Rocket Science: Tales from the Orion Arm

By Dan Wild

Set 1000 years in the future, plus or minus five years accounting for relativity, Rocket Science follows the adventures of a small man who dreams big. Curious about the universe but unmotivated to complete his IT studies, several people enter his life, directing his imagination away from Crete 581d and to the rest of the Orion Arm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Wild
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9780995500525

Dan Wild

Dan Wild is still trying to work out night from day, breakfast from dinner, creepiness from coolness. He exists in two realities, each with their own timezone. In one reality he services the body, mingles with humanity and tries to fit in. In the other reality he sends forth his creative outpourings in music and writing. Dan Wild will always be a work in progress.

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Omniverse

The Multiverse was in a particularly bad mood when it first noticed Chuck Marley. It had just snacked on Y77, a small test universe on the fringes of imagination. Y77 was a failed universe and the Multiverse decided to eat it and start again. However, the ingestion of Y77 left a bitter taste in the mouth of the Multiverse. The matter was dark and the cosmic background radiation a little sour.

So it decided to take a break from universe creation for an eon or two. The Multiverse turned its all-seeing eye from the macro to the micro. Usually it left organic affairs to the angels and demiurges, avatars and devas.

But it was bored.

Quickly it scanned the Moo, Sha and Om frequencies to see if there was anything interesting going on.

Nothing much was happening in the Sha universe. There was a modern jazz concert on the event horizon of a black hole, but the Multiverse was sure it had seen something like this before.

In the Moo universe (or Mooniverse) everything was perfect, far too perfect. But in the Omniverse, something was happening, or was going to happen, or had already happened and was going to happen again. Something pitiful, almost funny. A twenty-four-year-old mortal of the human race was having a mid-life crisis. Chuck Marley didn’t like what he was doing.

He watched the flickering screens as bug-eyed students tapped away on consoles. They had consumed too much Green Goat, a liquid stimulant that tasted like medicine and was promoted by high-end athletes. Some students had drunk too much and had not slept for days.

They snored on their keyboards while their screens drew out a series of two or three letters. Some had examinations on the Borsk, an ape-like creature genetically modified for heavy lifting. Hospitality students read about Strangbrew, unaware that it was named by a linguist on a pub-crawl of the Ceti system.

In the Great Library of Crete students were everywhere, cross-legged on tables, in aisles, at desks, under desks and about to fall off chairs. The library motto was etched on the back of some chairs: Learning: A Lifelong Pursuit.

Marley’s morale was at an all time low. He’d dropped out of his aeronautical engineering degree three times in a row. He sat with his head in hands, blankly staring at the screen. He preferred coffee and tea to Green Goat, and a Niagra AAA was cooling before him.

He put the coffee in the microwave on the desk and warmed it.

Olan, his step-mother, had insisted he abandon his plans to become a flight engineer. Marley didn’t know if she was joking when she suggested he become a flight attendant. After much protesting she let him enrol in IT Support.

Not long after, she left – one of the first to board a cruise ship touring the Orion Arm. She kept changing her story. First she’d won a premier ticket, then she said she was vlogger, but Marley could find no record of her on TruthTube. Then it became a: ‘special job’.

The screen in front of him flashed an incoming call.

It was Olan. Evidently she wanted an update on his exam preparation.

Olan, it’s you, Marley said guardedly.

My dear, you look well.

As good as I can be without you.

You are a sweet one. You do mean it don’t you? Have you been brushing three times a day?

Three times? I thought it was twice. Where are you now?

In 3021 there were thirty-eight colonised or inhabited worlds in the Orion Arm. She could be anywhere.

I’m not sure where I am and where I’m going next. Perhaps that’s how I like it. Hold on a second. She turned her ear to an unseen speaker. We’re on our way to Teegarden’s Star.

If you’d taken me along it would have saved you the price of a call.

I would if I could. But I have special business. You know that. Finish your studies. IT Support Specialists are needed everywhere. You’ll get paid to travel.

Is that what you do?

We’ll save what I do for later.

You say that every time.

You need to work things out for yourself.

That doesn’t mean keeping me in the dark.

I’m a travel writer.

I haven’t seen a single article.

I write under a pseudonym. And I’m not particularly good. How’s IT Support?

There’s more to IT Support than I realised. Marley had a hard enough time speaking Standard Galactic Standard – learning a programming language was beyond him. But luckily IT Support was not about programming. It was about ‘support’. Anyone could be supportive.

