Stasis

Chapter 1: Shooting For the Moon

By: Stillmatic

USS Hazard– Dark Side of the Moon – Earth Time: Saturday, July 1, Year 2197

Log Access – [Redacted] Employee Service Number 7195

Beginning Recording Momentarily… Recording Starting in 3, 2, 1… *Beep*

"I told him the fucking Tuesdays were… Shit, the button," worded a man searching around his back.

Recording Ended… Recording Starting in 3, 2, 1… *Beep*

"Yeah, ok. So this recording that the suits want me to do every 3 hours is really lacking content at this point. Did they consider that 3 hours wasn't enough goddamn time for something to actually happen? And this piece of shit trigger they gave me, why is it wireless?" He lifted a small wireless stalk-like object, no bigger than his hand, holding a red button on the top.

"The camera is only in one spot, why would I need to activate it somewhere else? For all the shit I put up with for my country, you'd think they'd spring for some better equipment for," He stood from the chair and held his fist to his heart as dramatically as possible, "'the space scouting mission of the century'. Why even bother making it seem better than it is? I'm not going to say no, and I'm not going to be in history books for this, only those assholes down there who want the credit for making a decision that'll change the fate of 'All free, American people'."

The man sat back down and a scowl grew on his face quite quickly. Then, putting one elbow on his knee, the other in the air, pointed an accusing finger right at the camera.

"They give me shit to work with every fuckin' time, and yet I still get it done. No fucking extra pay, no shiny ass medal, not even letting me spend some goddamn time in the city. Hell, I bet they wouldn't even let me cash the checks they supposedly hold for me until I'm given clearance again. Yet, here I am. Out playing 'American Patriot, the man whose actions could very well save the nation as we know it.'"

He gets up and heads over to a duffle bag, unzipping it and reaching in for a large, aged book. "I don't know about you boys back home, you assholes who send me out every fucking time to do something, know about family, but that's the only reason I'm fucking here." He flips open the book and sifts through the pages. Getting to the page he desired, he turns the book close towards the camera and points to a very old photo, possibly over 200 years old. "That there, my ancestor, was the first to do your dirty work. You don't know about him, you couldn't. The guys before you wiped him from history! And for what? Doing as he was told for his country?"

The photo was of a squad of six men, in a dense jungle environment. Their green uniforms and helmets were scuffed, dirtied, torn and left in a horrible state beyond belief. And yet, they all smiled and cheered in the photo. No matter how many generations received this book and stared at this picture, none could figure out why. They were clearly living in horrible conditions, but still showed no signs of the wear-and-tear that comes from fighting the kinds of battles they fought.

Squadmates until the end, none of them had records of who they were today. History was still kept here however, in this book, where a man in the middle of the squad sported the biggest grin among the six. Looking at what was probably his great, great, great, great, grandfather (most likely), the man shuddered, wondering what might have happened there that made six men smile like children. It seemed to wrong for that to be, they were supposed to hate it there and be disgusted by what they had to do. And yet, they smiled.

"Whatever, it's all in the past, not much I can do about it. But did anyone notice or at the very least cared, that each member of my family who was an agent died on mission, in the same fucking way, on fucking Tuesdays! They all got killed during evac, which I find pretty fucking coincidental. Everyone said it was just the family curse or some bullshit, but either way, for something so important, why send a guy whose family is known throughout you guys to have the tendency to get killed on Tuesdays? Shit doesn't add up." He chuckled lightly at that, considering if his family really was cursed.

Behind him, a panel was starting to shoot sparks from beneath its edges. Turning around to see how bad these sparks were, he looked at the camera once more to say, while having on hand palms up, the other's finger repeatedly pressing into it, "You could have at least left me with better protection from those guys who attacked with those stealth planes during takeoff. I mean," he held his arms out to signify all the decade old equipment and technology around him, "just look at this shit! I fucking managed to get into space, thank God. Here's what you do now, get better detections systems for your AA guns, because I'm not going through that shit again."

Just as he was about to continue, his shuttle rattled immensely, as if something had rammed into it, yet didn't damage it just yet. He immediately got up, and stumbled over from the rattling to the portal-like window that served as his eyes on the right side of the shuttle. He had arrived, but he sure as hell didn't seem welcome. The Moon was particularly bright tonight, or whatever time it was. He didn't have time to admire it (or fear it) though, that hunk of compressed dust was seemingly trying to kill him. He snickered a bit at that, something so obviously dead, trying to kill him? If guns couldn't, he'd let the moon at least try. He moved back to the camera.

"Look, I've arrived, but something seems wrong. The Moon doesn't seem right, something's off. I'll remake contact in three hours, until then, I'm going to try and land this thing if it doesn't try to crush me with those gravitational anomalies Aden was talking about. Hopefully, if I'm lucky, shit won't hi-".

He was knocked over from another one of those anomalies. Those things, it's like they were what he had on Earth, except not metallic and capable of shooting large amounts of shrapnel, explosives, and slight radiation. It didn't even look like anything was there. 'There really wasn't though', he thought to himself, 'I've seen plenty of textbooks and studies on theoretical physics to know that it isn't possible.'

