[Writing] [Artwork] A Shade of Darkness

[Vostok]

Jebediah looked at the sky. He saw darkness. And he saw potential. Potential, not for death, not for an ending, but for life.

Jebediah saw space. And space looked back.

Years later, the space was within reach, the Space Program had begun, rockets were being launched routinely, and people were being ferried to orbit with few problems. Nobody outside of the Space Centre ever heard of any of the problems. In their eyes, the space program was a wondrous thing to behold, a near 100% safety record, over two-hundred satellites in orbit, and space-walking was a routine occurrence. Jebediah had wormed his way into the organisation, losing many people jobs along the way. Now was his chance to shine through all the dirt and grime of the rest of the lowlifes that surrounded him. He saw no flair in their eyes, no challenge, no... life. They lived the routine of paperwork, unthinkingly adding numbers day in, day out. He despaired at their bland lifestyles. Even the astronauts themselves, the elite of the workers at the space centre - those who had done the most paperwork in their lives - had no enthusiasm for their tasks.

In short, Jebediah realised that he must take action.

He took his pen, he took his paper and stuffed it in a pocket filled with old chewing gum wrappers, and ran out of his office at the space centre, nobody must see him. Dashing into the lavatory, he took his paper and, very slowly and deliberately, filled in the boxes with random numbers pertaining to engineering specifications for the latest spacecraft iteration. This was another thing, he remembered - even the designers followed routine thoughtlessly, their purpose was simply to optimise numbers. He took the precious document, and furtively sidled back to his desk. He stared at it for a long time, thinking what could happen as a result of his actions, before folding it and putting it in the 'out' tray.

Six months had passed since Jebediah broke the rules. Nobody had said anything to him. Nobody ever did, really. He had been waiting in anticipation of the advent of the new craft design, one that was supposed to 'revolutionise and push the boundaries of space travel'. It looked just like the last one.

It was launch day. Jebediah took himself to a beach near the space centre to watch the launch from a distance. It was T -120s. There was a crowd gathered at the launch centre, all the astronauts were gathered to watch, along with many high ranking officials and scientists. All were there to see a triumph of modern science. Jeb stared as the clock ticked down.

T-60s

This was it. There was no going back. He'd messed up figures. You don't do that. That kills people. Jebediah wasn't a murderer....was he? He considered warning them, there was still time.

Time...that was a funny concept.

T-30s

There was no time now. What would happen would happen. If the rocket failed, it would fail because of him. It would rest on his shoulders, he would have killed those astronauts-

T-20s

-those bland astronauts who never enjoyed their job-

T-15s

-a job Jeb should have gotten-

T-12s

-Deserved to have gotten-

T-10s

-would have killed to have gotten-

T-5s

-without-

T-3s, Main engines start.

-any-

T-1s

-regrets.

Liftoff.

The rocket gracefully detached from the pad. Jebediah watched in awe as the roaring flames engulfed the rocket itself, before being sucked back down by the thrust. Had he done anything wrong at all? All he had done was made a mistake with some numbers, that wouldn't break a whole rocket, right?

The columns of smoke erupted around the launch pad, wreathing the launch in smoke, before from the top, like a phoenix from ashes, rose the spacecraft, balanced atop the pillar of flame and doubt. He watched as it cleared the tower, slowly accelerating. It's sheer size amazed him. Despite the unenthusiastic design, this was technically the largest rocket ever launched from the planet. It was nearly three-hundred meters high, he reckoned, before it exploded.

One of the five solid rocket boosters at the base of the craft ruptured, ejecting half-burnt propellant and debris perpendicular to the plume of fire trailing from the rocket. The force of the blast detached the booster which, now free of the constraints of the payload, accelerated upwards and sideways, colliding with the main fuselage of the ship. It split clean in two, venting liquid propellant and oxidiser like rain. Briefly, Jeb saw a rainbow form in the droplets, before they ignited and cleansed the skies. The space centre was in disarray. Debris and burning fuel was tumbling down onto buildings. The tracking station was hit, the assembly buildings were hit. the launch tower was incinerated in a ball of fire, mushrooming into the clear morning air. The command module, having separated from the rest of the rocket on the safety tower, was hit by a rampant solid rocket booster, burning the parachute and spilling the crew out into free-fall. Jebediah watched the world burn under a hail of fire. He saw the observation stands, previously holding the dignitaries and employees out to watch the launch, become engulfed in poisonous smoke, which soon caught fire due to searing temperatures. He watched. If there had been a camera on him, it would have seen the fire reflect in his eyes, and it would have seen him smile, for the first time in many years. His maniacal grin would tell all, and more.

He watched, and bathed in the warmth that the fires gave, as the emergency teams cleared up the debris, the dead and the dying. He read later that over five hundred lives had been lost on that day, including every single astronaut in the employment of the Space Program.

Naturally, the administration did in response what they did best, they carried on. A call was put out for volunteer astronauts, few replies were received, especially in light of the recent catastrophe.

One such reply was from a wide-eyed man, claiming to be an employee. He also seemed to have several high-level clearance passes that were somewhat charred. He turned up, and simply stated that he wanted to go to space.

