Precious Cargo by intergalelactic

Humans could not survive lightspeed travel.

This was the unfortunate truth, the shatterer of dreams. It didn’t matter how much money was thrown at the problem, or how many calculations were made, or research done, it didn’t change the fact that every human that has volunteered to attempt a space warp would end up dead on arrival. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially in the face of first contact with alien species that could survive it. There was an entire intergalactic world out there, and it was just rotten luck that humanity would be barred from it.

Or, so it would have been, if humans weren’t so damn stubborn. They would take to the stars, but not as their stellar comrades could. Their method would take time, lots of time, and an unfathomable amount of trust in one of the most sacred constitutions of any species, in any world: the postal service.

While they hadn’t mastered warp technology, humans had perfected the art of size augmentation. Shrinking thousands of tons of cargo to the size of an apple was an innovation just as important as the wheel, and the best part? Anything could be shrunk and regrown with little adverse effects. Living beings were no exception, and it was with this in mind that humans found their own path to the far stars.

Shrinking thousands of humans, putting them into cryosleep, and handing them off to a courier for the years-long journey through the galaxy to their intended destination sounded like madness on paper, but was surprisingly effective in practice, especially given the humans’ choice in deliverer.

The Thuvon were some of the most well-respected people in the galaxy. Their race could live for hundreds of years, thousands if they’re lucky enough to not to get killed first. Their longevity had given them a reputation for being some of the best of the best at their chosen professions, having had such an extended amount of time to perfect their craft. They were good, they were dependable, and worth every credit spent for their services.

Thuvonian couriers had been the go-to for years for precious cargo that, like humans, could not properly survive a trip at lightspeed. They didn’t mind the extended trips, and they got the job done right. Hiring them en masse for the transport of humans to other worlds was a no-brainer. The trips were planned years in advance, preparing every passenger for travel to the planet they’d want to go to. It was a meticulous, involved process for everyone involved–but the results were worth it.

Aesa Ucari was, relatively speaking, a younger Thuvonian. Just shy of his hundredth birthday, he was still considered green in the gills by his fellows, but nevertheless he had become readily respected in his field for his swift, undamaged deliveries and charming demeanor. Hauling humans was something he had considered doing for ages–he found them to be a fascinating species. They were these frail little things that lived and died in the blink of an eye–more so than any other race he’d ever encountered–and yet had the determination and gumption to make their way through the cosmos regardless.

It was inspiring. He’d decided long ago that he wanted to help them with this endeavor.

This would be his first delivery of human cargo after several years of study and preparation. Turns out, it’s a lot more involved than just making sure he got them all from Point A to Point B–he had to pay a hefty fee to get his ship remodeled to accommodate his future passengers and their critical life support. Even if they would only take up about as much space as a medium sized box, his ship had to supply enough power to maintain the cryosleep and life support functions of several thousand people for years.

It was a lot, and the hit to his supply of credits was painful, but it’d be worth it in the end. After all, he’d make it up and then some after this first delivery.

Not that the money was important.

…Well, it was. But so was helping the humans.

This load of humans wouldn’t be heading too far from their home planet, in fact, the planet they know as Proxima Centauri b is the closest to their own solar system. It was one of the first planets they visited and colonized, and a popular destination for those looking to leave Earth without going unreasonably far. Sort of a…trial run, for humans to experience interstellar travel, and a test for couriers like Aesa to see if they can truly handle the pressure of so many lives in their hands.

Though ships bearing human cargo couldn’t go to warp speed, advancements in under-lightspeed travel had advanced enough to the point where a journey that should have taken 60,000 years was reduced down to 10. A sizable cut, but still highly unfortunate when in comparison to the literal half-minute it normally takes to get from Earth to Centauri b at maximum warp.

For Aesa, 10 years would be nothing. A pebble on the pathway of his life. For these humans, it’d feel like a blip, but they’d wake up to both a different world and different circumstances back home. They would need to catch up on everything they’d missed, or anyone they’d lost. It was an enormous undertaking and a massive sacrifice, all to do something that most others can do without thinking. It was difficult not to have a sense of admiration for them, and even harder to not want to be a part of such an important change in their lives.

He only hoped he could do right by them.

The newest batch of shrunken humans awoke from anesthesia aboard the Introductory Wing of their Containment Unit, helped up by permanently shrunken medics and given a quick physical assessment to ensure the shrinking hadn’t adversely affected them–nausea was one of the most commonly reported symptoms, but easily treated with medication. There were no windows in the I.W., nothing to suggest that they were anywhere else than a large sterile looking room with about a thousand people. A conscious choice, so as not to overwhelm any passengers and prevent a wave of hysteria from passing through such a large number of people.

