Savage By Nature Read online

  “What will be our tour’s schedule for tomorrow?” Ngo asked. “Or has it not been decided yet?”

  “Yes, in fact, it has.” Cassel nodded. “First, you all will be led to the bridge by myself, and given a linear tour of the sectors we pass en route. After the bridge, Ikabu here will guide you to the security center, and lastly lead you to the main labs, where Asher will take over the tour. Given, this will all be divided by meals—after the bridge, it will be close to lunch time, which is noon. Whence you’ll get the crash-course of the main cafeteria. After this Ikabu will take lead, and depending on how long that takes you might have time for dinner at six before Asher wraps up the day.”

  “Ah, thank you,” Ngo said with a nod of gratification. “Good to know.”

  Cassel gave a small smile in return, then looked over the other documenters’ intrigued faces. Most of them were deep in thought, probably trying to probe their own minds for questions to ask that wouldn’t be given mid-tour. Afterall, by then they’ll have their PDA’s and taking notes would be easier than ever. Most PDA’s have the option of audio recording, too, which meant that the documenters could easily record what their guide was saying then dissect it later.

  In conjunction with this deep thought process was the interruption of consumption. They were all starving for quality food, and this tiny cafeteria’s self-serving counter had offered plenty of just that.

  “I have one,” Godunov asked, his voice undoubtedly the most imposing of all the documenters. Once Cassel gave him the cordial go-ahead nod, Godunov posed his question. “What are the lifeboat capabilities aboard the Manticore?”

  “Ikabu?” Cassel said with a raise of her eyebrows, looking left. “Care to take this one?”

  As if pulling himself from a deep slumber, Ikabu took some time to orient himself to the question.

  “Yes, well, the Manticore—being such a massive vessel—requires sufficient emergency protocols. As you may already know, based on your well-worded question, the USRD prefers the term ‘lifeboat’ versus ‘escape-pod,’ although space stations often use the latter. Nonetheless—tomato, tomahto. In the event of a critical hull-breach or other crisis, the Manticore will sound an alarm and via sequenced panel illuminations, passengers will be guided to the emergency disembarking zones, or EDZ’s. There are fifteen of these on the vessel—six portside and starboard each, one astern and two directly below the bridge. In each EDZ there are three Valkyrie-2 lifeboats, a model I imagine you all are rather familiar with. They can carry up to two individuals, face-to-face, in secure bracket-harnesses. Upon ejection from the Manticore, they activate a distress beacon as well as an autopilot system that will guide them to the nearest United Systems spacecraft. In this case that’d be Dingir, which at the moment—considering our location—wouldn’t be the wisest direction to take. Fortunately, much like the Manticore itself, these Valkyrie-2’s have collision precautions that keep them from becoming wreckage. In addition to the beacons in each lifeboat, as well as oxygen reserves lasting up to a week and another week’s worth of stasis capability, upon ejection the Manticore itself automatically broadcasts an emergency communication. This sort of ‘cry for help’ makes sure that everyone in the surrounding galaxies knows of our crisis.”

  As Ikabu got further into his answer to the question, he clearly garnered pride, as if he was the sole one responsible for the Manticore’s design.

  Regardless, his explanation was ample.

  “Thank you, Ikabu, I must say…very impressive.” Godunov was nodding and smiling like a child opening his birthday presents.

  “I have a sort of silly question, if I may?” Baxter asked.

  “If it’s truly silly,” Cassel said with a rare grin, “I’ll let Asher answer—as you can obviously tell, he’s the Manticore’s comic relief.”

  Ikabu and Fischer chuckled at this. Asher forced a smirk and rolled his eyes, reclining in his seat with arms crossed.

  “Right, well,” Baxter smiled, then cleared her throat. “Why is it that nobody refers to the Manticore as a ‘she’? Just about every other ship—vessel, I mean, sorry—that I’ve been on is regarded as a female persona among their crew.”