Jebediah smiled some more. Not his grin, but a carefully calculated cheery easy-to-approach smile, to put people at ease. Many people who met him tended to get uneasy, and often got a feeling that their life was in danger simply by being in the same room as this man, who was quite obviously mad. He was subjected, in light of this, to multiple psychological aptitude tests, all of which he passed with a near-perfect score, to the surprise of his superiors. They found themselves with no choice but to allow him to undertake a mission. Even after the dangers were explained to him, he refused all training, and still he passed the tests they threw at him. Amongst the employees, his enthusiasm was seen as a foreshadow of dark times to come. Many quit their jobs, some even suggested that he was a survivor of the previous explosion, driven mad by the events.

But there was one thing that everybody knew about this man. His name.

Jebediah Kerman.

It was autumn, and the eve of Jebediah's first mission. The time was 16:19, and the sun hung low in the sky over the mountains, shrouded by wisps of cloud. The spotlights on the launchpad illuminated the ship, soon to be released into the morning sky. Jeb wandered around the pad itself, gazing wistfully at the gleaming majesty of this machine. His eyes took in the deep orange reflections of the sunset off the fins, reminding him of the orange of the fireballs on the day he- well, that was all over now. What was done was done, no use thinking about it. Looking around, the air was filled with small insects, buzzing in the warm air, attracted to the wind-still areas in and around the launch assembly and the strange smells of chemical storage and transfer. Every so often ice would cascade off the side of the rocket or launch brackets, the humidity condensing on the liquid fuel tanks and pressurisation pipes. as it fell, it caught the sunlight, and seen against the dark sky looked just like shooting stars. He picked some up and watched it melt in his hand.

Jebediah looked at the sky. He saw darkness. And he saw potential. Potential not for death, as that was here, and he would leave all that behind him on his odyssey. He saw life up there, more life than he had ever seen before. Every night when he looked at the stars he saw more and more.

The hour of the launch grew nearer, and the skies grew lighter. Walking back to the main astronaut complex, Jeb caught a final glance of the launch tower, now ominously dark against the early morning sky. There was a hissing noise now, a sibilant sound suggesting the emission of gases from the tank pressurisation. He arrived at the building, pushing open the doors to the astronaut rooms, and to his own private living quarters. He collected his clothes and other possessions, of which he had few, and finally took from a drawer a single small photograph, tucking it into the pocket of his flight suit. He dumped the rest of his effects into the drawer, slamming it shut almost angrily. He walked slowly to the suit room, where he began donning his space suit. This was it, for him. He dressed as a questing knight dons armour, with ceremony befitting a samurai going to battle. Each piece of his suit adorned him with care, and gave him reassurance and protection, not just from the vacuum of space, but from everything. This suit was his home, and for the first time, he felt oddly content. Finally, He looked around to find his helmet. There it lay, a simple metal and glass bowl, into which he would be placed like a museum specimen behind display glass. He grasped it in both hands, and inspected the scratched glass and pitted metal. This helmet had seen use. It had seen life. He raised it above his head, and placed it on, snapping the air-tight latches and wing nuts around the collar piece, that would ensure his safety.

The padding muffled the sounds he heard, as the room slowly filled with other people, excited and nervous for the launch. Each one passed him by as if he didn't exist in time, he just sat and thought. He thought about this mission, how much he had gone through to fulfil this dream- or obsession. It was difficult to define. He always felt ill at ease on the ground. He had been happier in aeroplanes, in cars and vehicles. Maybe in space he would find some kind of revelation, an answer to a question that he didn't know.

It was Jebediah's last judgement. His test of faith. He exited the astronaut complex out into the autumnal air, filled with reds and browns of the trees that had been hopelessly planted to liven the launch assembly up. The leaves on these were dead now, and littered the ground in explosive bursts of red and orange that reminded Jeb of... that. He waded through them, brushing them aside on his path to the shuttle bus that would ferry him across the sea of leaves to the launch pad.

Climbing aboard, the doors closed with a hiss that blew the leaves away. The bus moved off with a jolt and rolled towards the dark tower that was the dormant rocket. It stood more than a hundred meters tall, growling and hissing with pumps and gases, it sounded like some animal, sleek and shiny on the outside, but with a heart of fire. As the bus approached the tower, it seemed to loom over, eclipsing the sun as they travelled nearer and nearer.

The bus pulled to a halt in front of the steel-frame elevator, almost an antique from the earliest days of the space program. Jebediah stepped in, and the door was pulled shut by an assistant. Jebediah was alone now, as the elevator began its ascent. The oddly melodious clanking and rattling played on his mind as the rhythmic flashing of the sun through spaces between girders caused him to blink and look away. It seemed like an age before the elevator finally ground to a halt at the top of the tower, and he stepped out, pulling the gate open himself this time, and shutting it after him with a further echoing rasp. His mind was blank now, all thoughts had left him in the sheer wonder that he was experiencing. He staggered along the final gantry to the command pod. He noticed that the pod was damp, from condensation in the hot weather. He approached timidly, placing his gloved hand on the hatch release mechanism, and firmly pushing. The resultant grinding clunk was offset by the effort to pull the hatch open. He paused briefly after propping the hatch open, as if someone had called his name. Stepping down into the capsule, he reached behind him to pull the hatch shut, and he saw out of the corner of his eye a dead leaf float by on the wind. His gaze followed it, and just for a second he thought he could see, far away down on the beach, a figure standing, watching, waiting.

