Origins by Jamie Sawyer

summarised what I knew. “A few star systems out. A big base called
Liberty Point
. It’ll divert traffic away from here.”
    â€œThat good a bad,” the kid said. “Probably mean less war a here, but maybe also less tourists. You sound American.”
    â€œI am. That a problem?”
    â€œNot for me. For lots out here, it is though. Maybe you should a get something else a wear?” He pointed out a clutch of tourists wearing bright orange, faux-Calico vac-suits. “You want one a these suits, I can find someone who can get you one. Rated for the vac and all.”
    â€œI don’t need a suit. My uniform is fine. I don’t want to miss this launch.”
    â€œYou seem awful keen to get there. You got a girl aboard or something?”
    â€œSomething,” I said. “Are we far?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I can even get you into a press pit, for a little extra. It’ll be one a the best places to watch a launch.”
    I don’t want to watch the launch
, I thought.
I want to stop it.
    â€œDo that,” I said. Didn’t even ask about the credits.
    For his faults – mainly, that he wouldn’t stop talking about the history of Calico, about where he was from, and about the various items that he could acquire for me for just a few more credits – Vijay proved to be a reliable and decent guide. We carved our way through the passages and conclaves until we reached the transport sector. All the while, the timer clicked down. Anticipation was mounting inside of me. I’d already faced multiple simulated deaths by then – and started my meteoric rise within the Sim Ops Programme – but this was anxiety of an entirely different calibre.
    If I didn’t do something now, then Elena would be gone for good.
    Through the transparent domed ceilings, I saw that the sides of star-scrapers had been dedicated to the celebration as well. The faces of the lead crew cycled through: in fifty-metre glory, each of them smiling towards the camera. It was sickening.
    â€œDon’t they know what they’re doing?” I said aloud.
    â€œThey want a peace, see? That’s what you military types don’t understand. They want a go see a Krell and talk to ’em.”
    â€œIt’ll never work.”
    â€œBut if this Treaty,” Vijay said, wagging his finger in a sage fashion, trying to appear far more knowledgeable than he actually was, “works out, then we’ll all be winners. They talk about a Quarantine Zone or something.” Vijay ducked between two men wearing blue and green robes, swinging incense burners. “Shuttle bays a this way.”
    It was there that Elena would be boarding, using the Calican shuttle terminals to reach the
Endeavour
. The actual expeditionary fleet was far above us, visible only as a collection of blinking lights, lost to the sea of stars.
    â€œWe start a build a space elevator,” Vijay told me. “It gonna be real good for finances.”
    A metal beanstalk grew from the transport sector, surrounded by a series of industrial cranes and scaffold structures. Only a few hundred metres long at present, the unfinished elevator would connect Calico Base to the orbital docks: would allow for faster transport to and from the surface. Right now, the shuttles were the fastest option. That, and it gave the Alliance media machine plenty of opportunities to parade the crew before the cameras.
    â€œWhere’s the press pit?” I asked.
    Vijay pointed. “Down a that a way. I got a pass.”
    The boy led me to a gangway. Sector security – men dressed in big blue vac-suits, with white lettering across their chests and backs – milled among Alliance Military Police; identifiable by their black flak-suits and the carbines slung over their chests. Vijay waved his wrist-comp at the nearest guard; a man with a head and face of tattoos, and missing front teeth. The guard raised an eyebrow in