  “Hmm, I guess I’ll take this one,” Cassel said, sitting forward. “See, the Manticore is just that—a spacecraft. A vessel of uncanny capabilities, and a research agenda so heavily funded and supported by the USRD that it can only be what it is and nothing less. Some often view that personifying a vessel as such might distract personnel or simply detract from its truest definition. Then you must take into account its name. The “manticore” is a legendary creature of Persian folklore, depicted with the body of a lion, a human head, shark-like teeth, bat wings, a snake tail, and trumpeting voice. While a very hostile and malevolent creature of myth, the manticore is chimeric in nature and so is this vessel. A research spacecraft indeed, but capable of so much more. We have to learn to appreciate what it is, structurally, before we slap colloquial labels on it. And no worries, Miss Baxter, I grasp the casual nature of your question. Some of the crew still give it a female designation, but rest assured the Captain and general personnel are obstinate to keep it genderless.”

  Baxter nodded in more ways than one and acted appreciative of the elaborate response, although Felina felt that it was gratuitous.

  Even the question itself.

  This said, Felina couldn’t conjure any questions on her behalf. She preferred just to eat, get some rest, and then give her full attention to the tour tomorrow.

  Afterall, the ten-day countdown didn’t begin until then.

  She noticed a hand raised to her right, on the other side of Ngo. It was Wisniewski, like a shy grade-schooler.

  “Shoot,” Cassel said with a beckoning bow of her head.

  “Um,” Wisniewski gathered his thoughts into words. “How…and how often, that is, are supplies recycled and replenished aboard the Manticore? Beyond the vessel, I mean.”

  “Asher?” Cassel leaned forward to look down the table.

  “Ah, um…” Asher stopped reclining and dropped his crossed arms. He cleared his throat before speaking with a slightly dazed tone. “Well, it’s a biweekly jaunt by the USRD, typically from the Dingir no matter how far out we are. Sometimes, in previous years, it has been from other vessels at a closer range than the Dingir—but never the entire spacecraft, just a supply shuttle. They dock, and the necessary waste is transferred for proper disposal and recycling, as well as our replenishment of supplies.”

  Seeming to zone out in between staring at his forked food and tapping his cheek while ruminating, Wisniewski thanked Asher for the response. Asher nodded a few times and looked at his wristwatch, a black-banded digital readout. After this, his gaze danced around the room.

  Felina grew warier of him.

  After Wisniewski’s question, none followed for the next ten minutes. The most common sound amongst them was that of mastication, until the first person finished—Calloway, not to anyone’s surprise—stood and awkwardly asked what to do with his tray.

  “You can just leave it on the self-serving counter,” Fischer took initiative to answer. “This late at night, the necessary crew will just tend to it before bed.”

  Calloway smiled and nodded, passing behind the right side of the table to reach the self-serving counter. His tray clattered on the steel and he left his utensils there, too, then wiped his hands with the napkin that was offered before disposing of it in a bin to the side.

  As he slowly returned to his seat, Godunov and Baez stood to follow in suit. Schuman was third, Felina and Zometa next. Eventually everyone had finished eating, and there was little to no time for palaver before Cassel stood to dismiss her colleagues.

  The other three Manticore crewmembers bid the documenters a goodnight, Ikabu saying that he looked forward to tomorrow’s tour. Asher, however, said nothing of the like and was the first to depart from the group.

  Then Cassel led the documenters out of the secondary cafeteria and into the corridor.

/>   “Your quarters are located portside, down one level, to the rear of and beneath the scientists’ lodging. To better accommodate our personnel and reduce the amount of cross-traffic, lodging is partitioned by sector.” As Cassel spoke, continuing to lead them down a thinly congested corridor with minor turns in it, she kept a fast pace with her back to them. “So, the lab associates—or scientists, like Asher—are all together, separate rooms of course. Security personnel, practitioners, bridge crew, between staff, and technicians all have their individual lodging areas. You, meanwhile, will be in the visitor’s quarters, astern of the technicians but forward of the between staff, who are always last to bed at night and thus latest in the morning. But the Captain and I assure you, that no matter these conflicting sleep schedules, you will not be woken during your eight hours due to any outside noise.”