He mentally shook himself, still plagued by that image of himself watching as that ship erupted into flame. He did it, could others not do it as well? He pulled the hatch shut with a punctuative bang, and slowly turned the locking wheel, as the thumps of bolts shooting signalled his incarceration in the pod. There was no going back now, not since the world had shouted his name - Jebediah Kerman, the next man in space! The latest celebrity. That said, he didn't want to go back. Nothing in the world at this moment could stop him in what he had embarked upon.

He placed his hands on the steering column, his eyes darted around the cockpit. This was where he belonged. Not on the ground, not with people. Up here he was immortal, he had power normal people could only dream of, and it was in his hands. He had power over the heavens and the earth. He was a god.

He glanced at the countdown clock in the centre of the dashboard. T-120s

Well, here we are again. How things have changed since last he was in this position.

Jebediah looked at the nav-ball. He saw himself, not in reflection, but in spirit. This was part of him.

T-60s

He looked at the altimeter - 153m. This was part of him.

T-30s

The steering column. This was part of him.

T-20s

Heard fuel being pumped. His blood.

T-15s

His heartbeat.

T-12s

His senses-

T-10s

-blended into-

T-5s

-those of the machine-

T-3s, Main engines start.

-and became-

T-1s

-alive again.

Liftoff.

The sound of the already ignited boosters was modulated by a lound percussive noise, the launch clamps disengaging. Immediately, the whole cockpit shook, the linear shock absorbers surrounding the seat depressed like syringe pumps, the condensation was shaken into water droplets that ran downwards off the windows, as the leviathan rocket was plucked from the ground. The force of the thrust pushed Jeb down into his seat, causing the aluminium and plastic seat struts to groan and squeak rhythmically with the motion of the rocket. He saw the top of the launch tower pass downwards past the window, followed closely by the smoke from the launch ignition. The altimeter and accelerometer were jerking rapidly, and many of the needles on the dashboard twitched, as fuel was burned, propelling the ship into the morning sky. He stretched his seatbelt to look out of the window, and saw the horizon grow further away. This horizon had been with him all his life, since he was born. And now, he was leaving it far behind, leaving it and gaining a new perspective of it. He needed not horizons any more. Wisps of cloud shot past the window as the rocket's velocity began to exceed the speed of sound, and the moisture in the atmosphere started to condense in areas around the outside of the pod, forming a halo of white vapour around the rising spacecraft. The sky grew dark blue, fading slowly to black as though it were night, and the stars began to show, although they did not twinkle as they did on the surface of the planet.

Jebediah looked at the sky. He saw darkness. And he saw nothing. And he saw everything. He saw more nothing than he had ever seen before, and more everything than any one person could handle. The darkness around his pod was without form, and Jeb saw this lack of form. And in this he saw potential. Potential, not for death, not for an ending, but for life.

Jebediah saw space. And space looked back.

As his spacecraft neared orbital velocity, Jebediah mentally prepared himself for his 'mission' that he had been given. His glorious task was to visibly inspect a satellite that was already in orbit around the planet. He, however, had other plans. He unbuckled his seatbelt, as he was now free from the constraints of gravitational acceleration and able to float about the interior of the cockpit. His spacesuit was equipped for space-walk, as this was part of his mission, and he set about preparing it for use as the ship's automatic pilot brought him closer to his target. Jebediah was loath to use this machine, as he inherently felt that it was insufficient do do the sort of analogue decisions that were required on space missions. Today, however, he needed it, perhaps more than anybody. He took from under his seat the in-flight repair kit something that astronauts were expected to know how to use, although Jebediah suspected that none of them really did. He slowly unzipped this, and carefully selected a screwdriver from a large assortment of compact tools. Pushing himself over to the base of the pod, around behind his seat, he brandished the screwdriver like a surgeon's scalpel, carefully applying torque to the screws that held a small panel shut. He was careful not to leave any tell-tale scratches or dents with the screwdriver as he cautiously removed the small panel from the wall.

Through this newly revealed aperture was an umbilical cord base, that split into hundreds of separate wires each stoutly attached to a screw terminal. He carefully selected one in particular, counting from each end of the array, to find this specific joint. He then, with as much deliberation as he had used to fill in the random numbers so long ago, loosened the screw, and those around it ever so slightly. Then, he selected the corresponding wire, grasped it firmly, and waited. Some time later, a barely audible click heralded the autopilot's engagement of the ship's reaction control thrusters, and as soon as this happened, Jebediah tugged out the wire he had been holding on to. Instantly, another relay somewhere on board clicked, and a very small light came on elsewhere in the cockpit. ASAS FAILURE.

