As Soon as the Cylinder Started....

Thousand+ Words for Dec. 4, 2025

As soon as the cylinder started rotating, Clem knew he was going to be sick—and he was sick. He turned his head to the side and vomited, spit, and then vomited again. The cylinder spun faster and faster, and soon, Clem’s stomach was empty. He tucked his head down, chin on his chest, and waited for it to be over. After some time, hours, Clem was sure, he felt a click in the mechanism and then a voice in his headset sounded “All right, that’s all we need.”

The cylinder ground to a halt. Clem opened his eyes to see Clarissa already unbuckling directly across from him. She was occupied with her left chest strap; when it finally separated, she looked up to see him looking at her. “You all right over there?”

Clem grunted and lifted his arms to his own straps. The effort seemed to drain the energy from him. “Can you….”

Clarissa stepped over to him and started unfastening his straps. “Sheesh, what a mess you made. I told you not to eat all that breakfast.”

Clem wobbled slightly as his weight came down on his feet. “Yeah.” He took a step and despite Clarrisa’s steadying hand, almost fell over. “How can you not be dizzy?”

Clarissa gripped his elbow firmly and walked him over to the exit. “Oh, I puked my guts out in flight school every day for six weeks. But you get used to it. Here.” She push the gate open with her other hand, still holding him by the elbow. “Okay, go on through and I’ll get you down the stairs, but after that, you’re on your own.”

“Thanks.” He stepped carefully down, his eyes on his feet as they navigated the metal stairs.

When Clem looked up, he saw that Dr. Donaldson was striding towards the two of them. “What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing, he’s all right,” Clarissa said as she released his arm. “Just a little woozy.”

“You look a little green, there boy,” Donaldson said. “You going to be able to handle the launch?”

“Yes, sir,” Clem said, making an effort to stand up straight. “No problem here.”

“I’m going to keep the rotation rate under 100 degrees per second,” Clarissa offered. “There’s no reason to go any faster than that, not of this run. That was 200 degrees per second for almost 20 seconds.”

Twenty seconds? Clem thought. It had felt like 20 years. “I can handle the launch just fine, Doctor. The question is, how is Bozo going to handle it.”

“I don’t have any idea. How the alien handles spin is not our problem, Commander,” Donaldson said sharply. “The launch is. Now, are you going to be able to communicate with that thing while the ship is under acceleration?”

“I don’t see why not,” Clem answered. “As long as he’s not incapacitated, and presuming he wants to communicate.”

“I don’t see why you people insist on referring to the alien as a he,” Donaldson said with a sniff. Then he turned, stepped between computer stations to the back console, and flipped a toggle on a panel. In response, a screen facing away from Clem and Clarissa illuminated, bathing the director in a soft glow. Clarissa stepped over to join Donaldson; Clem followed.

On the monitor was the camera view of a glass-walled tank filled with what appeared to be water. The tank was well illuminated and the alien, curled on the bottom like a snake, was clearly visible. Loops of muscular tissue covered with a green and yellow striped pattern pushed up against the glass. “How long has—” Clem caught himself. “—has it been on the bottom of the tank like that?”

“Donaldson glanced over at a red display counting up numbers. “Almost seven hours.”

“Seven hours? Doesn’t it need to breathe?” Clarissa asked.

“No,” Clem answered. “But it does need to move around some to keep the infants inside it alive. In the wild, they never stop swimming.”

“The scanners say the infants are alive but in some sort of hibernation,” Donaldson said. “Seifert and Garcia upstairs both say there’s no problem, but, well, we thought you might check in with it to see if anything else is wrong.”

Clem looked at his watch; the lowering and raising of his head caused a pulse of nausea to move through him, but he ignored it. “Yeah, we could do that, but I’ll have to do it from upstairs.”

“Upstairs? Why’s that? I thought you could read its mind.”

“I can read its mind,” Clem answered sharply. “But I need to be plugged in. I need to be able to see my REM levels and my beta rhythm. I need to be plugged in.”

“Hmm,” Donaldson said. He flicked his hand at the toggle and the screen went black. “Okay, so let’s go upstairs.”

The three of them trudged through the lab and then up the metal stairs to the second floor, where several technicians sat at computer stations. Donaldson pulled a chair out from one of the unoccupied stations, motioning for Clem, who was behind him, to sit down. “Actually, I prefer that one over there,” Clem said, gesturing to the station on the other side of the room.

“Feng shui?” Donaldson said as he turned and followed Clem over.

Clarissa, who was behind the two of them, snorted; it took Clem another beat to understand the joke. “No, not Feng whatever. I like the light over here better, that's all.” Clem pulled the chair on that station out and sat down. “You know, this isn’t the easiest thing in the world to do,” he said as he entered his login code and opened the drawer that contained the sensor sleeve, pulling it onto his left wrist.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Donaldson responded. He pulled the chair from the adjacent station over and sat down.

“Look, Boss, the two of you don’t need me here for this. How about if I slip over to fuels? I want to see how the processing is going.”

Neither of the two men looked at her. “Yeah, sure. Tell Sonny down there I said he needs to get the Wednesday report to me.”

“He hasn’t done the Wednesday yet?” Clarissa asked.

“Nope.”

“Sheesh,” Clarissa snorted. She turned and stepped back down the aisle, down the stairs, and was gone by the time Clem had his REM and beta rhythms pulled up on the computer.

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