Try this sci fi sample

Author's note: The following short story is included in my short story collection titled: "jack bragen's peculiarly strong stories" and is available on amazon.

Copyright 2009 By Jack Kenneth Bragen

UNFORTUNATE INTERN

Jack Bragen

A young woman walked along an alleyway and went in a door marked ‘glass shop entrance.’ Vandals had smashed the windshield on her Mercedes while it had been parked at the university. The student approached a counter and rang the bell on it, repeatedly. There seemed no sign of life in the building, and she began to get the creeps.
She turned back toward the entrance, and saw, with fright, that it had become a steel barrier with no opening. Then, from the door to the backroom of the shop emerged five or six men who surrounded her. Only they didn’t look normal. They were too tall. They had a long snout for a nose their eyes were much too small and they had a protruding narrow chin. Their skin color was like nothing she had seen: clay-colored. That clay color would be burned into her subconscious, when she would remember nothing else of what was happening.
The young college student was driving her Mercedes over the Bay Bridge, and realized she couldn’t remember what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. When she got home, she threw all her potted plants into the trash because the color of the pots bothered her. She wondered if she was crazy and decided not to tell anyone of the memory lapse.

* * *
Velma paid fifty-three sol-credits for a private suite with its own bathroom, shower and kitchenette along with room service aboard the Spacecraft Brave. It was a three week trip to the outer reaches of the solar system, and he or she who arrived there in the best condition would be off to a running start to pass the probationary period of the job and to be one of those selected for the limited number of slots. Anything she could do to get an advantage over the others who applied would be well worth the money spent, and Velma did have money.
By contrast, her competitors who couldn’t afford the same extravagance would be stuck in a space barely larger than on a greyhound bus, and with conditions to match. I don’t know if you’ve ever ridden on greyhound, but if you have then you know it’s not pretty. As a result, they would arrive in a disheveled, dirty and stressed out state, and it would be that much harder for them to start work.
Soon, the spacecraft was within fifty kilometers of Space Outpost 33, and docking procedures were initiated. The Brave continued to fire its rockets to decelerate, and had its nose pointed to the rear—this gave passengers the illusion that they were on a planet with gravity. As the ship neared the outpost, which was a huge space station built into the side of a giant piece of space rock, the velocities of the two objects were nearly matched, and the ship approached the outpost at a mere crawl.
The sun, at this distance, was but a tiny lamp that dimly illuminated the space station.
Velma had showered and was putting on her uniform and makeup. Her hair was tied in a military bun, which was entirely unnecessary and which, along with her solid, upright stance and firm shoulders, gave her a stern Nordic look. This was a match for her stern and formal, sometimes nasty way of dealing with anyone except for her superiors.
Velma was first through the airlock and onto the outpost, and had a personal robot following her that carried her three large suitcases. She reached end of the corridor that mated the two space contraptions, and faced the stately visage of Colonel Kim, who would be her supervisor during the internship. The two shook hands and exchanged greetings, then went through one more airlock door and were in the “front room” of Outpost 33.
For Velma, it was instant dislike. Colonel Kim’s reputation had reached Earth for bedding with numerous women in space. This along with the thin moustache that stood atop his lip, and the syrupy smell of cologne mixed with hair gel, altogether was nearly enough to dismiss her respect. She was just waiting for him to say stupid things, or maybe make a pass at her, and then she would write him off.
“Miss Cook,” Colonel Kim said, addressing Velma, “If you need some recovery time from the trip, my robot will be glad to show you your room.”
“Nonsense, sir, I am ready to get started,” Velma replied.
“Well, then, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What do you say we go over your syllabus at the officer’s diner?”
“No doubt,” muttered Velma under her breath. Then she said, “I know my way around the syllabus without you showing it to me, sir, with all due respect. I’d like to get started on the actual work.”
“You’re jumping ahead, Miss Cook. Don’t assume that what you’ve been given is the same material I have for you. Do you want to be picked for the job, or not? In that case, you should start by listening very carefully to my directions.”
