DERELICT - Excerpt

“So, Doctor Graves.” The corporate stooge began, “You served on the IPSS Brigid for 6 years.” one of the stooge’s eyebrows arched. “Impressive record. Most doctors would prefer to do their deep space rotations and then settle down on a core world where the money is steady.” The stooge reached down into their pocket, pulling up a small black cartridge. “Do you mind?” they asked.

Jason did mind a little. He thought that it was ridiculous that his application, of all the other crew, was pulled for review. He thought that the humming of the light bulb above would drill a hole into his head. The chair he was in was too small for his frame and now his ankles, cocked in an acute angle beneath the far too short table, were erupting with a creeping tingle that was now clawing its way up to his knee. He hated that the stooge had the cartridge to their lips, inhaling and exhaling a puff of thick sickly sweet white vapor, and didn’t even bother for his answer.

“Well at the time I was young and didn’t need much. The pay was good and the work wasn’t too demanding.” Jason answered, waiving the incoming vapor cloud away.

“So,” The stooge began, their androgynous voice carrying a flat monotone note through the entire conversation. “I’m assuming you saved up a nice nest egg.”

“I could have done better but I was smarter with it than most.” Jason admitted.

“Ok, but enough for you to purchase your own scrapping vessel.” They brought the cartridge up to their lips and inhaled again.

“Well,” Jason began, “a down payment. Still more privileged than most out there but I did put myself into debt.”

“And did you take this debt on before or after marrying your co-signer on that loan?” They asked, flipping through a manilla folder.

“Lara?” Jason asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes, Lara Taylor. DId she choose to keep her last name?” they didn’t look up from their file.

Jason shifted in his seat. His throat began to tighten around his Adam's apple. The pressure was so intense he thought he'd swallow it. “She does come from a successful family-”

“Well,” The stooge cut in, “successful by Border Rim standards.”

They didn’t even look up from their files. Now instead of tightness in his throat, Jason felt heat spread across his cheeks. “Sure,” he said sternly. “Either way, it was important to her since she was the last to carry the name on her father’s side.”

The stooge chuckled. “What a ridiculous sentiment. You were married and in business for 15 years?”

“What do you mean by ridiculous?” Jason asked before he could think. He shifted himself now to lean over the table. His frame swallowed all of the light, shrouding the pale figure with pale blue hair in front of them in his shadow.

“Mr. Graves I do not have all day. Can we please stay on topic?” They asked in their flat monotone voice.

Jason’s cheeks burned. “Doctor.” Jason said sternly.

“Will you answer my question now?”

Jason leaned back in  the seat, his shadow receding from the thin figure. “What are you trying to do here? Get my whole fucking life story?” He muttered.

“No Doctor Graves.” They began, setting the file down and leaning over the table. “You and I both know why I am here reviewing your application. We both know why I am here to determine if you are going to be replaced.” They put the cart to their lips again and inhaled, holding for a moment and then exhaling again. “Gaia date 4/4/3555 rotation 3.3 you assaulted a member of your crew. A member of your crew that you swore to protect and do unto no harm. That was your oath. Am I correct, Doctor?”

Jason opened his mouth, ready to rebuttal but the corporate stooge quickly shot their hand up catching Jason’s thoughts. “No words Dr. Graves, only a yes or a no will do for now.” the monotone voice demanded. Jason nodded his head.

“My job at the Corporation is to run everyone’s applications into the Algo. The Algo tells us who is qualified and who isn’t. Your application returned as a liability every, single, time.” They explained. “My only purpose here is to determine if the Algo was wrong and let me tell you Doctor Jason Herbert D. Graves of Ohio Sector Class Zone 3ZA Born to Mildred Robereta Graves; you are currently failing.” Their finger raised, pointing at Jason, their grey eyes commanding attention.

“There is nuance-”

“Save it Doctor Graves. I want to know why I should allow you on that ship.” They demanded, their finger still pointing at Jason.

The fucking audacity, Jason thought. Let me back on that ship? You mean my ship?

“Just look at my record.” Jason said, motioning for them to move their attention to the files. “I have to be one of the few doctors out there with this many deep space rotations. I’ve seen it all from malfunctioning cryo-units to Mass Delirium Psychosis. Not nearly enough doctors can boast that experience.”

The stooge slowly lowered their finger. They cautiously scooped up the files. “Yes, I must admit that your track record is pretty incredible. But I am willing to allow an intern to fill in for you if it means no one on the crew will mysteriously pass away in their sleep from an unknown malfunction.”