Working quickly, he placed the wire in such a way that it looked like it had shaken loose, replaced the cover, and carefully screwed all the fastenings back into place. Stuffing the screwdriver back where it had come from, and rolling up the repair kit as if nothing had happened, he pushed himself towards the forward viewing window, and watched the satellite he was supposed to inspect approach rapidly. He hurried back to his seat, and deftly flicked the manual control switch to 'ON'. He waited for a while, staring out the window at the incoming satellite, before his eyes darted down to the panel, and he slammed his hand onto the orbital translation keypad. There was a click, and the reaction control thrusters hissed into life, slowing the craft on its collision course. Just when it seemed that the craft might not collide, Jebediah released the pressure on the pad, and the thrusters stopped. He turned, and looked out the window, and saw his reflection in the still approaching satellite. His grin was still there, the same as it had been on that other launch day. He sat back down, tightened his belt, checked his space-suit quickly, and shut his eyes. Then, with no sound whatsoever, the satellite rammed into the top of the command pod, cracking the windows and crumpling the communication equipment placed there. There was a hiss, and then silence.

Darkness enveloped the pod. All the light bulbs had exploded in the vacuum, leaving only blinking LEDs and LCD displays to light the inside. This was a vacuum now, pure and unadulterated. Bits of broken glass floated about inside the pod. Reflecting what little light the panel displays were giving off, they looked just like fireflies, hovering around. The cracked glass of the pod\'s windows betrayed their failure. For a long time, nothing in the pod moved. Then, slowly, a hand drifted through the vacuum, and grasped around the side of a helmet. Finding a switch, it flicked it, and the pod was bathed in light. The interior lighting of the helmet illuminated a face. It was a face unsuited to the situation it was in. For one, it was grinning.

Jebediah slowly unbuckled himself from the seat he was in, and looked around the pod's interior, his helmet light illuminating as he went. Everything inside seemed mostly intact. He pushed himself over to the door, and examined the handle. Steadying himself with one arm, he levered the release mechanism until it gave, and the handle jarred slightly. There was no noise from which to judge progress, so he reached out for the door, and pushed. It swung open outwards easily, almost effortlessly. He stared out the hatchway. Outside was a view seen by few, the infinitesimal darkness of space on one side, and the corona of light on the planet's surface on the other. His orbit had taken him round the dark side of the planet, so the sun was obscured by the planet that seemed so small now. He could almost reach out and... He stopped himself, and focused on the task in hand. There would be time for that later. Tethering himself to the inside of the craft with the designated EVA tether, Jeb clambered out, clinging to the handles on the side of the pod, to inspect the satellite. Looking around him, his pod was in a sparkling, shimmering field of silver debris and shattered solar panel.

The pod had impacted the satellite head on, smashing through one of the solar arrays, and striking the main transmitter dish at speed. This had separated the panel from the satellite, and the dish had a large dent in the centre of it. Turning to face the pod, he saw that the impact had split the nose cone completely open, destroying the communications circuitry and navigational aids. He climbed carefully up to the torn metal, and noted a small, black box fastened to the top of the command module interior skin. He prised this off, snapping connection wires and twisting holding brackets, and regarded it critically for only a moment, before throwing it as hard as he could away from the pod. It spun wildly as it slowly vanished out of sight into the void, with only the occasional glint of reflected light to betray its existence.

As the flight recorder vanished into the darkness of space, Jebediah pushed himself off the pod, and took a hold of the EVA tether, towing himself back towards the open hatch. All was still silent in the pod as he once again climbed inside and pulled the door shut, his hands remembering the procedure. The wheel. The bolts. No noises to announce the locking this time around. Helmet lights off. The pod, now sealed from what little ambient light existed outside, was immersed again in the shades of darkness only experience can describe. What little light there still was rendered obsolete by the absorbent blackness. Steering himself once again through the vacuum to his chair, he buckled himself into the seat, as a dentist ties down a patient awaiting a drill. Checking the manual override again, he took hold of the central joystick, and placed his free hand on the translation controls. Now he was in control. This was where he belonged. A thousand kilometres high, in a broken spacecraft. This was the edge of life, and like standing on the brink of a cliff with no handrail, Jebediah felt very much alive. The grin returned, like a cheshire cat in the darkness, superimposing itself onto his face like a ghost in a photograph.

Like a baby taking its first steps, he tested the controls. The RCS thrusters timidly spluttered into life once again, and a faint vibration told him that the reaction wheel was still operational in the Pod's SAS system, allowing him stable flight up to and during re-entry, assuming he got that far. He looked out the window, into the abyss of space. An abyss unlike any other. There are no lanterned depths-bound monstrosities to be found here.

No luminescent wonders of evolution. In this abyss, everything is equal, everything is small, and everything is drawn perfectly, in shades of darkness.

Colour is lost here, the harsh contrast between dark and light becomes the world. You could get lost in it, forget you ever lived, and just drift aimlessly forever. The twinkling debris drifted further away, and time passed by like wind, or the hissing of escaping gases. Again, his eyes glazed and he watched the world unfold below him cities and towns sparkling against the darkness. There was a lot of darkness these days. The people back on the planet lived their whole lives in darkness. The atmosphere saw to that.