“I’m listening,” said Velma. She was starting to realize that this man, despite what she thought of as a hammy countenance, was a person of authority.
“Please follow me to the diner. My robot will show your robot to your room and you should have him take your luggage there. Here is the key to your room. I suggest you guard it. There have been incidents.” Kim handed a small metallic object to the intern.
“But why at the diner, sir. Is there not a more secure place to do this?”
“This is not a date, Miss Cook. I have limited time to work with you. I do things the way I do them for a reason, madam. I’d like it if you’d just humor me.”
The pair arrived at the officer’s diner and Colonel Kim had established that Velma was to treat him with legitimate respect. Her tendency to go over her rank had nearly brought up Kim’s bile. As it was, she had already lost twenty points.
The two took a seat at the booth closest to the exit. This was a fairly isolated spot, it was close to the air circulation vent and it was the most visible spot for the robotic waiter, which was a unit that sometimes skipped over customers who made less fuss. Kim ordered sausage and eggs, and then Velma ordered straight soda water with no lemon.
“It is likely that you do not yet know about the interstellar war of which Sol is the third and neutral party.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There is life beyond our solar system, a lot of it. And the various people’s of this galaxy don’t always get along with one another,” said Colonel Kim.
“This is a test, right? You’re measuring my suggestibility…”
Kim put a hand on Velma’s shoulder. It wasn’t a sexual gesture. “Cable Channel News doesn’t tell you everything, Miss Cook,” said Colonel Kim.
Velma paused, and in a few moments assimilated the new information. She took a couple sips of soda water. She wished she had ordered something more substantial. She rewound and tightened the bun of blonde hair at the back of her head. The hairpin went into the bun like it was the sword of King Arthur.
“Sir,” said Velma, “Certainly Earth’s technology as it exists would be at a disadvantage compared to that of any extraterrestrial. Is that not so?”
“We lucked out in that the two warring solar systems are only a few thousand years more advanced, technologically, in comparison to us. And, socially, these extraterrestrial species are no more advanced than we. Which is why…” Colonel Kim waited a moment to speak while shoveling eggs into his mouth. The delay had the desired effect: Velma was on edge, awaiting his next words. “We’re useful to both sides. If we hadn’t been, they would have wiped us out long ago out of convenience.”
“Where does a lowly intern fit in with all of this?” asked Velma, attempting to employ nonexistent charm.
“We can put you to work in one of two places, either of which is vital.”
“Only no doubt, one of the two jobs is going to be safe and boring, and the other, risky,” said Velma.
Not arguing with this statement, nodding, Colonel Kim said, “The first choice is to work in the code breaking room, and the other choice is to join us in the defensive control room.” He nodded some more, knowing already what the choice was going to be. This one is a firecracker, thought the Colonel.
“Defensive Control Room sounds riskier than code breaking—is that right?”
“There exists more pressure, and more responsibility in that, yes. It carries the potential for a better credential.”
Velma gulped down the rest of the soda water, and said, “When can I start?”
“Ten minutes from now,” said Kim. “Be prepared to work.”
The control room was darkened, and to the left was a row of eight or nine chairs that faced console screens. In front of each chair along with the video displays were several joysticks and other interface devices. People were stationed at seven of the eight chairs. They would use some of the joysticks while watching, and each of them would periodically say, “All Clear,” and would then note the time. On the right of the room was one larger more comfortable chair that had buttons on the handles and had a large display in front of it that was mounted to the floor. There was also, surprisingly, an airlock door in the room.
“This room serves the function of ‘early warning’ for both sides of the interstellar conflict,” Colonel Kim said to Velma. “This allows both sides to engage in a ‘cold war’ instead of a shooting war. This is more suitable for both sides, and each one believes that they will surpass the other side in technology at some future point, and will then blow away their opponent, and us, without a successful counterstrike. As it is now, though, this room is key to maintaining the precarious cease fire that was established.”
“What does Earth get out of it?” asked Cook.
“Two things, Velma. We get to continue existing, and…”
“And?”
“I am not authorized to disclose.”
“Some sort of payment, no doubt,” said Velma.
“I can’t confirm or deny that. Are you ready to start?”

