This story started out based on a lucid dream, but quickly grew away from that, into wherever it's at now.
Some say the muse is a spirit all of her own, others say she is just your imagination.
One way or another...
I have a very strange imagination.

Chapter 1.1

N21 was a space station that had been orbiting Earth for many years, but it’s original purpose had been made obsolete by a modern, more efficient version. It was a weapons platform, housing missiles that had aimed at every military base on the planet below, as well as the largest cities. Had they been launched, the once beautiful planet would have been turned into a mostly barren wasteland.

Now, there was a newer, more efficient and deadlier version circling the world, just a few kilometers away.

What a wonderful thing accomplished by our governments.

There were several of us that wanted nothing more to do with Earth’s warlike culture. Most from our group were scientists, wanting to explore “the wonders of the universe.” Many were artists of one form or another. I was one of the latter. A musician by trade, with a minor in gastronomy.

Those who were scientists had lived in constant fear of being “appropriated” by their respective governments, and made to lend their talents to the betterment of society. In other words, to help maintain the delicate balance that prohibited the MAD (mutually assured destruction) that kept our governments from destroying the world -- or rather the people populating it.

Then there were people like me, who were completely useless as far as the general populace was concerned. It wasn’t that our fields were not wanted, or needed. Rather, we were backwards, as far as they were concerned. We didn’t stand with the general opinion that “Big Brother” was benevolent, and much of our art reflected our beliefs. It wasn’t my gastronomic creations that were looked down on, but rather my music.

Once, I had owned a very successful restaurant, but as society went downhill, I converted the establishment into a street kitchen. I would spend the day coming up with a new, wonderful edible creation, and feed it to those who had no place in society, and therefore, no place to call home. It was my way of thumbing my nose at the people who controlled the world.

At one time, I had watched many of the ancient television shows. One was called Star Trek, and I had read about one episode in particular, that had been about time travel. In it, a social worker from the 1920s had a kitchen similar to mine, and the “payment” was to have the people listen to her preaching about a new and better place. Rather than preach, I played my music. Listening to my lyrics was the payment.

Then, one night, I was rousted from my bed. The group that I had secretly been a part of, was taken to some place in Europe. We were placed in a theater, and made to listen to “Caesar”. It wasn’t his real name, but that’s what we called him.

He preached for quite some time, then he gave us an ultimatum.

“Because we are benevolent, we are giving you a choice. You may serve the greater good of the people of our world,

or you may choose to be exiled to the N21 station.”

There were several thousand of us in the assembly. We knew that the station had been stripped of its armaments, otherwise we would not be sent there. Even with guards, there would be too much chance of us using them.

Some of us were frightened by exile, and agreed to be assimilated into society. Personally, I doubted that they would ever be trusted. I was enough of a conspiracy theorist that I was certain they would not live another day. The rest of us were forced into shuttles. As we stepped aboard, we were each given some type of shot in our shoulder.

Each one was designed to hold twelve people, not including the pilots. That was with comfortable seats. We didn’t have that luxury. One hundred of us were standing, packed together like sardines, when we took off. There were no windows that we could see the station as we approached. The only way we knew we were there was when we felt the ship slow, then what seemed to be half an hour later, we heard sounds through the hull. A moment later, there was a slight depressurisation, and the hatch opened. We were forced out of the shuttle, into a long, dark corridor.

We were herded into what had once been part of the primary purpose of the station. I spotted someone I knew, standing near the back wall of the “room”. I wondered if I would be allowed to approach him, or if the guards would stop me. To my surprise, there was no attempt.

“Hello, John,” I said to him, very quietly, when I stopped and leaned against the wall beside him.

Rather than speak, he glanced at me and nodded. In our group, he was the leader of the scientific part, where I was his counterpart for those who were artists.

“Any idea what’s going on?” I asked.

He shook his head and looked around. “This was a missile bay. All the launch machinery has been removed. Maybe taken to N22. It would be a waste to scrap it all.” Several years ago, John Carlson had been one of the scientists who worked on the superstructure of the station. That was, before he realized what it was actually for. He had not had any reason to dislike the establishment before he started the project. When he politely stepped aside, he loathed it. Suddenly, he stopped his survey. He was gazing towards the single doorway into the bay.