Are you eating ok? Olan looked slightly distracted.

Of course. The physical training is the best part of the course, and I need to eat well for that. Physical training was important for keeping the body conditioned after long periods hunched at a desk staring at a screen. Support staff could be desk-bound for extremely long periods – up to forty hours. Productivity was increased through drips delivering food and drink. OH&S applications tracked mental activity and alternately ordered micro-sleeps and caffeine injections. This is what happens when you outsource IT Support to Crete 581c.

I have to go. Olan was always in a rush. What’s your next exam?

Interspecies Liaison. IT Support involved plenty of interaction – your customers were not always human. Marley needed to be comfortable around everyone in the Orion Arm and make these aliens comfortable around him.

Everyone is fine around you. You’re good at defusing situations.

Marley had no idea what she was talking about, but he nodded. Customers with computer problems were usually agitated. The majority would be human or Baconian, the only two independent technologically advanced species in the Orion Arm.

After first contact, non-technological species were also keen to explore the limited amount of galaxy uncovered. They were also prone to anxiety.

Olan continued hurriedly. This has been a unique assignment. I can’t tell you much, but the Cretan Government is keen to get a snapshot of the new cruise ship industry. Most passengers are human or Baconian. But I’ve also seen Nunchians, Barnardians and Jovian Jellyfish. A few modders with more gene enhancements just joined us. But some of the robots: I can’t tell whether they’re human with robot enhancements or the other way around.

I imagine these robots have algorithms that demand they get their money’s worth – robots as curious as me, but with more discipline.

Much more discipline. You’ll never compete with a robot. You have other strengths. Take your studies seriously, Chuck my dear. Discipline is motivation is strength is courage. Olan blew him a kiss and cut the connection.

Strange woman his step-mother.

Chapter 2: A haircut, red dust and Octomaids

Marley had not taken Interspecies Liaison seriously. Presentation was important, so the first requirement – have a haircut.

He recalled his visit to the Bad Ends. The hairdresser had asked, Do you want to look like him? He pointed to a picture of Frisky Benjamin, the famous C-grade actor.

And the haircut was good. He didn’t look like Benjamin, but each hair knew its place. No longer did he fear looking like he’d just emerged from an afternoon nap (which was most of the time).

For the next few weeks Marley caught the eye of as many species as possible, or tried to. This would prepare him for Interspecies Liaison. He role-played in front of the mirror, pretending to be an alien with a broken smartwatch. He switched to himself – IT Support Man.

At the Interplanetary Foodcourt he encountered his classmate, Elysia the Sirian, when she dropped her phone. He handed it back to her. She glowed. Not because she felt any attraction to Marley but because her home star, Sirius, had exposed her to significant radiation.

It was unquestionable that Sirians had evolved very quickly, their home star being only 300 million years old and in the evolutionary fast-lane. But Elysia’s affection for Marley was evolving very very slowly, if at all.

Marley’s haircut did attract a couple of Octomaids. He should probably have gone home at this point, but he was starved of attention. Not that he had a fetish for tentacles.

He did a search for Octomaids and discovered their origins in the early days of genetic experimentation. They combined the sentience and agility of a human and octopus, without being either.

What is it to be human? Marley rested, head in hand, and looked at the ceiling. I should have been a Nunchian. He briefly considered a species-change operation.

This was the most radical thought he’d had all day. The Nunchians of Foon were elegant and thought themselves the best-looking humanoids in the Orion Arm. They were even more vain than humans, and not quite as successful at suppressing it.

Marley had watched several documentaries on them the other day, just in case a Nunchian was the exam’s test subject.

After detecting bio-signatures around Tau Ceti, humans  patiently observed the Nunchians one hundred years before first contact. Civilisation on Foon was growing steadily. As an economist might say: It was on the up.

The Nunchians were found to be aloof and haughty. They were particularly annoyed that a race less good looking had beaten them to all technologies, including hair dryers. But they were grateful for humanity’s expertise in cosmetics and plastic surgery.

First contact on Foon was rapidly followed by groups of xeno-anthropologists and battalions of cosmetic companies, keen to sell advanced skin whitening techniques (for Nunchians who wanted to be white) and artificial tanning machines (for Nunchians who wanted to be less white).