This was Jeb's chance for a little light, like a plant kept in darkness will seek out even the smallest pinprick of luminosity, and drive itself through solid stone to get to it.

The time for dreaming was past now, and matters at hand demanded priority. Again, the ship's thrusters spewed out their deathly silent cacophony of gases, as the ship swung around to point the crushed capsule's nose into an orbital retrograde.

Jeb's breathing, already irregular, paused as his hand hovered over the booster ignition. He blinked, and smoothly and decisively pushed the button.

Nothing happened, at first. But soon, the pod began to noiselessly vibrate as the Service Module\'s booster grumbled a saving emission. The navigation ball began to gyrate. The thrust had obviously been offset by the impact.

Grabbing hold of the central control column, Jeb wrestled with the ship as it swayed across the retrograde indicator. The still functional altimeter began to drop - one hundred thousand meters, ninety thousand, eighty, seventy...

Suddenly, Jebediah hauled on the control column, and simultaneously slammed his free hand onto the staging control, causing the ship to swing wildly, and the Service module to detach and spin off into the upper atmosphere, exposing the virgin heat-shield underneath the damaged pod. The ship's maneuvering systems fired the last of their fuel, as the pod swung back to face up, back to space. It fell, like an angel from heaven staring back up, almost reaching out in desperation. As the pod began to hit air, there was a faint rushing sound, which gave way to the heatshield beginning to burn like the very fires of hell. The remaining glass on the windows, caught by the inferno outside the pod, began to slowly bend and melt, and were sucked out of the pod in streams of molten glass. Looking out the gap left by the molten glass, shielding his face with his hands against the fierce radiating heat from the flames that licked the sill, Jeb saw the jettisoned service module glow white hot, and then disintegrate, the force of the rushing air cleaving it first in two, then spilling its insides around, to burn them individually. Plumes of smoke began to form around the burning pieces as they finally vaporised.

The pod was now shaking violently, and the rushing air had returned sound and fiery light to the silence and darkness. The altimeter was still plummeting, and the heat shield still held.

The top edge of the window frames, now free of glass, began to slowly melt, burning away a vertical triangle of the side wall.

Still the heat shield held.

Jeb was leaned as far forward as possible, covering his helmet glass with his hands on either side to stop the heat getting to him. The pod was slowing down, dragging its trail of fire across the night sky.

Still the heat shield held.

And suddenly, almost as quickly as it had started, the incineration ceased, the pod having slowed down enough. Still shielding himself from the red hot glass and metal streams that had formed around the window holes, Jeb searched around the pod for the emergency pod parachute deploy. It was located by a vertical shock absorber - a large, red, inviting button. Jeb's charred glove slammed against it, bending the mounting it was on, and shooting the mechanical release bolt far back into the wall of the pod. Over the deafening rushing of air, there was a bang, a swish, and the rushing took over again.

Jeb looked out what was left of the the window, and for a brief second his grin was replaced by an expression that could only be caused by massive doubt. Still nothing happened, as the horizon slowly drew closer and closer, the rushing grew louder and louder. Suddenly, the whole pod jerked upwards as the emergency parachute shot open, ramming Jebediah into his seat and throwing his head forward into the control panel then back against his headrest, cracking the glass on his helmet. He exhaled deeply, and his eyes were shut. Arms flopped, head rolled, he lay there in the darkness.

The capsule, no longer dropping, rocked gently in the breeze, as the land came up to meet it. The pod slammed into the ground, churning up mud and grass, shedding heat shield tiles that charred the ground where they landed.

It sat there in the darkness of the night, illuminating the area around it with small fires, and light from the pieces of it that still glowed hot. There was no more noise, except the occasional crackle of burning grass, and the pink pink noise of metal and glass cracking and splitting as it cooled. Nothing moved, no signs of life. Even the wind had given up on this lost cause, the smoke from the charred ground rose straight upwards into the night sky that Jeb remembered. The stars that sparkled, the moon that shone like a lantern to illuminate the darkness. Night slowly gave way to dawn, as the sun gradually crawled its way up the morning sky. Beams of light streamed in through the holes in the side of the pod drawing faint lines in the residual smoke and falling gently on a motionless orange clad figure, slumped back in the pilot's seat with its head rolled to one side.

Soon after, the recovery teams rushed to recover, the investigation teams delved to investigate, and the resuscitation teams attempted to resuscitate.

There were investigations, conclusive evidence provided, disputed, and resolved. The ASAS had malfunctioned. The pilot had saved it. Soon, there was a manual requirement on every space vehicle. Jeb had succeeded, and was on his way to the stars.

In time the story was told. In time, they called it the successful failure. But soon everyone knew the story of how one man\'s spaceship malfunctioned, crashing him into a satellite. The story of how one man single handedly piloted that ship back from orbit, with limited instrumentation. The story of how he survived re-entry in a damaged pod. The story of a hero of many.

A man without limits.

A man without fear.

Jebediah Kerman.

'The thrillmaster'.

