Friends,
For me, writing has always been fun. I’ve never not enjoyed the process of creating something and putting it down on paper. I’ve dabbled in both fiction and nonfiction sides, but over the last year I’ve come to the agreement with myself that it’s best to rely on my strengths—creativity and writing fiction stories that I make up in my head. During that year, I came up with this science-fiction story about a space courier named Dodge Swinger. Below, is chapter one of that story. Depending on how this goes, I may upload additional chapters in installments. But, I hope you enjoy it.
The tractor beam of Space City-412 Ship Docking and Storage was locked on to the Fury 500, the ship used by Dodge Swinger as his primary vehicle for interstellar travel. It was a two-seat cockpit ship with enough room for a copilot to walk toward their seat before having to crouch down to avoid hitting their head on the ceiling panel as they began easing into their seat; that is if Dodge Swinger had a copilot. Most times he didn’t. Occasionally he found himself in the company of companions in the Fury, but not today.
Suddenly, but predicably, the light of the tractor beam that enveloped Dodge’s ship, the Fury 500, changed from a pale yellow to a brighter blue—alerting the pilot that they are now no longer taxiing into the intake process and have been engaged by Space City-412’s Customs. Then the incoming message notification alert started to chime in the cockpit. Dodge lifted the safety cap that covered the access switch to the ship’s communications to the open function, opening the access and allowing any incoming messages to speak freely. A robotic voice proceeded with the standard protocol.
“Starship Fury 500, presently registered to captain Dodge Swinger, home port of… Space City—412. Please confirm the information is correct by saying “Yes” now.” The automated voice said. Dodge knew this process very well. He had gotten accustomed to it as a young boy traveling with his father to various other Space Cities in the Union. Whether it be for business or pleasure, when pulling your space ship into any Space City, a Customs clearance was a mandatory part of the process. Depending on population, some parts of some planets also had a similar process for docking ships. But the galaxy is a big place and still much of it was open to exploration. “The weight of your ship does not suggest that you are hauling any freight, passengers, or goods. Is that correct? Say “Yes” now.” Again, Dodge knew that question was coming. In times where there was an added weight to the ship, he knew that he would be expected to sent a digital copy of his ship’s manifest to the Customs for review, and sometimes the ships will be boarded for inspection. But he knew that wouldn’t be the case today. “Voice Identification: confirmed. Please allow the green beam to guide you to your next docking location. As a reminder: engaging your engines is strictly forbidden during the Beam Process. Anyone engaging the engines will be immediately considered to be hostile and lethal force will be used. Welcome home, Dodge Swinger”
The tractor beam then changed colors from the bright blue to a soft green, signaling to all Space City officials that the ship associated with the green beam has been cleared by Customs and is to follow the specific green beam to its assigned dock. Dodge disengaged the communication button and closed the safety cap. He waited for the green beam to guide his ship to the dock where the countdown to disengagement was understood as three flashes of the beam. On the second flash, a captain was to engage the ship’s landing gear, on the third flash, the ship would become subject to gravity again. With cooperation, all should go well and the ship should be docked.
The dock was an openair platform. There was a set of stairs to the rear which lead down to the interior of Space City-412. The ship faced forward to a roadway intended for either foot traffic or motorized vehicles. The roadway wrapped around the docks and had various outlet ramps that lead to other avenues of Space City-412. Most Space City docks had a similar layout, by design, to make the process as uniform as possible. The green tractor beam had guided Dodge to the assigned dock and positioned the ship directly above the dock number that was painted on the dock floor in faded yellow paint. One flash from the tractor beam, a pause, then the second flash—Dodge engaged the landing gear. From the underside of the ship, four panels quickly slide open and four mechanical legs unfolded below the ship to stabilize the landing. Then, the third flash from the green beam and the ship had been let loose to briefly drop to the dock’s floor. After a brief rocking of the ship, it quickly settled and stabilized. Dodge unbuckled his seatbelt, slid the straps off of his shoulders, and pushed out a sigh of relief. He flipped the safety cap off of the communication switch again, pushed a button on the dash panel of the ship and said “Voice call: Alrex”
Instantly, a small hologram projected up from the dash panel with Alrex’s vital information. Or, at least what Dash considered to be vital at the time that he loaded the information into his personal data device which was plugged into the dashboard to interface with the ship’s communications systems. Only a moment passed before Dodge was greeted with Alrex’s familiar voice.
“Dodge Swinger, welcome back to SC-412. I was wondering when you were going to call.” Alrex said.
“I just got in. I haven’t even left the dock yet.” Dodge said.
“Good, we’re just about to sit down to dinner, you should come by and get something to eat before we get down to business.” Alrex said.
“Thanks, but I’m going to pass this time.” Dodge said.
“Is it my wife’s cooking?” Alrex said. “You know you can tell me.”
“No, I’ve just been thinking about a hot bowl of lo mien for awhile now and I know just the place to go.” Dodge said.
“Fine, but don’t take too much time. I need to see you before the workday gets started tomorrow. Meet me at the Broken Sprocket at 21:00—and don’t be late, Dodge.” Alrex said.
“Sure thing. But if I’m there before you, you’re picking up the tab.” Dodge said. Alrex laughed in agreement. “See ya then, old friend.”
Dodge closed the conversation with a flip of a switch. The hologram displaying Alrex’s information had faded away and Dodge ejected his data device from the dash panel and stuck it into his inside jacket pocket. He got out of the cockpit and walked toward the rear of the ship. He climbed down the metal ladder that was located at the halfway point and was into the lower deck of the ship. The lower deck was primarily a storage space. This is where Dodge would keep his packages for his courier business, his stash of food and general supplies, but most importantly, it’s where he kept his cruiser bike—the single seater, multidirectional four engine, personal vehicle—that he used to navigate cities. He had it since it was new and spent a lot of time in the seat as was evident by the wear and tear on the paint job. But the cruiser bike still worked perfectly.