Science Fiction Work: "Centennial" Part 1
Hank was up late, putting a few finishing touches on the latest improvements to his bike. “Gretel,” as he called her, was a high-powered electric motorcycle built with a number of hard to get German parts. Hank’s latest project involved modifying Gretel’s continuous drive shifter in order to achieve the best possible acceleration for his riding weight.
The machine he was using to make the modification was so loud that he didn’t hear his brother pounding on the metal roll down door to his shop, which was also where Hank lived. To confound matters, Hank was also lost in his thoughts as usual, devising various plans to accomplish his latest goals.
Wheeler was now hitting the door with his fist as hard as he could to get Hank’s attention over the noise. At first the pounding sounded like it was coming from some distant countryside, but as Hank’s thoughts slowly returned to reality, the metal clanging started to jar his brain.
“What the hell!” Hank shouted.
“Henry! Open the door! It’s your brother you asshole!”
Hank immediately recognized his brother’s voice and persistent knocking. Besides, no one else ever called him by his full name. Hank turned off the shaping machine and gave a voice command to open the door.
Hank only knew a few words in Portuguese, but he thought using regular English words for the voice activated control system was boring.
Before the door was fully open, Wheeler ducked under and shouted, “Grab your suit! The forecast says we’ve only got about an hour and a half of calm air before the next weather shift!”
Hank looked for his com and saw it sitting nearby on one of the workbenches in his shop. It was flashing with blue light.
“Why didn’t you stop by sooner!” Hank asked while taking another look at his com. “It looks like the weather calmed over an hour ago!”
The weather patterns on Planet Centennial were wild. The planet was tidal locked, so only one side was ever exposed to the sun. As the sun warmed the ocean on the light side of the planet, hot and powerful air currents formed and eventually rushed across to the cold, low-pressure areas in the dark side of the planet, creating violent weather shifts. In between the shifts there were moments of calm, mild weather, but they didn’t follow a highly predictable pattern.
“I thought I’d try calling you first, like a normal person! I should’ve known you’d be working on your beloved ‘Gretel.’ You’re obsessed with that thing.“
It was true. Hank spent much of his spare time working on his motorcycle. But it was what he did. He was a mechanical engineer and loved making things work as efficiently as possible. He could spend hours working on his bike, and it would only feel like a few minutes.
“You could use a hobby too.” Hank said snidely. “Not everyone gets enjoyment from spending their extra time wining and dining corporate execs.”
Wheeler laughed, “I’ve already got a hobby! Now let’s go!”
Hank sprinted over to the storage locker in the corner of his shop and grabbed a canvas bag that was hanging inside, along with a black helmet that was sitting on a shelf next to the hanger rack.
The brothers hurried out to Wheeler’s gray, low profile sports car parked blocking the entrance to Hank’s shop. As soon as they passed under the roll-up door, it lowered and locked.
Hank threw his gear in the back seat of the car and they were off. The automatic restraint system barely had time to activate before Wheeler accelerated into the first sharp turn at the corner of the block. It was late in the evening on a work night, so there were only a few people on the road in what was normally a busy downtown area.
The light of the sun was just ever so slight. The horizon looked like the beginning of dawn or the final moments of dusk, depending on your perspective. The city’s day lighting system was so effective that most people actually forgot that what appeared to be “night” was actually what their side of the planet always looked like. But not Hank or Wheeler. They were among the few who were aware of the actual situation, and it had been puzzling them, festering in the back of their minds for some time now.
The car was now building up speed, and Wheeler was weaving it through tall silhouettes of buildings. The cityscape was mostly dark, but it emanated slight orange and pinkish hues. Wheeler’s car reflected a gray streak of light in the glass of the buildings as it slid around corners, skimming by obstacles in the street.
The buildings were narrower and taller than most skyscrapers on Earth, and helix-shaped wind energy harvesters dotted the walls and roofs. Life-like video clips of food, clothes, and entertainment played on screens mounted to billboards and storefronts. For being a relatively small city, at least by Earth standards, Station had all the appearances and trappings of any other city. The advanced technology that made it possible to colonize Centennial, also made it possible to construct micro-manufacturing plants that could create any type of good or product desirable. Even the latest clothes or gadgets designed on earth were manufactured. Restaurants, clothing stores, electronic shops, and various forms of entertainment lined the streets, while apartments and offices towered above.
The city of one million was mostly built upwards, rather than outwards, so it didn’t take long to traverse its limits. Wheeler and Hank were soon outside of the downtown Station and approaching the True Dark Territory. They buzzed by vast fields of cultivated mushrooms, affectionately called “Martian manna” by the local inhabitants, and crossed countless streams on clean-lined bridges. The streams flowed from the steep ridges to the west and looked like pink, metallic ribbon spread across the valley.
As soon as Wheeler and Hank reached the first mineral refinement plant, Hank looked at his com and shouted, “ 5 minutes and 32 seconds! Not even close!”
Wheeler tried to hide his annoyance. His driving time from Hank’s shop to the first prominent land mark in the TDT was still over a minute slower than Hank’s. Logically both he and his brother knew he could never match Hank’s record on a motorcycle, but it still drove Wheeler crazy. He took pleasure at being the best at everything he did. For Hank it wasn’t so much about being the best, as much as it was accomplishing the goals he set for himself. But even Hank couldn’t escape the tug of brotherly rivalry.
They were only a couple more miles away from the mining headquarters where they would park before they ascended the mountain. The brightness of the sun’s light was quickly diminishing as they drove west. Not much remained visible other than the mountain ranges looming large on the horizon. Mt. Santor’s peak and the surrounding ridges formed an impressive silhouette in the sky. Their summits were high enough to catch the rays of light that bounced along the planet’s surface, which resulted in a subtle ombre effect. The light yellow light on the peaks gently faded into a pitch-black darkness at mountain’s foundation.
Wheeler loved the sight of the mountains, especially Mt. Santor. While he wished he could see them in the full light of the sun, he still thought they were beautiful. The darkness only added to their mysterious appeal. Hank enjoyed the view of the mountains too, but to him they represented something he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Maybe it was the danger they posed when he and his brother flew through their rocky ravines. Perhaps it was that they were too solitary and too immoveable in what was otherwise a constantly moving world. Whatever emotions the mountains stirred in his soul, they were unsettling.
The air tram, with its large steel poles and metal cables was now in view. The glowing cables stretched and slinked like several strands of a spider’s web up the steep gorge of the south side of the mountain. The hanging transport pods looked like mere flickers of light by the time they reached the top.
Suddenly Hank lurched forward and sideways in his seat. As soon as they pulled into the underground parking lot at the factory, Wheeler slammed on the breaks and turned the steering wheel to slide his car into one of the many open parking spaces.
Hand and Wheeler hopped out of the car, grabbed their suits, and walked quickly to the nearest elevator. The elevator door opened just a hundred paces away from the air tram. Hank flashed his pass to the tram operator.
“Hey Saul. Have you received any weather warnings?” Hank asked.
The elderly operator was wearing a black uniform, and looked rather uninterested, even a little disgusted.
“Weather should be clear for another hour. Don’t kill yourselves up there.”
“We’ll try not to. Have a good night.” Wheeler replied with a courteous smile.