* * *
At the end of a three and a half hour shift, Velma was spent. The work, at first, didn’t seem very demanding or complex. It was a matter of scanning a limited area on one of the moons of the planet of one alien species. When each scan was completed, Velma merely had to report, “area clear.”
Velma’s new job was to be one of the human monitors in the early warning system, which this space station provided for the two warring alien races. There were two dozen or so staff members on behalf of each side of the conflict who did a similar job as Velma. Should there be an unexpected launch, or the firing of a particle beam, Velma had better report this if it were in her coverage area. The fate of three planets, one of them Earth, was on Velma’s shoulders. Three planets, each with countless numbers of innocent persons, and wildlife that also wanted to keep living now depended, in part, on Velma during her shift.
It didn’t matter that the destruction could commence decades later, because events were happening at no more than the speed of light. The point is, if Velma should make an uncorrected mistake at her job, destruction would happen.
It was six o’clock, and Velma’s relief arrived on time. With a sigh of relief, she relinquished her booth and went to get her coat. Her personal robot was waiting for her out in the hallway. Tomorrow before her shift, would be classes, and her first class the next day was scheduled to be space walking. A good sleep shift would be essential.
Miss Cook’s robot brought her to her suite. Velma was the only student who could afford personal accommodations like these. Other students were forced to share dorm rooms, with three or more students to a room.
As she slept, she had an awful nightmare of being abducted by strange looking aliens, and being restrained by them in a warehouse in the middle of San Francisco. The aliens repeated the one word, over and over: “Vie…vie…vie.” And then she thought she was drowning, and then awoke in a cold sweat.
Velma got up and fixed a cup of tea, wanting to shake off the experience of the horrible nightmare. She realized if she went back to sleep just then, would probably oversleep, and as it was, had time for an extra shower and some studying.
What did that mean? Vie, vie, vie…? Velma entered all the possible meanings into her pocket computer and could find nothing that would mean anything to her.
This was not the first time this dream had happened, and it worried her. Of course, she would say nothing about it to her superiors, or to anyone. She could take the not risk being decommissioned on the basis of craziness.