Edited April 16, 2014 by Vostok

[requimrar]

For some reason, when reading about the exploding rocket, my mind pictures a large amount of lag.........

But good writing style, please continue!

[Lordherrmann]

Wow! ???

This story is amazing and inspiring. Keep up the good work!

[Commander Zoom]

Wow. 'Dark' it definitely is...

[Guest]

I love this story. Really a great backstory for Jeb.

[Vostok]

Now with added crap illustrations and cliffhangers!

-Any thoughts on the Storyline/drawings (if they add/detract etc) are welcome

[Radion]

Dark. Very dark. Yet good, in a twisted sort of way.

[HOC]

It\'s great! I see what you mean about the darkness in Jebediah- there really is an enthralling character there that I haven\'t seen him portrayed as before.

Write more!

[Gojira]

Please do write more. That was bloody brilliant. Best fan fiction I have ever read. Period.

[Vostok]

I\'ll see how much further I can get the story tonight, since I never intended it to end there. That was just a useful stopping point.

-I ran out of characters.

[Vostok]

[shifted to first page]

The sound of the already ignited boosters was modulated by a lound percussive noise, the launch clamps disengaging. Immediately, the whole cockpit shook, the linear shock absorbers surrounding the seat depressed like syringe pumps, the condensation was shaken into water droplets that ran downwards off the windows, as the leviathan rocket was plucked from the ground. The force of the thrust pushed Jeb down into his seat, causing the aluminium and plastic seat struts to groan and squeak rhythmically with the motion of the rocket. He saw the top of the launch tower pass downwards past the window, followed closely by the smoke from the launch ignition. The altimeter and accelerometer were jerking rapidly, and many of the needles on the dashboard twitched, as fuel was burned, propelling the ship into the morning sky. He stretched his seatbelt to look out of the window, and saw the horizon grow further away. This horizon had been with him all his life, since he was born. And now, he was leaving it far behind, leaving it and gaining a new perspective of it. He needed not horizons any more. Wisps of cloud shot past the window as the rocket\'s velocity began to exceed the speed of sound, and the moisture in the atmosphere started to condense in areas around the outside of the pod, forming a halo of white vapour around the rising spacecraft. The sky grew dark blue, fading slowly to black as though it were night, and the stars began to show, although they did not twinkle as they did on the surface of the planet.

Jebediah looked at the sky. He saw darkness. And he saw nothing. And he saw everything. He saw more nothing than he had ever seen before, and more everything than any one person could handle. The darkness around his pod was without form, and Jeb saw this lack of form. And in this he saw potential. Potential, not for death, not for an ending, but for life.

Jebediah saw space. And space looked back.

As his spacecraft neared orbital velocity, Jebediah mentally prepared himself for his \'mission\' that he had been given. His glorious task was to visibly inspect a satellite that was already in orbit around the planet. He, however, had other plans. He unbuckled his seatbelt, as he was now free from the constraints of gravitational acceleration and able to float about the interior of the cockpit. His spacesuit was equipped for space-walk, as this was part of his mission, and he set about preparing it for use as the ship\'s automatic pilot brought him closer to his target. Jebediah was loath to use this machine, as he inherently felt that it was insufficient do do the sort of analogue decisions that were required on space missions. Today, however, he needed it, perhaps more than anybody. He took from under his seat the in-flight repair kit something that astronauts were expected to know how to use, although Jebediah suspected that none of them really did. He slowly unzipped this, and carefully selected a screwdriver from a large assortment of compact tools. Pushing himself over to the base of the pod, around behind his seat, he brandished the screwdriver like a surgeon\'s scalpel, carefully applying torque to the screws that held a small panel shut. He was careful not to leave any tell-tale scratches or dents with the screwdriver as he cautiously removed the small panel from the wall.

Through this newly revealed aperture was an umbilical cord base, that split into hundreds of separate wires each stoutly attached to a screw terminal. He carefully selected one in particular, counting from each end of the array, to find this specific joint. He then, with as much deliberation as he had used to fill in the random numbers so long ago, loosened the screw, and those around it ever so slightly. Then, he selected the corresponding wire, grasped it firmly, and waited. Some time later, a barely audible click heralded the autopilot\'s engagement of the ship\'s reaction control thrusters, and as soon as this happened, Jebediah tugged out the wire he had been holding on to. Instantly, another relay somewhere on board clicked, and a very small light came on elsewhere in the cockpit. ASAS FAILURE.

Working quickly, he placed the wire in such a way that it looked like it had shaken loose, replaced the cover, and carefully screwed all the fastenings back into place. Stuffing the screwdriver back where it had come from, and rolling up the repair kit as if nothing had happened, he pushed himself towards the forward viewing window, and watched the satellite he was supposed to inspect approach rapidly. He hurried back to his seat, and deftly flicked the manual control switch to \'ON\'. He waited for a while, staring out the window at the incoming satellite, before his eyes darted down to the panel, and he slammed his hand onto the orbital translation keypad. There was a click, and the reaction control thrusters hissed into life, slowing the craft on its collision course. Just when it seemed that the craft might not collide, Jebediah released the pressure on the pad, and the thrusters stopped. He turned, and looked out the window, and saw his reflection in the still approaching satellite. His grin was still there, the same as it had been on that other launch day. He sat back down, tightened his belt, checked his space-suit quickly, and shut his eyes. Then, with no sound whatsoever, the satellite rammed into the top of the command pod, cracking the windows and crumpling the communication equipment placed there. There was a hiss, and then silence.

