Random Story :
Almost
Author : Kat Rose Battle raged on around him, the …
Electrical Ozone, Hold the Smoke
Author: Jason McGraw
“Electrical ozone, hold the smoke,“ Kia says as straps tighten at the hook-ups of the space suit and the mask descends. The mask covers eyes, ears, and nose, leaving the mouth open to the air in case the nasal feed gets too strong.
The scent Kia ordered drifts into the nostrils, and memories of cadet school come back, on purpose. It smells like the training rooms, the coveralls they wore, the “hot classes” that were designed to make cadets work under pressure. None of that prepared Kia or the space crew for real emergencies on the ship. Emergencies where, since the mission began, dozens of competent, smart, and trustworthy people have died. The only way to prepare people for this scenario is to kill half of the cadets during a “hot class.”
Kia smiled at that. Gallows humor is a favorite at cadet school, but not as funny here. Faces of the old classmates come back to mind as Kia’s body relaxes and the ozone smell unlocks memories.
“Forty percent of the class must be dead by now, if they had the same luck as this spaceship has had.”
Kia’s favorite smells to relax to during cadet school and after the launch were flowers, cut grass, and Spring rain. Kia tries to remember how long it has been since the last Spring smell session.
THC
The computer is offering anti-anxiety chemicals. Kia doesn’t respond to the computer, so the prompt automatically times out. Kia’s THC capsule is full, never used. Kia is waiting for a crewmate to ask for this unused ration, but it probably won’t happen. This crew was asked about “consciousness-altering habits” like THC or EtOH. The rumor was that this crew was picked because no one had any interest in recreation with chemicals.
“So we should all get along,” Kia summed up verbally.
Fear was the worst emotion any cadet felt during training. Now what is it? Kia pondered silently. “Boredom,” came the answer. It was always the answer. Waiting until the next emergency is causing everyone to be bored to death. Waiting for the next accidental death can be a killer.
Go back to the cadet’s faces, Kia redirects, and Kia’s imagination complies.
“I wish I was drunk,” Kia speaks out loud. It would take minimal effort to ferment and distill a liquor, but that would be suicide on this ship. Anyone who wasn’t in full control of an expert brain was going to make big mistakes that might doom the entire mission. Even doom the robots that could, and would, carry on with our work in the event of a 100% lethal accident.
Kia’s mind drifts to anger, the second most common feeling on board the spaceship. Anger at the last tech to run the wires, grease a bearing, or even close a panel to less than spec torque.
“Details kill, they taught cadets,” Kia said. No, Kia thought, the mission kills. This is too much to ask of any group of humans. Send robots, rely on the robots; sure, they can make bad moves because the algorithms give bad answers, but robots are never fearful, bored, or angry. Robots just do.
“That’s what we are,” Kia whispers while removing the smell mask and detaching the suit from the wall. “We are the real robots. Always have been.” Kia pushes off and floats to the next section of the spaceship. “Now go act like it, tech!”