There was his brother, Roger, a medical researcher, standing with several members of the medical field. They were being grouped by a few of the senior guards, while some of their minions were standing around the perimeter of the group, weapons facing outwards.

“That’s all,” said a Lieutenant. I could read lips, and I translated for John.

“Are you sure? We don’t want to leave any,” replied his Colonel.

“Positive, Sir.”

“Very well. Carry on.”

About half of the armed guards made the medicos follow the Lieutenant out of the bay. A few minutes later, we felt a vibration in the floor. John looked at me, tears forming in his eyes.

I had a sneaking suspicion of what had just happened, but I looked at my friend for verification.

“They ejected them,” he said quietly.

I nodded solemnly, and said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that was a reverse ejection. The air burst will give us a bit of speed, but it will slow them down. Any nanites in their bodies will not be able to protect them from burning up in the atmosphere.”

He shook his head. “Nanites might have kept their cells from bursting while they froze, but there won’t be a chance.” He looked at me gravely. “You’re right.”

A moment later, the Colonel sneered and turned on his heel. His guards followed out the hatch backwards, keeping their weapons trained on us the entire time. Not that we could do anything. I was still wearing my pajamas. I had nothing, not even my watch or slippers.

The door was sealed shut behind the last guard.

A moment later, we felt the final shuttle undock. We were alone.

---

For the first time, I took in who was present. I saw several people that I knew, and even more that I didn’t. There were several people who were personal friends of mine, and then others that I had simply seen in our meetings.

We had never been secret about our leanings. There was absolutely no reason to, as we had held them long before they became “wrong”.

I walked over to where some of my friends and acquaintances were talking, while John and several of his part of the group looked at the hatch.

A moment later, we heard and felt a shuddering of the station. It continued to gain in intensity, and several people fell. The station had artificial gravity, but as on Earth, rapid movement can change the apparent direction. The station was obviously accelerating, I hurried over to where John was unlocking the door. T he wheel that opened it could now be turned, but he glanced over at the people crowded into the bay.

“Can I have your attention please!” he shouted.

The general confusion that had begun as we started to move did not abate in the slightest. I put two fingers in my mouth, pursed my lips and blew. The whistle was shrill, and those nearest us glanced in our direction. They saw John trying to get people’s attention, and word quickly spread.

“We’ve got this hatch ready to open, but we have no idea what’s on the other side. Was the dock sealed before the military left or not?”

I could see his point, however, we were in a bay with no food, water, clothes, or even toilet facilities. What did we have to lose? I said as much in a voice loud enough to carry. A couple of my friends had followed me to the hatch, and one, by the name of Carter shouted, “He’s right! If we open the hatch, we could die. Being afraid of opening the hatch is certain death.”

My other friend, Reese, spoke up. “Why would they go to the trouble of bringing us up here? I don’t think they plan on killing us.”

“We’ve always expected that they would kill us,” I said. “We just expected it to be sudden. Not this.”

“Exactly,” Reese said. “There’s no reason for them to do this if we are just expected to die.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed with Reese. Carter, on the other hand. Again, my conspiracy theory side came through, at least in my unsaid thoughts. If they killed us outright, there would be fallout for them. However, if they tell people it was our own idea to leave because we were all nutcases… Well, they could direct the station into the sun, or something else. Of course that begs the question, why kill our doctors?

The general consensus was to open the door. John nodded and turned. Slowly, he turned the wheel. A small hiss was heard, and he stopped turning it, even backing up a bit. He stopped, and I slowly exhaled. I willed my heart to slow down, but it was quite content to continue racing.

“Using the airlock vents a bit of air,” John said. I could see sweat forming on his brow.

“That makes sense,” I agreed, hoping that I sounded sure. My trembling voice betrayed my feelings though.

John looked around at those closest to him. “Well?”

What a question. Do we open it or not? We had thought we were prepared, but were we? We didn’t want to die. We truly had nothing to lose, but life itself. To hold on for more, or not?

Very quietly, and with more calm that I found somewhere, I said “Open it.”