Navis Undecim

Here I am, all my possessions in my hands, my coat on my back, and all my friends by my side. Today is what the spacers call a lift-off day. I tend to agree, the skies are cloudless, the ships are ready, and I am ready too. So as I’m standing alone, empty- handed, I observe the many jewel studded, long robed, and snobby men that are so close and yet so separate from me. While I myself am only going from Orff to Thaviv, these men may be traversing through the galaxies themselves; to the lands where diamonds rain and gold grows plentiful. As I ponder this I force myself to make sense of my surroundings. I am in a low ceilinged waiting area with nauseatingly synthetic and overly glaring lights. The room is possessed by the stinging smell of disinfectant and the dull conversations of traveling companions. I am set to ride from the mining world of Orff to the scavengers heaven of Thaviv. I have no regrets about my journey. I am leaving no one and nothing behind. No, I mustn't think of that, that day when it all changed. I feel the chair pressing into my back and bottom like a vise. Are the walls falling down? I don’t care. All I feel is a sword in my heart and a burning in my throat.   

“No, no, no, no,” I’m whimpering to myself now. I can’t contain my sorrow. I see her, right in the floor. She’s slowly being crushed alive, her beautiful figures melting into a pool of bones and gore. Out of her mouth comes one, small, word.          

  “Leave.”                                 

“Boarding for Orff to Thaviv bay 42. I repeat, boarding Orff to Thaviv bay 42.” The automated voice breaks me out of my depressed state. I slowly rise and am surprised to see the wealth oozing frommen rising from their seats . They do this as though the entire world has been waiting for them to make their entrance. They don’t walk; they float majestically as if living on clouds. It’s supposed to give off an air of superiority. But it really just looks like snails with legs.

But why are they going to a planet of crushed battleships and even more crushed souls? Surely they have no business there. But no, I must focus, I mustn't be distracted. I have one solitary chance of getting off of this orphan making, God forsaken, burning rock. I rise confidently, purposefully, and quickly. Each step brings me closer to leaving the only place I have ever called home.

This labyrinth of hallways is almost too disorentating to stand. As I walk, the gentle throb of the crowds provides an escape from my troubles. Left, right, left, right. There it is! Bay 42 with its doors wide open. But where are the weak and helpless? Why is there such an absence of the needy and the fatherless? All I see are the rich and well off, the ones that are supposed to be going into the luxury ships.

“Hello, young man, do you have the intention of boarding my interstellar vessel?” This accusation-sounding statement is directed to me by an athletic man with a navy blue vest and matching pants. His badge says Captain Rex.

“Well, that is what my transcript says.” Rex seems to believe that he’s better than me; I can gather that from his sneer. But why? Aren’t all men made as equals, our biological components exactly the same? It intrigues me to ponder the fact that we are made from the same elements, the same matter. The only thing separating us is our bank accounts.

“Fine, I suppose looks can be deceiving, third door on your right.” I start scuttling away. I get three steps before Rex yells back.

“And welcome to the Navis Undecim!”

I’m being ushered to a small room (no more than seven feet in area) by a little machine pretending that he’s human. He has all the right components, head, legs, arms, eyes, the fingers, the toes, and the rest. But there is something missing. Something is off about this short english-looking man. What is it? Oh, of course. The eyes are as empty as my pockets. It can’t have a soul, emotion, or friend.

Even with its faults, I feel the childish urge of excitement at the sight of it. This is as close up as I’m ever going to get to Google's best selling new toy. Humanoids are all the rage nowadays. My master had two or three model fours (obsolete compared to this model Z).

“Welcome to the Navis Undecim, named after the first spaceship that sent men to other planets.” The robot fires off words like a well rehearsed speech. I know she’s wrong; Apollo 11 went to the moon, not another planet. At least I think so; it happened 200 years back. My history lessons were all but obsolete.

This ship is fascinating. It’s a small ship, with hydrofoil like wings and the smallest engine I’ve ever seen. In my space. Wait, my space! My very own ten square feet of land! Is that a couch? I have only heard of these in rumors! Great balls of fluff! Not for sleeping though, just for sitting! The walls are almost completely empty but not quite. There is just a poster of a Fire-phantasis. The name is derived from the word the scientists called it, Monstourous Phantasmas. The name means fantasy monster. These beasts are giant beings (20 feet tall is the record). The xeno creature also gives off enough energy to power an automobile. And that’s only in the crystals we’ve found! Scientists think they shed off crystals in puberty. They are made from multicolored crystals, and they have no face. They burn mini fires inside each of their crystals. They are alien beings from some luxury planet; they could be the answer to the energy crisis. That is if the ETAC (extraterrestrial ambassador committee) drops their stance on “protecting the animals.”

What’s this? The ship trembles, and I feel a pop in my ears! Don’t the old and brittle still have to board, and what about the ones with no arms or legs? Where are the

miners! But I am tired, I must rest my head in this white walled room of the wealthy. To bed.

Five hours later, in gravitational orbit above Thaviv.

I wake to no noises, at all. I look outside my room and see nothing, not a soul. To my left I hear the soft thrum of machinery. Down the hall to my right there is an expanse of doors, each with the soft sounds of conversation coming from them. I have an odd feeling about this, no crying children. Maybe spaceships calm the weary, maybe they work magic. But no, I know my kin, they wouldn’t be this quiet. But wait! what of the rich men aboard! Maybe I’m on a luxury cruiser, going to take me away from my terrible path! Maybe this isn’t an exile to escape my past, but a trip to a bright future! Maybe,

BOW-A-COW-A-CHOW-A-DO-WHO-WHO-who-who-whooooo. This isn’t the sound of luxury! This is the sound of the mines. That is, engine failure. Screams! Shrieks! Rex is sprinting frantically to my left. And some feeling inside me, call it curiosity, call it a need for adventure, follows him.

“Back, beast!” In front of me is a scene out of a horror story. On the ground drips the blood of a human. On the walls are the scorch marks of fire. On my left is a burning pile of machinery, utterly mangled and destroyed. But I mustn’t focus on any of that, for before me is the one thing I thought I would never see.    

There it is, the subject of all the debate, a Fire-Phantisis is right there! Rex is in combat! Suddenly the man I met less than a few hours ago is saving my life! Rex fights valiantly, dodging left, right, and then hitting the thing with bare flesh. Rex is trying to corral the beast into its cage. Rex seems to be making progress, but every so often a crystal hand shoots out and burns something else. The fire rages on, and now I see, Rex is losing. There is no pushing back on an unstoppable force! It’s over. The beast lashes out and hits, and burns, and kills. So this is how it ends, in a luxury ship, with an illegal engine, and without a single friend. Hm, something illegal, no friends, and being close to luxury but not of it? That has been my life. If buddhist beliefs are true then I hope my next life is better. If the christians are right I hope God bestows upon me more than I have now. The fire rampages towards me, and suddenly the beast turns a bright white, and all I feel is burning pain. The feeling is as if a hot pan is being heated even hotter, and I’m being cooked. The agony! The never ceasing knives of death are coming! And then it all stops, and I discover man’s most thought over mystery. And I can never tell you.

Disaster Report

InterGalactic Government                             11.20.04 ST

Type of disaster:

Ship disintegration

Time of disaster:

5:42 Standard Time

Death Toll:

156 dead, no survivors.

Cause:

Carbon buildup in engine.

Other Notes:

None.

-James Kelly