None of them felt any different than they had before.

“You know how big a person’s supposed to look to us right now? A whole fuckin’ mile tall!” One particularly jittery person muttered nervously to his friend, who rolled their eyes.

“Yeah man, we all read the same pamphlet.”

“But there just ain’t no way. Ain’t no way they’re that big. If they were we’d be–”

“Specks.” His friend finished for him.

“Specks. Right. But we aren’t specks. We aren’t. We are not.” The jittery man finished, with a certainty like he was trying to convince himself.

After ensuring those that needed any medical care were appropriately treated, the passengers were allowed to leave the I.W., herded towards the Atrium of their Containment Unit.

From the outside, a standard Containment Unit resembled a small metallic rectangular object–about the size of a rather thick, stocky book. They were designed to slot neatly together into the idiotically redundantly named Containment Unit Containment Unit, or the CUCU.
Without knowing any better, one would think they are looking at a particularly ugly looking portable aircon–or a miniature server unit.

For the shrunken passengers, this would be their home for the next 10 years. Economy class Containment Units such as the ones being transported now were all built with the exact same specifications. The insides were white and clinical–the sort of bland minimalism that those with proper taste centuries prior would be severely disappointed to know still persisted well into the space age. A place that was too clean, too perfect.

The Atrium was a (relatively) large, open area, with a high domed ceiling and the frontmost walls dominated by view-windows projecting a forested backdrop in place of the actual view outside. As the passengers slowly filed into the space, quickly turning it rather claustrophobic as more and more empty room was taken up by bodies. CUs at this price point being made the way they are, they were particularly Spartan in nature. No extra room where it wasn’t needed, no luxuries that weren’t essential.

At an elevated podium stood Helena Rotolo, the Director of Containment Unit Operations. She was a clean cut, well put-together woman. The wrinkles by her eyes and greying hair at her temples at first glance seemed to accurately convey her age–unless you asked her how old she was, and she’d cheerfully say she was at least 263 by her count. The wonders of constant cryostasis.

Rotolo, along with several other Directors traveling along this journey in their own CUs, had been one of the first volunteers of the interstellar travel program. Her life consisted of brief periods of downtime on new worlds, and several years spent in cryosleep–her line of work wasn’t meant for people with ties to hold them down. It was for the free spirited types, the ones with nothing left for them. Director Rotolo was of the latter.

She had no one, and didn’t need anyone. She just wanted to see the distant stars and pave the way for others to do so too.

“Are we all settled?” The Director asked into her microphone, projecting her voice across the entire Atrium. The various words from the audience that had risen into a cacophony quickly quieted down as each passenger turned their attention to Rotolo. One could cut the atmosphere with a knife, but what they’d find inside was a mixed bag–apprehension, anxiety, and excitement all in one fun package.

“Good.” Rotolo said, putting on her best smile. “Welcome, all of you, to Containment Unit #92081! I am your Director of Operations, Helena Rotolo–but you can call me Helena, Helly, Hell’s Bells…Just make sure you call me, haha!”

The silence in the room was now more awkward than anything. Rotolo faked clearing her throat, a disappointed smile on her face. Nobody ever laughs at that…

“Our journey is sure to be underway soon, but before it is, there’s the matter of our orientation to get through–”

Quiet groans and sighs. The Director nodded, sympathetic and understanding.

“Yes, even space travel makes you do boring stuff like this. I’ll try to make it brief for all of our sakes.”

Rotolo tapped at the smart device strapped to her wrist, muscle memory taking over as she pulled up the details of their expedition onto the view-window. The forest was replaced now by a projected map of their route, as well as the estimated date of arrival. Beside it was a picture of their “captain”, as it were–the courier hired to deliver them to their destination.

“We will be leaving from Earth’s Satellite Station 4B-O6, and arriving at Centaur 8–our approved dock orbiting Proxima Centauri b in approximately…Oh, isn’t that fun? The total travel time is only about 9.9 years instead of 10.2! We’re already ahead of schedule.”

Another tap at her wrist. Their courier’s complete profile was brought onto the screen, now.

“I’d like you all to meet Aesa Ucari, our ‘captain”. Regulations say that I must remind you all, once again, that this is Mr. Ucari’s first time participating in the relocation program. It is why the ticket cost was so low, and why you all had mountains and mountains of paperwork to sign prior to boarding.”

Waivers, of course. Many, many, many waivers.