Marley typed in some notes then did another search. Computer, tell me about the Nunchians and Baconians.

The computer responded blandly. You have not personalised your search engine. Do you want to name it?

No, I am happy calling you ‘Computer’. Are you ok with that?

The computer pretended to ignore him, but really it was hurt.

The Baconians are humanity’s only technological rivals in the Orion Arm. They export cosmetics to Foon, but the Nunchians consider Baconian products to be markedly inferior.

That must have been a real kick in the gonads for the Baconians, said Marley.

The computer had never encountered ‘gonads’ in this context. Its AI scripts made an electronic note.

Marley noticed the delay. Continue with the Baconians.

The Baconians became spacefaring at the same time as humans. They control a similar-sized but less densely populated sector of space.

To Marley this sounded like they still had to prove themselves. Computer, how did the Baconians get their name?

Their home planet in the Delta Pavonis system cannot be pronounced by humans. They therefore chose a substitute name. It is the name of two humans they admire: Roger Bacon and Francis Bacon.

But bacon is the name of a cured meat. Doesn’t it sound silly?

The smell seduced them, yet they do not eat it. They are vegetarian. But they insisted that the Standard Galactic Standard for their planet should be: Bacon.

That’s fine for now.

Delta Pavonis, the Baconian’s G-type star, was twenty light years from Sol. It took twenty years for The Spatula series to reach Bacon from Earth. Baconians were addicted to reality TV and had refined their wireless technology for this purpose. The Baconians made first contact when it was rumoured Earth’s longest running show was to be cancelled in 2470.

Despite loving The Spatula, Baconians were suspicious of human culture from the outset. Humans considered them to be as intellectually arrogant as the Nunchians were physically narcissistic. The Baconians saw it as their mission to enlighten both species.

Marley realised he’d been daydreaming – productive daydreaming. Time to do some ‘cultural research’. This meant watching more VT. He decided on Xenophile: Over the Top. Although exploitative, Xenophile unravelled human attitudes towards aliens.

Welcome to Zorge and another episode of Xenophile: Over the Top. I’m Zax your Alien Investigator. Last week we polled our viewer and you wanted to go to Zorge, normally off limits to humans.

To be the viewer that was polled by Xenophile was considered by many to have greater authority than entering Cretan Parliament. The Zorgons are far from primitive. Zax emphasised the final word, squinting at the camera as if challenging the Cretan Broadcasting Authority to fine him.

Zax spun on his heels. The Zorgons have agreed to hold a tour. Zax cleared his throat. He secretly doubted if the Zorgons would be capable hosts. We are giving away samples of genuine red dust to the first one hundred viewers who Like this episode. Genuine red dust. Not cheap imitations on the Dark Market.

Marley was sure a subliminal message flashed on the screen – an advertisement for energy balm.

Zax pointed at the camera. Anyone in LOL needs to watch today’s episode. Zax knew The Liberation of Life group had his show in its sights. The best way to fend off its attacks was to go on the offensive and win the publicity war. Today’s episode is sponsored by CosmeticsX, red dust refiner and distributor. They are here to help grow the Zorgon civilisation – to greatness. Marley could definitely hear quote marks around ‘civilisation’. Zax sounded as convincing as a snake-oil salesman selling to a snake.

Marley retrieved a vial of red dust from his backpack, purchased from a dubious source in the Shabbylands. He diligently mixed the dust with water and rubbed it into his cheeks and chest. Nothing happened. He’d been doing this for four weeks.

Marley’s eyes glazed as the camera cut from Zax to the  red planet Zorge.

The planet went dark. Not because it was night on Zorge, but because Marley had closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

Chapter 3: Procrastinating at the bar

Marley lifted his head from the desk and looked around the library. It was mid-evening and buzzing with students. He collected his laser stylus and fold-up tablet, or flablet, and headed to the Quasar Bar to spend money and time.

Marley didn’t drink unless there was someone to drink with him. At the Quasar Bar he often found Insomniac Fluton, who was always full of his mad schemes. Recently he’d made Marley blow a month’s income on an app called FaceMash, which matched a photo of you to famous historical figures. Marley was sure it would liken him to Don Bero, hero of the Asteroid Wars. But no, apparently he was a spitting image of some guy named Pope Urban II.

You know what I want, he said to Garibaldi the bartender. Before he’d finished saying this Garibaldi had inserted a mug between his limp hands.