Darkness enveloped the pod. All the light bulbs had exploded in the vacuum, leaving only blinking LEDs and LCD displays to light the inside. This was a vacuum now, pure and unadulterated. Bits of broken glass floated about inside the pod. Reflecting what little light the panel displays were giving off, they looked just like fireflies, hovering around. The cracked glass of the pod\'s windows betrayed their failure. For a long time, nothing in the pod moved. Then, slowly, a hand drifted through the vacuum, and grasped around the side of a helmet. Finding a switch, it flicked it, and the pod was bathed in light. The interior lighting of the helmet illuminated a face. It was a face unsuited to the situation it was in. For one, it was grinning.

Jebediah slowly unbuckled himself from the seat he was in, and looked around the pod\'s interior, his helmet light illuminating as he went. Everything inside seemed mostly intact. He pushed himself over to the door, and examined the handle. Steadying himself with one arm, he levered the release mechanism until it gave, and the handle jarred slightly. There was no noise from which to judge progress, so he reached out for the door, and pushed. It swung open outwards easily, almost effortlessly. He stared out the hatchway. Outside was a view seen by few, the infinitesimal darkness of space on one side, and the corona of light on the planet\'s surface on the other. His orbit had taken him round the dark side of the planet, so the sun was obscured by the planet that seemed so small now. He could almost reach out and... He stopped himself, and focused on the task in hand. There would be time for that later. Tethering himself to the inside of the craft with the designated EVA tether, Jeb clambered out, clinging to the handles on the side of the pod, to inspect the satellite. Looking around him, his pod was in a sparkling, shimmering field of silver debris and shattered solar panel.

The pod had impacted the satellite head on, smashing through one of the solar arrays, and striking the main transmitter dish at speed. This had separated the panel from the satellite, and the dish had a large dent in the centre of it. Turning to face the pod, he saw that the impact had split the nose cone completely open, destroying the communications circuitry and navigational aids. He climbed carefully up to the torn metal, and noted a small, black box fastened to the top of the command module interior skin. He prised this off, snapping connection wires and twisting holding brackets, and regarded it critically for only a moment, before throwing it as hard as he could away from the pod. It spun wildly as it slowly vanished out of sight into the void, with only the occasional glint of reflected light to betray its existence.

Edited April 16, 2014 by Vostok

[Nikolai]

This is simply stunning. I can\'t help reading just to see what\'s going to happen -- the character you\'ve made is such an excellent balance between unpredictable and chillingly believable.

[Kill_the_sweetcorn]

Awesome story babe

Don\'t know why you didnt want to show me earlier xxxx

love you lots

Amy xx

[HOC]

As always, a great new addition to the tale of this verging-on-the-insane Jeb. Keep it up

[Vostok]

[shifted to first page]

As the flight recorder vanished into the darkness of space, Jebediah pushed himself off the pod, and took a hold of the EVA tether, towing himself back towards the open hatch. All was still silent in the pod as he once again climbed inside and pulled the door shut, his hands remembering the procedure. The wheel. The bolts. No noises to announce the locking this time around. Helmet lights off. The pod, now sealed from what little ambient light existed outside, was immersed again in the shades of darkness only experience can describe. What little light there still was rendered obsolete by the absorbent blackness. Steering himself once again through the vacuum to his chair, he buckled himself into the seat, as a dentist ties down a patient awaiting a drill. Checking the manual override again, he took hold of the central joystick, and placed his free hand on the translation controls. Now he was in control. This was where he belonged. A thousand kilometres high, in a broken spacecraft. This was the edge of life, and like standing on the brink of a cliff with no handrail, Jebediah felt very much alive. The grin returned, like a cheshire cat in the darkness, superimposing itself onto his face like a ghost in a photograph.

Like a baby taking its first steps, he tested the controls. The RCS thrusters timidly spluttered into life once again, and a faint vibration told him that the reaction wheel was still operational in the Pod\'s SAS system, allowing him stable flight up to and during re-entry, assuming he got that far. He looked out the window, into the abyss of space. An abyss unlike any other. There are no lanterned depths-bound monstrosities to be found here.

No luminescent wonders of evolution. In this abyss, everything is equal, everything is small, and everything is drawn perfectly, in shades of darkness.

Colour is lost here, the harsh contrast between dark and light becomes the world. You could get lost in it, forget you ever lived, and just drift aimlessly forever. The twinkling debris drifted further away, and time passed by like wind, or the hissing of escaping gases. Again, his eyes glazed and he watched the world unfold below him cities and towns sparkling against the darkness. There was a lot of darkness these days. The people back on the planet lived their whole lives in darkness. The atmosphere saw to that.