* * *
Cook, three other students, two of whom were male, and the instructor for space walking, Mr. Dennison, were suiting up in front of the airlock adjacent to the practice area which was a basin in the rock on the outside of the space station. One of the male students was gawking at Velma.
“What are you looking at, Don Juan? You certainly have seen a woman before, right? What do you see now?” Miss Cook said.
“What do you see, young man?” said the instructor, chiming in.
“I see a qualified space walking student,” replied the student, in a very controlled tone, attempting not to convey his extreme embarrassment.
“Let’s get to business,” said Mr. Dennison. “If anyone is not suited up in another five minutes, that person stays indoors. Everyone, pay attention to yourself.”
Within a few minutes, all four students and the instructor were outside the airlock. Each student had a tether that prevented him or her from getting lost in the depths of space, while the instructor didn’t need a tether.
The first practice exercise was simply to play catch with a softball-sized ball. They had done this before while indoors with the artificial gravity off. However, being in a vacuum as well as being in a spacesuit added extra elements of difficulty.
In a moment, Velma didn’t know what she was seeing: a hand was missing from the instructor. A meteor must have hit him. The instructor desperately clutched at his arm while his spacesuit began to quickly lose air. Meanwhile, the injured and gasping Dennison started to float aimlessly out into deep space.
Velma pulled on her tether to bring herself to where the cord was anchored to the space station, and unhooked the steel line. A space suited man tried to grab her, but she was off, having kicked herself in the direction of the flailing Dennison. She sped up her trajectory by firing her foot jets for a slight instant. She had good aim; she connected with and grabbed onto the instructor. Now, both of them were headed away from the space station. Velma wrapped part of her tether around Dennison’s arm above where it was missing the hand. She pulled very tight on the cord, stopping the loss of air and blood for now. She twisted a knob on Dennison’s suit, and it was once again pressurized. A red light on his suit became green, indicating that the instructor had some type of vital signs. He was unconscious, but she could see through the faceplate that he was starting to breathe.
Velma quickly tied herself to Dennison, and this freed up the use of her arms. She spun her arms in circles for gyroscopic action, and this caused her and the instructor to rotate to where their heads were pointed at the space station. She fired her foot rockets at full, reversing their flotation. They were now on a collision course with the roof of the space station. Velma pointed one foot to the side and fired the rocket, providing them with a course correction that aimed them back at the practice area.
Soon, the other three students who still had tethers on grabbed the two of them and brought them into the airlock. Velma opened her faceplate as soon as the airlock was pressurized, and alerted emergency services on the intercom. Two men and a stretcher appeared on the other side of the airlock door, and whisked away the damaged instructor.
Velma wanted to call the fellow student who had tried to stop her an idiot. He was the same one who had gawked at her previously. She decided not to give him that insult, since silence would actually serve as more of a punishment.
Colonel Kim gave Velma a day off from scanning when he heard what happened. This gave her a chance to hang out in the diner with a big jug of coffee and send messages to family members.

* * *
Velma had unpacked her suitcases and had wondered where one object came from. It was a metallic box apparently intended for index cards, and it had a lock on it. Velma had set the box aside upon realizing she had no key that fit the object. Ordinarily, having such an object should have set off a big alarm bell inside Velma’s head, or in the consciousness of anyone who traveled to a strategically important space station. However, there was some sort of mental block that had been installed in Miss Cook that prevented her from bringing such an alert to full consciousness. Even so, something in the far back of her mind was saying: ‘Hold on a minute, this isn’t right.’
After another three weeks of serving at the early warning command and taking her classes, Velma was sick to her stomach in the middle of her shift at the command center. Velma alerted Colonel Kim that she would need to leave early.
Velma left without getting her coat, and without bringing her robot. Maybe this was a subconscious attempt at a distress signal for Kim. The colonel knew something wasn’t right with Velma, and tailed her to her quarters, far back enough so that Velma wouldn’t detect him.
Velma walked into her room and noticed that a key had appeared on her dresser, one that apparently might fit the index card box. She absently picked up the key. The door to her room burst open, and Colonel Kim bounded in, and approached Velma. Velma still wanted to open the index card box, despite the fact that her supervisor had just busted into her room. Colonel Kim grabbed Velma’s wrist and snatched the key. He looked at the metallic box and knew what it was. Colonel Kim sounded a red alert on the space station from his wrist intercom. Soon, Velma’s quarters were filled with security men, and Velma had been taken away for examination.

* * *
Several months later, Velma was “on hold” at a government facility on Earth, which ironically was located near San Francisco.
“Do you understand what happened to you,” repeated the psychologist who was employed by the government, speaking to Miss Cook, who was under hypnosis.
“I was programmed by aliens to destroy the space station with a bomb. A third group of aliens were interested in obliterating both of the planets who were in a cold war. It would have left them in dominance of this local area of solar systems.” Velma’s speech was in a monotone, and it lacked the arrogant smartness that was her standard.
“Do you understand why we need to blank a large section of your memory?”
“Leakage of any of this information is a threat. This is the only alternative to either permanent incarceration for me, or disintegration. I have chosen to voluntarily undergo the induced amnesia upon being informed of the choices.” A bit of sadness leaked into Velma’s voice that made her monotone speech crackle a little.
“You can sleep now, Velma. Remember that you have fulfilled your duty with excellence.”
“Thank you, sir.”