The Trilon
H.A.L. Wagner
Text Copyright © 2012 H.A.L. Wagner
Cover Art Copyright © 2012
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Chapter 1
Right about now I could use a smoke. Too bad open flames on space flights are bad news. Just ask the seventy-three hundred passengers and crew aboard the Scope. The powers that be ruled it accidental, an open flame aboard ignited over-oxygenated air. Rumors surfaced the ship was destroyed as an act of terror done in the name of Martian Rebel Alliance by tampering with a shipment of O2 meant for a Mars station. Their cause never got far.
That was four years ago and the last time any transport flights left Earth. Well the Reunification Government has lifted the transport band and I’m on my way to Fido, a colony on the Martian equator, a colony that was not ready for four years of isolation.
The Trilon is a space transport over three hundred modern cubits long and at least half as many wide at the stern. The shape of the craft is as the name implies, long and to a point, with a hull black as space itself. The official head count is eight thousand passengers and crew. I suspect that is not counting any stowaways.
The send off from the space dock orbiting earth was fancy and over stated. Government officials dressed in deep blues and grays with gold fringe and trimmings gave speeches about the last tragedy and how they had done what was needed to keep the people of Earth safe from rogue Martian rebels. The Trilon captain was third in line, behind a couple of elected officials, to give his speech. By then no one was listening, we were all just waiting to board. Four years was a long time for the folks on Mars to go without quality produce but the people on Earth never seemed to mind. Mars was just textile mills and mines to people on Earth, a place to fill their homes with cheap goods. Earth never saw The Reunification Wars. The only blood spilt was on Martian soil and her orbit. The people here today to see the Trilon off hardly knew a thing about the true cost of reunification and the bill it was still tallying up.
Guards dressed in intimidating black and grey uniforms represented the beefed up security. It was enough to give a vet a flash back. Security searched our contents and our person and then searched everything again. The burden was on the authorities to keep us safe.
For those passengers that cared enough for the people of Mars, they weighed themselves down with care packages. With just my one small carry-on, I became a target for people who could not make the flight. They asked repeatedly to check a suitcase full of raspberry preserve or some other homemade crap. One guy said he had a bag full of porn but when I looked at the length of the checked luggage line I told him I travel light.