This was Jeb\'s chance for a little light, like a plant kept in darkness will seek out even the smallest pinprick of luminosity, and drive itself through solid stone to get to it.

The time for dreaming was past now, and matters at hand demanded priority. Again, the ship\'s thrusters spewed out their deathly silent cacophony of gases, as the ship swung around to point the crushed capsule\'s nose into an orbital retrograde.

Jeb\'s breathing, already irregular, paused as his hand hovered over the booster ignition. He blinked, and smoothly and decisively pushed the button.

Nothing happened, at first. But soon, the pod began to noiselessly vibrate as the Service Module\'s booster grumbled a saving emission. The navigation ball began to gyrate. The thrust had obviously been offset by the impact.

Grabbing hold of the central control column, Jeb wrestled with the ship as it swayed across the retrograde indicator. The still functional altimeter began to drop - one hundred thousand meters, ninety thousand, eighty, seventy...

Suddenly, Jebediah hauled on the control column, and simultaneously slammed his free hand onto the staging control, causing the ship to swing wildly, and the Service module to detach and spin off into the upper atmosphere, exposing the virgin heat-shield underneath the damaged pod. The ship\'s manoeuvring systems fired the last of their fuel, as the pod swung back to face up, back to space. It fell, like an angel from heaven staring back up, almost reaching out in desperation. As the pod began to hit air, there was a faint rushing sound, which gave way to the heatshield beginning to burn like the very fires of hell. The remaining glass on the windows, caught by the inferno outside the pod, began to slowly bend and melt, and were sucked out of the pod in streams of molten glass. Looking out the gap left by the molten glass, shielding his face with his hands against the fierce radiating heat from the flames that licked the sill, Jeb saw the jettisoned service module glow white hot, and then disintegrate, the force of the rushing air cleaving it first in two, then spilling its insides around, to burn them individually. Plumes of smoke began to form around the burning pieces as they finally vaporised.

The pod was now shaking violently, and the rushing air had returned sound and fiery light to the silence and darkness. The altimeter was still plummeting, and the heat shield still held.

The top edge of the window frames, now free of glass, began to slowly melt, burning away a vertical triangle of the side wall.

Still the heat shield held.

Jeb was leaned as far forward as possible, covering his helmet glass with his hands on either side to stop the heat getting to him. The pod was slowing down, dragging its trail of fire across the night sky.

Still the heat shield held.

And suddenly, almost as quickly as it had started, the incineration ceased, the pod having slowed down enough. Still shielding himself from the red hot glass and metal streams that had formed around the window holes, Jeb searched around the pod for the emergency pod parachute deploy. It was located by a vertical shock absorber - a large, red, inviting button. Jeb\'s charred glove slammed against it, bending the mounting it was on, and shooting the mechanical release bolt far back into the wall of the pod. Over the deafening rushing of air, there was a bang, a swish, and the rushing took over again.

Jeb looked out what was left of the the window, and for a brief second his grin was replaced by an expression that could only be caused by massive doubt. Still nothing happened, as the horizon slowly drew closer and closer, the rushing grew louder and louder. Suddenly, the whole pod jerked upwards as the emergency parachute shot open, ramming Jebediah into his seat and throwing his head forward into the control panel then back against his headrest, cracking the glass on his helmet. He exhaled deeply, and his eyes were shut. Arms flopped, head rolled, he lay there in the darkness.

The capsule, no longer dropping, rocked gently in the breeze, as the land came up to meet it. The pod slammed into the ground, churning up mud and grass, shedding heat shield tiles that charred the ground where they landed.

It sat there in the darkness of the night, illuminating the area around it with small fires, and light from the pieces of it that still glowed hot. There was no more noise, except the occasional crackle of burning grass, and the pink pink noise of metal and glass cracking and splitting as it cooled. Nothing moved, no signs of life. Even the wind had given up on this lost cause, the smoke from the charred ground rose straight upwards into the night sky that Jeb remembered. The stars that sparkled, the moon that shone like a lantern to illuminate the darkness. Night slowly gave way to dawn, as the sun gradually crawled its way up the morning sky. Beams of light streamed in through the holes in the side of the pod drawing faint lines in the residual smoke and falling gently on a motionless orange clad figure, slumped back in the pilot\'s seat with it\'s head rolled to one side.

Soon after, the recovery teams rushed to recover, the investigation teams delved to investigate, and the resuscitation teams attempted to resuscitate.

There were investigations, conclusive evidence provided, disputed, and resolved. The ASAS had malfunctioned. The pilot had saved it. Soon, there was a manual requirement on every space vehicle. Jeb had succeeded, and was on his way to the stars.

In time the story was told. In time, they called it the successful failure. But soon everyone knew the story of how one man\'s spaceship malfunctioned, crashing him into a satellite. The story of how one man single handedly piloted that ship back from orbit, with limited instrumentation. The story of how he survived re-entry in a damaged pod. The story of a hero of many.

A man without limits.

A man without fear.

Jebediah Kerman.

'The thrillmaster'.

Edited April 16, 2014 by Vostok

[dogon11]

Awesome.

One question. Did he died?