List

by Brent Knowles

T

he gas flowing into John Seven’s lungs brought with it several lifetimes
of yesterdays and the warm intensity of those memories dragged him
deeply into the distant past. Rhonda’s face surfaced in his mind, her eyes as wide as the galaxy he traveled in search of her.

How many centuries ago?

Holding hands...and then above them, Luna’s sky darkening as they dropped en masse; an interstellar locust cloud. Stunned into silence, John and Rhonda staring upward...a bat-like creature the size of a house unfurling its wings with a rapid snap. The force of air expelled by the gesture knocking both to the ground and separating the lover’s hands.

A mad scramble for cover beneath the crawler, but Rhonda is too slow. The creature leaps forward, almost angelic in its grace, and pulls Rhonda into its membranous folds, tight and clear inner wings closing over her. Imprisoning her. And then...gone. The warmth of her touch only a chiseled memory.

John’s stomach churned and though he had vowed to himself that he would last longer this time he ended the session prematurely — he did not have the strength to battle ancient memories.John Seven wiped at his teary eyes as he pulled the spongy memory-mask away from his mouth, a whiff of ozone and jasmine tickling his nostrils. He undid the chair straps and floated to the door. With a resigned shrug, he returned to his duties as captain, one of only a handful who knew how close they were to finishing the mission.

The Vigilant was a Lewis-class interplanetary research vessel, unsuited for long-range interstellar travel but modified for its current quest. The engines drew their power from a nuclear reactor, permitting the starship to move into deepest space.

When the Swarm had struck, humankind had been taking its first baby steps into space, beginning to reach for the stars but unable to grasp them. The original John had never considered the implications of boldly pursuing his stolen bride. He had, if ship gossip were to be believed, stolen the Vigilant for his mad quest.

Six spherical ‘stations’, each connected to Engineering’s bulky, square body by way of access tunnels (or pencil-tubes as the crew called them) housed the various operations of the Vigilant. Centuries of space flight had battered the spheres but Engineering kept them functional. The sphere’s technical specializations had long ago turned social and now represented a loose caste system. John Seven stared out one of Engineering’s portholes at the vastness of space sliding past him.

“You look lost, sir.”

John Seven turned to Chung Six, surprised to see the old man at an instrument panel, his fingers not as deft as those of his replacement. The younger Chung manned the chief engineer’s console above them.

“You’re retired Chung.”

“I still do my duty, sir. It’s not my fault that the medicals misdiagnosed me!” He tugged at his beard and glared upwards, his voice lowered, “He might be young but he has no experience, I’ll tell you.”

“But he will learn,” John Seven said, amazed at how tenaciously the elder Chung clung to life, “And you will rest well knowing that you leave the Vigilant in good hands. Remember: ‘We are all born empty and must be filled.’” He forced himself to keep his eyes locked with Chung’s.

“Yes sir, but by my Original I just wish he would catch on faster, you know?”

John Seven smiled slightly. Did not all fathers expect perfection from their sons? But that was the crux; none of them were fathers or sons. What did that make them then? If John Original could see what his single-mindedness had created... would it have stopped him? The bastard probably wouldn’t have cared.

With a nod John Seven turned and propelled himself to the bridge by way of the handrails that lined the foremost pencil-tube. Sweat dotted his brow, the journey took less than five minutes but it bothered him more than usual today. He had never walked on a planet but at times, usually after a disturbing memory session, he felt weighed down by the cramped confines of his starship.

He heard the shouting long before he reached the bridge.

“You can’t replace me!” Tammy’s voice. Her long blond ponytail floated straight above her like an exclamation point as she turned in her bucket chair and shouted angrily at John’s second in command. Portwell Seven was clean-shaven and large; an imposing figure, both in height and thickness. He stood in front of the captain’s chair atop the upper level of the bridge and barked harshly at Tammy. As John floated to the commander’s level he saw that Hastings Eight, all nine years of himself and dressed in the gray robe of a communication’s officer, was hovering in front of Tammy, his feet tucked under a metal u-bracket to keep from drifting away. His hands he held pressed against his sides.

“What is going on?” John tried to sound commanding, but Portwell did not bother to look in his captain’s direction.

“I’ve asked this Prototype to begin training Hastings. She has refused. Disobeying a direct order from a commanding officer is a punishable offence. Captain.”

Tammy’s head bobbed with her indignation. “He’s just a kid. He can’t be expected-”

John said, “You are dismissed from the bridge.” She nodded briskly and left.

“Hastings,” Portwell said, “assume your station.” A kid at the comm? Ridiculous but now unavoidable.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

“At your convenience. Captain.”

John followed Tammy into the pencil-tube, making sure he closed the hatch between tube and bridge. He needed privacy; there was enough gossip floating around the station about them.

“Tammy!”

He saw her blond head near the exit point of the tube. She ignored him.

“Private!”

She stopped, turned and waited for him to drift to her. She looked close to tears but in his experience he knew they were not of the mournful variety. Her lip trembled in suppressed rage.

“He has no respect for me. He’s always calling me a Prototype, like I had any drifting choice in that. Hastings at the comm? That’s insulting. It is Portwell’s fault that Hastings Seven died-”

“Enough. You will be back on the bridge tomorrow. I will speak with Portwell about this.”

Tammy said, “Will you. Really? Because this back and forth, report to the bridge, oh, now you are dismissed shit is really starting to piss me off.”

He said, “They think you’re bad luck.”

She made a face. An unpleasant face. “And doesn’t that worry you? That the unscientific belief that Prototypes are bad luck has persisted in a crew full of scientists? A Prototype’s parents are punished enough. Why should I-”

“Tammy, we have no parents. You are the result of an unfortunate coupling between two very irresponsible crewmembers. Crewmembers who have now been generation demoted. Remember the List.”

Tammy’s sour expression told him what she thought of John Original’s List. Each message on the List could only be unlocked after a particular event:

1) Respect. For when a new captain assumes command.

2) Dedication. For when the Swarm is encountered.

3) Accomplishment. For when Rhonda is recovered.

All captains and crew had read the first message. It discussed the reverence to the Originals, the first crew, that John demanded. Tammy’s parents had been severely reprimanded for disobeying this rule and their clones would require several generations of dedicated effort to be restored to their Original’s rank

Only John Two had seen the contents of the second entry. The third no one had read.

“Toss the List, John. It ain’t right. The man I grew up with, the man I knew, is better than this. I was the only Prototype in our age group and you accepted me. But now you’re becoming like Portwell. How long, you think, before he kills another Hastings? Before you do?”

“It was my order that cost Hastings Seven his-”

“You spoke the order but Portwell gave it. He — and the List — they rule you.”

John looked down, unable to hold her gaze. “As captain I have responsibilities. We’re no longer babysitting children in the nursery, pretending the impossible.”

“I have never seen you happier since then. You are not a captain. You are a father.”

John thought it unwise for her to see the tears starting to well in his eyes and so he turned away from her.

“You are dismissed. Go to your quarters.”

“Go to hell.”Her exit was less than dignified as she floated down the tube.