“Rest assured, he has been properly trained in accordance with the company’s standards, and as is custom for first time transports, senior Directors such as myself have been assigned to this journey in case he has any need of our expertise along the way. You’re all in good hands.”

The passengers did, indeed, know what they had signed up for. Still, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t make the scenario of a first-time delivery of living human cargo any less nerve-wracking.

Another tap at her wrist. Ucari’s profile and the map faded as the view-windows finally showed the outside world.

“As you can see, we were placed into Mr. Ucari’s ship while you all were asleep–so be grateful that you didn’t feel all the bumps getting here!”

The outside was not a cargo hold. By interstellar law, CUCUs needed to be stored near the cockpit of a long-haul vessel for easy access in the case of an emergency.

Before them was a warm, comfortable looking living area. String lights dangled the ceiling, and Ucari seemed to have a distinct fondness for pillows and blankets. A fixed table sat pressed up against another view-window, this one projecting the ship’s view of the stars outside. The cockpit was out of sight, but nearby, if the instrument lights flashing in the far distance were any indicator. Anyone doubting how small they’d become had no room to stand on anymore–the view-windows, while not true windows, showed exactly the true scale of their diminishment.

“We have all been reduced to approximately 86 times below your previous size. In Old Earth Metric–I know we’ve still got some stubborn ones who still use it–that’d be just under two millimeters tall. Our size comes with many benefits, namely, the ease of travel. You’ll also find that, at this size, recovering from extended cryostasis is much easier. However, there are some drawbacks.”

Tap. Overlaying the view-window’s image of the room was a list of bullet points, each describing the various logistical nightmares that come with being a literal speck.

“First and foremost, we now experience what is known as ‘time dilation’. Essentially, due to the gravitational differences between us and the rest of the world, time runs much faster on our end. Those of a normal size will appear to move slowly, like…how a giant creature moves in childrens’ cartoons.”

The Director paused briefly, allowing the room to take in her words and read from the view-window. She could already see how utterly bored and fed up many people were becoming.

“Second, I must debunk a common rumor. No, just because we are much smaller now, does not mean that our bodies are more durable. Please keep this in mind before you go rough-housing before bed!”

A single, awkward cough penetrated the Atrium, echoing against the high ceiling.

“Lastly, we receive soundwaves differently–if a normal sized person were to talk to us, it’d end up just being this loud, low roar to our ears. Likewise, they wouldn’t be able to hear us either. Our voices would be far too high to be understood. Though…Here’s a fun fact for you! There have been rare instances of races with better ears being able to hear us, such as a Thuvonian like our good courier!”

Rotolo chuckled a bit, chewing on the mental image of Ucari’s pointed ears twitching as he struggled to hear her.

“Of course, we’d never have to test that out for ourselves. Our communication systems effortlessly bridge the gap between us, and allow us to talk to one another without struggle. Our view-windows, in fact, will compensate for time dilation by speeding up the view outside. Like so…”

She pressed a button into her earpiece, hearing it whir to life.  It automatically pinged Ucari, signalling that it would be time for his arrival. It seemed that she was the lucky last Director to ping him, because right after she did so, he responded back with confirmation that he was ready to move.

A shadow of a man flickered in the distance across the view-window, and the list that was displayed there vanished as the ground around them shook. It wasn’t too terrible–nothing to knock anyone off their feet.

“You don’t need to worry about being jostled too much. The CUCU has excellent stabilization features as well.” The Director assured them all, as the rhythmic thuds grew a touch stronger as a visage of a man finally came into view.

The courier was a grand sight to behold. Thuvonians were already impressively tall, being about three heads larger on average than the common man, but at the size of a speck? It was hard to believe he wasn’t some kind of deity. His otherworldly, alien looks didn’t help the matter either–his skin was a vibrant red, marked by dark stripes around his bare shoulders that were the color of fresh, thick blood. His navy blue hair framed his face in thick locs, while his long tufted tail swished eagerly behind him. Curious, wide eyes gazed down at his cargo–eyes without pupil or iris, the sclera filled entirely silver-white and iridescent. His nose was feline in nature, and the fangs visible through his wide smile accentuated the connection.

He was so big that many people struggled to understand what they were looking at. The CUCU only came up to his waist, and so several passengers had to strain their necks to properly see all of him–a problem which did not last very long.

Several gasps erupted through the atrium as the Thuvon bent low, coming so close to the view-windows that he blocked out all the light from the outside. Containment Unit #92081 got an up-close and personal view of his gigantic, sky-spanning lips as he began to speak to them.

“I know that your Directors have already told you who I am, but I’d rather do my own introduction. My name is Aesa! You all will be my first transportation of human cargo. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you!”