  Felina briefly wondered if that meant soundproof lodging, but on second thought doubted it, as it would serve as a safety risk.

  “Here we are, proceeding to the median level,” Cassel announced, having reached a basic staircase that ascended but did not go down. She mentioned that access to any of the levels could be reached via separate stairwells and starboard lifts, all supposedly to reduce corridor clogging. “Watch your step.”

  No shit, Felina thought with a firm hand on the railing. The steps were beige painted and of smooth metallic composition, with rubberized grip material at the edges, and spaces between. Felina—unlike the more common claustrophobia or fear of riding elevators, especially on a vehicle of any kind—was a woman who felt uneasy around staircases, namely those with spaced steps. This rooted from an incident she had aboard the Columbus three years ago when she slipped and her leg got caught between steps, nearly breaking her ankle.

  Nearly, key word, nonetheless she came out of it with a sprain and a fractured tibia. Fortunately she healed properly with the help of company medical attention, but her mentality wasn’t as easily mended.

  Her paranoia was usually at its worst when going down as opposed to up steps, but regardless it was an unavoidable presence; especially in an unfamiliar setting.

  Finally they reached the crest, and Felina stabilized.

  Now on the Manticore’s median level, Cassel led the documenters to their visitor’s lodging sector.

  “Your rooms are each accessed via auto-doors with a facial-recognition scanner that features a 1.3-second delay, the fastest yet produced.”

  “But I thought the fastest on the market was 2.8-seconds,” Schuman asked with a raised brow.

  “That is correct,” Cassel said without any further comment, making most of the documenters smile to themselves while Schuman’s brow furrowed and he zoned out briefly.

  “It’s more than an hour from ten o’clock, though,” Baez said, sounding as lively as ever. “Or are we all on a separate sleeping schedule?”

  “No, in fact, you will be adhering to the standard ten-to-six, however, tonight the Captain wanted to offer a substantial cushion considering your travel. If you wish to put off your personal relaxation prior to ten-o’clock, we have a recreations center that is open between nine and ten, as well as the weekends. Now, mind you, our weekend schedule isn’t traditional—the Manticore’s personnel work painstakingly seven days a week, but on Saturday and Sunday there is minimal austerity. Personnel, while required to tend their duties six hours a day during the weekend at a given time, may do so at any point throughout the day. Many prefer working in the morning, relaxing in the evening, or vice versa. This said, you’re likely to thoroughly enjoy yourselves come weekend.”

  As everyone knew, this was Monday night aboard the Manticore.

  “So you’re saying, then, that I could attend the rec center now, as long as I’m back to my room before ten?” Baez seemed intent on sustaining her energy rather than suppressing it so early.

  “That is correct. The recreation center is entirely self-operated, but there are call buttons if you need assistance with anything. At 9:50, access is terminated, and you’ll be urged to leave via automated announcements. If you aren’t out within two minutes, the sensors will detect your presence and call for assistance. Once the center is clear, it is sealed and all oxygen reserves are put on standby for its next opening.

  “Attention to anyone who would wish to join Baez in the recreation center now, I strongly advise you first access your rooms and retrieve your PDA’s, as the Captain informed you of earlier. In them will be maps for the Manticore, including a waypoint option to help guide you to your destination. However, it is prohibited for any of you to venture beyond your route to the recreation center or lavatories during the next few days, until your guided tours are complete. This is an order, for your safety, from Captain Keyes himself.”

  Everybody nodded in affirmation.

  Cassel then bid them a goodnight, and would await them in the morning at precisely 6:30 right here.

  The USRD documenters exchanged mute nods and the occasional muttered farewells of the night before approaching their rooms. Felina heard Calloway, Baxter, and Schuman accompany Baez’s decision to visit the rec center before bed. First, though, everyone aligned their attention with the auto-doors. No one room was exclusive to the other, as it hadn’t been explained. But as soon as the lintel-mounted facial-recognition scanners did their motions, so were they assigned their rooms.

