(Please read Meta Leone .1 first if you want the story from the beginning.)

From out of nowhere, an LED display crawled across the inside of the lid of the crypt in an arc twenty inches above his face, …STATE YOUR FULL NAME, PLEASE… and repeated until the request was heeded. Following it with his eyes, he appreciated it for its entertainment value until the words sank in and he complied aurally. “Aa…” At first, his voice failed him, his throat being dry and sore from the feeding tube, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Adam Thorshavn Faeroe.” This time in a deep, though hoarse, voice. That answer earned him the right to be released from his life-sustaining sepulcher.

A new message began to scroll across the LED display …PLEASE REMAIN CALM. YOU WILL BE ABLE TO MOVE SHORTLY… as the airlock released with a hiss and the lid slowly opened. Slightly cooler air rushed in, the hum of the fan faded into the background, and a new sound commanded his attention.

With a tone well suited to a tour guide or flight attendant, soothing, yet persuasive, a female voice began asking questions. “Do you know where you are?”

He was naked, lying in an open casket, unable to move, and expected to engage in a conversation with an unknown and unseen female, which he did without hesitation. “Yes, ma’am. I should be aboard the Allied Republic Astronautical vessel Onarion.” A ship he had yet to actually see and explore.

“That is correct. You are. What is your capacity aboard this ship?”

“I am the commander, the captain, ma’am.” This too was new for him, not the rank so much as having it apply in this way.

“What is your mission, Captain Faeroe?”

“I have been commissioned to deliver passengers and cargo to the surface of the planet Leone, then return, along with the six soldiers assigned to me, to Earth, ma’am.” Not his usual assignment at all, which meant that his answers were not parroted phrases from earlier missions, and therefore a clear indication that he was at his full mental proficiency.

“I am now going to release you from the Immobilizer, Captain Faeroe, but please remain still until I give you further instructions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Adam felt something move under his back, and then a strange sensation as if being released from imaginary bonds, but no other change was evident.

“Thank you. Now if you would slowly sit up, Captain Faeroe.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As he was told, Adam sat up and was pleased to feel neither dizziness nor headache.

“Thank you. Now you can stand and leave the chamber, Captain Faeroe.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” With movements oddly tentative for the normally imposing soldier, Adam maneuvered one leg and then the other so that both feet now touched the floor and he stood with noticeable apprehension.

Breathing deeply, he was relieved to find that he suffered no ill effects from his time in deep space. Standing fully erect, he towered over the stainless-steel bed, a full seven feet tall. His well-muscled body remained in the same peek physical condition that it had been in when he submitted himself to the cryogenic state a year ago. A natural and expected fear of the mysteries of cryogenics had caused him to voice many of his concerns to the recruiter about being asleep for so long, and not the least of which was what shape he would be in when he emerged. For a soldier, physical ability was paramount, and he had worked too hard to get into phenomenal shape to lose it to atrophy caused by a voluntary vegetative state just so that he could avoid the boredom of a very long flight. But every ounce of his two hundred fifty pounds that had been toned muscle before he went into hibernation was still exactly that. A slight nod was the only indication of the satisfaction that this realization gave him.

Adam took a quick look around for the source of the compelling female voice, heard as if she were within the small dark room, but he soon realized that she was obviously only an auditory extension of a computer housed somewhere within the ship. As she continued to direct him, Adam passed through the only exit, and into a chamber where he was told to shower. After having done so, he was air dried by high-powered blowers before another door within this cavity opened to allow him to pass into a room where clothing awaited.

To a soldier, a uniform is a uniform, and the clothes he was now to put on differed from the ones he was wearing when he reported for this assignment only in the fact that they were new. Standard issue boxer briefs, socks and a t-shirt, all in black, of course, were the first to cover him. Then he slipped into the fatigues of a mottled, shadow-style camouflage, leaving them undone and barely held up by his stance and sturdy thighs. A long-sleeved button-up shirt of the same camouflage, which was fitted only enough to not look sloppy but sufficiently roomy to provide practical combat movement, hid the t-shirt as well as the true definition of his physique. After tucking in the shirt, fastening his pants, and slipping a black canvas belt through each loop and the black leather covered buckle, the man who now looked every bit a twenty-second century warrior sat and secured combat boots to his feet.

Standing again, he added a black beret, the last piece of the outfit fully meant to let no one forget his military ties. The cap was the only indicator of his title and specialty. Insignias upon it denoted him as a captain. Bars and ribbons hinted that the rank didn’t do his level of experience justice. But neither the cap, nor his file, nor his countenance would give away all his secrets.

As he looked into the mirror and adjusted the cap, he smirked at the beard and long hair that he now sported due to the time in hibernation. They had both been tactically noted in the shower, but since no razor was provided, he assumed that time did not allow for their removal. He shrugged, knowing that there was nothing he could do about either uniform violation at the moment.

It was impossible for him to look into the mirror and not see his father looking back at him, especially with the beard, and especially at his current age of twenty-five years. That was how old his father had been when Adam saw him last, two decades ago. Adam had inherited many of the traits of his ancestors: the sandy reddish-brown hair; the tall, perfectly proportioned body that was neither bulky nor lanky, with narrow hips, wide shoulders, long limbs and slender torso; the handsome face that seemed so fearsome when he was serious, yet so inviting when he donned a rare smile; and the piercing blue eyes that changed color with his mood. Shifting his eyes to the beret again, Adam saw only a soldier. Nothing else mattered.

Now that he was at least properly attired, the woman who spoke the computer’s wishes prompted him to pass through the final door that would rebirth him amongst the living.

(Continued on Meta Leone .3)

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...