The true volume of his voice couldn’t reach them inside their Containment Unit, just as Director Rotollo had explained, but being so close caused the entire structure to reverberate. Passengers clung to each other, many backed away from the viewing windows as far as they could, as a primal instinct to run from this gigantic, monstrous thing took over their brains. They were all reminded of how truly, utterly diminutive they had become–so small that soundwaves could shake their whole world, so small that advanced audio-mixing technology was the only thing allowing them to understand the towering behemoth outside their enclosure.

Some wondered what it would be like to be outside the CUCU. To stand before him and truly grasp his enormity, to actually hear the slow, bassy rumble of a voice now operating on time and physics they no longer shared with him. Would the gentle swishing of his tail be a hurricane? Would his footsteps be earthquakes of an unfathomable magnitude? The stray thought filled most, very reasonably so, with dread…others? A burning desire they knew they could not quench.

The entire journey, they would remain separated from the “real” world inside their CU, asleep and unaware of the wider world.

And that was for the better.

“Most of you are nervous. I understand how you feel. I was scared, too, the first time I left home…But I promise you, if you put your trust in me, I will not fail you. When you wake, you will be in a new world. Isn’t that so exciting?”

The more Aesa talked, the more he put the frightened humans at ease. He had a very gentle way of speaking–not condescending, but kind. Genuinely kind. Believing he was true to his word was as easy as breathing. They weren’t merely cargo to him, they were people about to start a brand new chapter of their lives. The fear and anxiety began to quell in the atrium, but for many, even knowing he was not a threat still did not stop the hairs on the back of their neck from raising when they saw the glint of sharp fangs–each one larger than a building–in his mouth when he smiled.

“There’s just a little bit left to get sorted out and then we’ll be under way. You all sit tight, alright?”

Aesa stood back up straight, his close visage moving back from view before as he pressed down onto the button in the earpiece he wore. Though the sound was now cut off, the faint rumble felt throughout the CU and the moving of lips miles away meant it was obvious there was a conversation taking place without them.

The Director clapped her hands, gaining the attention of the room once more.

“Well! He seems nice, yeah? Enthusiastic and personable, that’s exactly how we want our first-time flyers to be! Coincidentally, we’ll be wrapping up here ourselves. By law, all Containment Units must undergo a safety briefing before cryosleep–so to help with that, the company’s whipped up a little video–”

A collective groan from the audience briefly cut her off. It was at this point that the passengers’ general attitude had begun to grate on Rotolo.

“...Look, I get it, we all hate the video. But I need to play it so we can get a move on, capisce? It won’t kill you.”

She tapped once more at her wrist, dimming the lights in the Atrium as the ancient, poorly acted, cheesy video extolling the virtues of proper safety procedures began to play.

Aesa watched his tablet with rapt attention as the very last of the CUs confirmed that the human passengers had successfully gone into cryosleep. It was finally time to go. His hearts beat excitedly in his chest, a smile stretching across his face as he began to finalize the coordinates into his ship’s STRNAV. Very rarely did people travel the galaxy this way of their own volition, like the pioneers of old. No warp, no lightspeed, just the endless stars and the passage of time. Already his mind was swimming with all the sights he’d see and people he’d meet–and chuckling to himself about his own giddiness.

It takes a special kind of person to get excited about what kind of refueling stations he’ll be able to visit on a route as uneventful as this one.

His ship, the Tyuveti, was named after his favorite blooming tree from his homeworld. It was his pride and joy, even if it hadn’t been the newest, or most functioning vessel when he’d acquired it. But after cycle after endless cycle replacing nearly every broken or busted part, he had turned what many considered a write-off into something truly spectacular. Were he interested in star races, he could probably knock even ships fresh off the line right out of the water.

This place was his home. Something beloved and private…which he now shared with over twelve thousand miniature souls.

Biting gently at his bottom lip, he rose from the pilot’s seat, walking cautiously to the CUCU sitting peacefully on his shelf in the living area. Though he knew they were all fast asleep in stasis now, he couldn’t help but tread lightly around them. They were just so…fragile. So small. The literal definition of precious cargo. Aesa knelt down in front of the CUCU, running a clawed hand lightly over the surface of it, feeling the ridges and itty bitty indents of the individual CUs under his fingertips. A fond look softened his gaze, and he let out a little sigh.

“Sleep well, everyone. We’ll be there before you know it.”

He whispered to no one and everyone.

Aesa turned, walking back to his seat, hands gripping the throttle as he engaged the engines and finally brought the Tyuveti out of its docking port and onto its 10…or rather, 9.9 year journey.