"Yeah, transmission out." He groaned from the floor. Seemed like that wireless trigger for the camera did come in handy, because he didn't feel like getting back up just yet. Well, that is until another force of gravity rocked his shuttle. Getting up, he turned toward the control center towards the front of the ship.

With the deftness of a man who knew his technology, he grabbed the holographic interface of a wheel shape and turned it towards the moon. Being a mission in itself, he finally managed to turn it enough so that it would not slingshot around the moon and throw him into space. As per his orders, he maneuvered to the darker side of the moon, still being far enough that it would take a few minutes.

Another force hit the shuttle again and he grunted from the knockback, nearly stumbling out of the reinforced chair of the pilot. Regaining his composure he noticed that these gravitational shocks were slowly picking up in intensity and speed. It was like something really didn't want him to prepare for a possible colonization, which to an opposing nation, or race, would seem like a goal definitely worth working towards.

"Hoo-wee, this thing really doesn't seem to like me," which he considered for a moment, "If it's even alive that is. Which I doubt. It's not like anything can survive on the moon without an atmosphere anyway."

For the next few minutes, barrage after barrage of shaking, trembling, and absolutely powerful force crashed into the ship, as if it was trying to knock him off course. But he was one of the "TTG", and occurrences like these, well they became fairly common throughout his life, despite him not being near the moon in God knows how long. And being a "TTG" meant living every word of what those letters stood for. It wasn't something that ever left you, grafted into your mind permanently.

So he continued forward, allowing himself and his ship to push past the growing amount of force hitting his ship. And then, like a comet itself had hit him, his shuttle and him where thrown and skewed off course. Alarms started blaring, red lights lit the shuttle, and the status screen was flashing.

"Jesus, what was that? That shouldn't have happened, and it's seriously fan-fucking-tastic that they didn't brief on the anomalies being that strong." He checked the status screen for diagnostics on the damage of that one. Luckily (in some cases anyway) all that was seriously damaged beyond repair currently was the Navigational Operating Device, or N.O.D. He looked around; nothing seemed to be able to get him out of this situation. His ass was about to crash.

"Looks like shit is going to hit the fan. Well, I'm not careening into empty space, but the landing sure as hell won't be fun. Might as well sleep through it than go through it." He got up from the pilot chair and moved towards the rear of the shuttle. Half-way there, he stopped by a tube of sorts. It was see-through for most of the length of it, metallic locks near the bottom, a metallic suspension hinge at the top, a comfortable looking interior (even though through his experience, it wasn't), and different hoses snaking around the top to the walls and other sockets. But he didn't have time to talk at this point, who knew what effects the crash would have on him or the ship that didn't seem very stable at this point.

So he pressed onto a keypad and popped in his security code and followed with a dash and his Employee Service Number. He groaned before entering, ready to face whatever was there when he woke up. Stepping in, he hoped for being able to make it through this without dying a horrible death in space. "Looks like I'm just going to have to wait it out," he chuckled nervously. He looked to his right, seeing through the front window that the shuttle was quickly approaching the moon. The stasis tube he was in was starting to take effect on him, because every time he blinked at the moon, the blinking seemed to take longer and longer to actually do. As the shuttle started rattling from entering near the moon and getting close to the surface, he slowly opened his eyes one last time and mumbled to himself, "Shit."

Even through his closed eyes, things seemed to be alive and moving. Tiny sparks making a very short screech passed his eyelids. He assumed it was cosmic radiation, but there was something else that he saw. He saw a constant light, bright and shining as though it were the sun literally in his eyes. Faint sounds passed him, almost whispers. He couldn't move, nor could he react, he was in stasis after all, but a person shouldn't be conscious during stasis. He figured that old technology will undoubtedly produce unwanted effects, such as this, with time. Might as well enjoy the idea of an out of body experience, within his own body.

Moving near the light, he noticed that it was no larger than maybe a well's hole. In fact, it seemed more like a hole than an orb of light. Whatever the hell this thing was, it didn't seem very out of place for some reason. Moving through the cone of light it produced and getting closer to the hole, he reminded himself that practically nothing could go wrong inside his own head. He stuck his head through to be greeted by literal information. It was flowing, ebbing around like he was looking at a river. His mind didn't appreciate this sight, and his eyes were straining to look at what was not physically possible. His mind was slowly closing itself to him, going into a primal failsafe that was stuck with him in the most hazardous of situations.

He tried moving out of the hole, only to be slightly pulled back. In a useless fit, he tried removing himself from the hole, only to not be able to muster enough strength to force his way back. Information slowly started to move towards him, flowing seamlessly towards his head, only to pierce it. He felt nothing at first, but he started remembering things that he never learned about, like certain memories. One thing in particular went into his mind, and he felt as though it were nothing, just an empty thought. It settled itself into his brain, making it comfortable in his very foundation. Oddly enough, he managed to pull himself out within a moment.

His mind, however, seemed to be rejecting the notion that what was happening was possible and closed itself once again. He slowly drifted away from the hole and fell into a slumber inside his own coma. There was a strange shaking and tossing in his mind, but he rejected it and fell interrupted into a dark, endless void. Something seemed to flow back into his mind, but being that deep in the stasis tends to make one uncaring.

The mind sure does play tricks on a person. Or maybe it wasn't his mind and more so a tiny chip.