“I’m not fucking homicidal.” Jason gasped, his face twisted into a look of horror and bewilderment.

Their fingers quickly shot back up. “I will not tolerate that language during this interview Doctor Graves. Understood?”

“Yes,” Jason said defeated, "I apologize.” Jason’s knee began to bounce uncontrollably. “It’s just that I put in so much time, effort and money into Annwn-”

“Your civil dispute doesn’t interest me, your divorce attorneys can untangle that mess.”

“Then what,’ Jason yelled, “what do you want from me? Do you want me to beg? DId you even get my proof of purchase or patent for Annwn? I own that ship, I own that AI-”

The stooge’s hand raised again. “Ownership does not equate to rights.” They growled. “Tell me about Javic Anders.”

Jason sighed, leaning back in the small chair. His leg continued to bob up and down. “South African, skilled pilot, uses a lot of toilet paper. What do you want to know?” Jason grunted. He knew what the stooge wanted to know though. He could still feel the ache in his jaw.

“And you attacked him for those things?” The stooge pondered, setting the files down and leaning back in his padded chair. The faux leather screeching as they did. 

“No.”

The stooge returned the cartridge to their thin lips again. Another puff of smoke followed. They kicked their feet onto the tabletop. “Well Mr. Graves-”

“Doctor.” Jason corrected.

“Doctor Graves there must have been a reason. If it wasn’t because he’s African then you must have hated him for being a better pilot. But if that were the case I’d assume you would be a pilot and not a doctor. So that really only leads to the issue of toilet paper consumption.”

The stooge brought the cartridge to their lips and inhaled. The silence pushed in on Jason’s ear drums. A hum, no, a high pitched whine filled his waking thoughts. The stooge exhaled, sitting, waiting for Jason to admit it. He clenched his jaw and crossed his arms. “He was fucking my wife.” Jason growled, his eyes narrow and dark. “Had been for four years.” 

“That would be Captain Taylor?” Jason nodded. “Right there in the pilot’s chair too.” The stooge said through another puff of exhaled smoke. 

Jason’s hands clenched, balling up the cheap rubber of his jumpsuit in his death clasp. Four years. For four years she would silently come into their quarters, climb into the bunk next to him, smelling; no, reeking of Corpo Work Mule No. 4. The working man’s choice of cologne. “Sounds to me like you’ve read the report.” He said with a clenched jaw.

“Well when an incident happens on company time, even if you’re a contractor, you read the reports.” The stooge lowered their feet back beneath the table. “I also read that we have you to thank for the advancements made in our Cryosleep department.” The stooge flung open the manilla envelope and began thumbing through pages. “Specifically your research, study and eventual classification of the phenomenon known as Delirium.”

Jason gave a curt nod.

The cartridge was back to the stooges lips, then gone with another puff of smoke. “It was your research that directly connected enforced hibernation to a,” they pulled up a piece of paper, pressing their nose to it, “and I quote ‘A complete meltdown of shared reality’.” The paper returned, tucked into the manilla folder. “The Corporation was able to invest in an automated rotation system. Three-month intervals. No human medical oversight required.” The stooge’s grey iris fixed on Jason. “Deep-space medical positions decreased by forty-five percent in the following decade.” Jason’s eyes averted, looking down at the table’s gleam in the fluorescent lighting. Twelve years of research. Seventeen published papers. He, with his colleagues, helped push humans further and further into the cold reaches of the inky black void. “You eliminated your own field, Doctor.” The stooge said, their monotone voice carrying an undercurrent of mockery. “Did you even get compensation for the discovery?”

Jason shifted in the tiny chair. He didn’t. Neither did his colleagues, nor the millions of deep space doctors who had to shift their careers to cater to the ailing, sick and dying on world colonies that will inevitably fail. “You work for them,” Jason growled, “what do you think?”

The smile disappeared from their face with the blink of an eye. “I will be honest with you Mr. Graves-”

“Doctor.”

“Doctor.” The stooge corrected, leaning forward with their arms on the table and their fingers interlocked. “My employer has already determined that your contract will be renewed for this mission.” Jason’s eyes grew, not in surprise, but with suspicion. “However, there is a stipulation to the contract.”

“I’m listening.” Jason answered.

“One that will be off the record, understood.”

Jason nodded.