  Felina entered hers, bearing the number ‘8,’ and felt herself relax entirely when the auto-door smoothly sealed behind her. An automated male voice welcomed her by name, stating the already assumed, that this would be her exclusive lodging quarters for her ensuing stay aboard the Manticore.

  Not much to Felina’s surprise, although in a comforting and pleasing way, the room was mildly lavish. The entire ceiling was an illuminated panel with dimmer settings for brightness and color. The bed was a queen-sized futon with drawer compartments, a pastel-navy comforter and white pillows. A smooth-edged composite nightstand accompanied both sides at the headboard corners, complete with a box of tissues and a USRD Manticore brochure. Upon further inspection, the dresser to the left of the bed, set against the wall, offered motion-activated lighting below opaque glass cabinets. On the other side of the bed, to the right of the entrance, were louvre-doored closets also featuring motion-activated lighting.

  The single lavatory accompanying the room was to the left of these, within nine feet of the bed.

  Felina smiled satisfyingly as she entered it.

  The corner-bubble glass-encased shower was beautifully designed. Cerulean and white tile was the motif, with cyan walls and a beige ceiling. A steamer was integrated at the edges of the central lighting panel in the ceiling, also dimmable. The wall-mounted toilet and sink were equally smooth and deluxe.

  Immediately Felina had forgotten about the option of a rec center, especially when conjuring a comparison between this and the Columbus, or even the Dingir.

  Let alone the Samum, if even applicable.

  Felina began to undress, only once she was certain of the entrance auto-door’s security. Simultaneously she accessed her PDA, which was hooked to the wall on her leftmost nightstand. While its hologram system loaded and greeted her, she had shed her clothes and gathered a fresh change that matched them from the dresser’s top and middle drawers. Her necessary undergarments were basic, but appeared of quality, in the bottommost drawer. First she had to fish for the right size, as the options were variable. With what she needed slung over her right arm while her left hand accessed the PDA, Felina beelined for the lavatory.

  Inside its temperate and comfortable confines, she initiated a bath and prepared to anticipate a relaxing epilogue to a fairly tiring and yet interesting day.

  The first of many more, she mulled over, aboard the USRD Manticore.

  3

  Alarming would be the wrong term for the sound that woke her up. Felina’s eyelids peeled open and she groggily sat upright in the queen-sized bed, its memory foam mattress comfortably conforming to her shape. Instead, the symphony was soothing�
�and it was just that, a symphony. Placid, subtle, almost oceanic she would say. An orchestra of sounds but natural and artificial, combed together in just the right places and volumes to reel her out of a deep slumber.

  Felina had not slept that well in years.

  She mused that even if the Manticore were barrel-rolling into a black hole, she wouldn’t feel it if asleep.

  Sarcastic thoughts aside, she would be certain to give a high report for the visitor’s lodging. It made her mind expand into a dreamlike state when she started to imagine how the lead crew’s quarters were like.

  The Captain, for example, and Cassel.

  It was a rumor that even the minor personnel of the bridge crew shared quarters of similar quality to the Captain.

  Felina’s report of the lodging would be simple and unadorned in praise, however. A great rating, certainly, but anything more elaborate might suggest a biased report in other areas of the Manticore, especially its more important sectors.

  Speaking of reports, she needed to get ready.

  She didn’t waste any time, either. She got dressed, out of her two-piece silk nightgown and into clothes identical to yesterday’s. The matching-navy visitor’s uniform felt more comfortable than before, probably thanks to the bath and rest she’d gotten. Meanwhile, the advanced ‘alarm clock’ symphony emanating seemingly from the walls finally ceased, although she hadn’t been one to complain if it followed her throughout the day.

  The digital readout on the clock beside her bed was fourteen minutes after six by the time she was fixing her hair. She didn’t need the mirror in the lavatory, but used it for other purposes. Her long dark brown hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail, without straining the healthy skin of her face. Her application of makeup was limited to mascara, as she was thankful for the work atmosphere and seeing other women not flaunting a lot. Felina had always been a minimalist in that department, getting away with none when she could.