Up There so High

What do you get when you have a space fanatic, a runaway princess and a bunch of miscreants? Well, you get the three E's; Explosions, Expletives and Enemies.
You may not laugh along with this story but you may sing (because the main space man is very much fond of that).

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11. The Wok and the Work

 

~The Wok and the Work~

~Everett~

 

Everett was hungover and giddy the next morning. He hadn’t drank a whole crate of beer in a long while and his tolerance while in prison had plummeted to an all-time low. So admittedly the computer wasn’t the first thought he had when he woke, it was an urgh why is it so sunny its Britain for fucks sake.

But he was still giddy because he knew the possibilities that the computer brought. So, he made sure that Morton didn’t die from choking on his own vomit or coffee, whichever came first, and he made himself the greasiest breakfast known to man.

Then he retreated to his room and finally, finally opened his laptop, heading to the secret backup files he had deep in his documents. These files had variations of passwords and were protected with every virus and malware software that Everett could ever imagine. And everything from NASA was still there, the photos, the notes, and the footage.

Everett did a wiggle on his bed and threw his hands in the air, serenading his success with some Bon Jovi lyrics. He was glad that Morton didn’t hear or bother to comment on it because he didn’t know how he would be able to explain it.

His time in prison had allowed him to think on what his direction would be when he got out. He could not hold down a job now, not a proper job, with the damning word Cyber Thief on his record. If he wanted to make some money for himself, and some reputation, he had to do something worthwhile with his time. In prison he had decided that he would make equipment to do what NASA could but didn’t.

He would build the equipment to finally be able to teleport.

Everett had been productive in prison, he hadn’t been sat around doing nothing and feeling sorry for himself, he had made connections with criminals who would give him what he wanted. Criminals who gave him advice on how to go about things. Of course these things didn’t go without a price, usually Everett had to do a job for them, like help smuggle something in or out. It was all worth it in the end if you didn’t get caught, which he hadn’t thankfully.

First he sold some of the schematics on the dark web, old stuff; stuff like old blueprints, building and spaceship layouts, conspiracy theories on aliens and the like with evidence from NASA missions. It wasn’t anything damning, they couldn’t make weapons out of the notes on moon dust. Plus NASA couldn’t trace it back to him because it was the dark web.

On the side he wrote essays based on the notes from NASA, used a fake name and sold them to physicians looking for a new breakthrough. That was the safer way to get money but it was also more tedious.

Then with the money that raked in he turned his bedroom into a pseudo lab, sticking a Do Not Enter: dangerous space shit going on in here, sign on his door like he had done when he was a teenager and reckless. With that he got building.

Morton was not around as much as he used to be. The two years Everett had been away Morton had spent making connections as well with friends who liked the same stuff as he did. When Everett asked him where he went sometimes Morton’s answer was this, LARPing as monster hunters like a TV show that Everett couldn’t remember the name of. Everett didn’t know whether to take him serious or not, he chose the latter just to be safe.

It was safer that Morton wasn’t around.

Everett synthesised the fuel that NASA made for quick trips, the NOS and the plant based one. It was ingenious in how they used carbon dioxide to power things. Then he bought some space junk off the internet, space suits and ventilators to make sure that his lungs didn’t collapse during the journey.

He ate dinner out of a wok most nights, since stir fry was the quickest and simplest thing he could make while distracted. His brain was full of equations and rambles as he tried to think of a way to do things without making his cells explode.

He himself bought moon dust from one guy on the dark web and didn’t question how they attained it in the first place. It would do in the chemical makeup of some of his formulas, formulas which would make the suit work in deep space.

His suit was a dark blue, because a white suit just didn’t look fancy enough, and he thought that it had everything it needed. It had everything a normal suit had, oxygen tanks, battery, water tanks, temperature controls, liquid cooling and ventilation gages, warning gages, life support system and everything else. Except his battery ran on Nos, plants and moon dust. The helmet looked like a fancy washing machine but he needed to survive and not die in the vacuum that was space. He named the suit the Prototype Space-onator 3000. Why? Because it was certainly a prototype, the word Space-onator was cool, and the year 3000 was the next millennium. Everyone was a sucker for a millennium, they certainly had went wild for it when it turned 2000. 

Everything so far was built and all he had to do was pick a place to teleport to. Every planet rang on a frequency and a wavelength. Close celestial bodies, like the moon, had a similar wavelength but a different frequency. It wasn’t hard to figure out the frequency because the notes from NASA gave him the calculations.

Thank you NASA.

The first time he pressed the dials on his in built computer he exploded. The liquid cooling system kicked in and saved him but that wasn’t the point.

More calculations were needed.

He stood in his suit, in his bedroom, and looked like a right tit while trying to figure out how to suddenly dissipate from air.

The first task was to get his cells to break apart to allow him to disappear.

Then he needed those cells to travel to the place he wanted and stay together while they did that. For that he needed to be going at an overwhelming speed. Then he needed the cells to come back together so that he didn’t come back missing a limb or an organ, or dead.

He was eating another stir fry when he worked it out. He needed more moon dust in his fuel, a third component which would mix with the Nos because mixed together it produced something spectacular and beautiful. His battery had a mini engine next to it where all three of these components circulated. And he was one decimal point off in his frequency.

He prepared himself for the second trial and hoped for something to happen.

He didn’t prepare himself for what would happen if he actually disappeared. In truth, he hadn’t thought that far. So he when he pushed several buttons and closed his eyes, determined that something besides exploding or catching on fire would happen, he didn’t expect to actually feel himself disappearing.

Disappearing was a weird feeling, it was like all your limbs falling asleep at once, you know that buzzing, static feeling in your limbs, and then nothing.

He didn’t know where he was going or if he would survive but he felt like he could take the chance. Take the chance just to stick his fingers up at NASA and prove Nick Thornby wrong. 

~

 

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