by Nancy Fulda
Nigel had plans. He had designs to increase the energy output of the drive exponentially. If implemented, they could have cut this miserable seven-year voyage down to a much more enjoyable four months. He had a few kinks to work out, but he was hoping to test his prototype during the voyage. But had they given him the chance to even discuss his work with Davey? Oh, no. Davey wasn’t interested, so no one else was, either.
They’d laughed him out of the lower decks mess hall. They’d kept laughing all the way to the engineering bunkroom. Then Davey had posted his assignment to the sewage lines and made it permanent. Nigel would gladly watch the lot of them freeze in vacuum. He hated them all.
He was glad of his suit as he crawled through the crowded access ports. The emergency lights bathed everything in red light, which only made the sewage harder to distinguish from the rest of the garbage that collected in the septic chamber. He muttered curses as he worked his way through the nests of tubing, patching the holes as he found them.
When he finished, he climbed free of the septic chamber. The alarms had shut off but the lights stayed red. He clambered out of the access hatch and reached for the fasteners on his helmet.
Then paused. Where was everyone? Why was the engine room so quiet and deserted? What had happened?
He stumped across the floor, leaving stinking footprints. The air valves showed atmosphere within normal operating parameters. All of life support seemed fine, at least according to the gauges. He flipped open the helmet and stripped off the suit, leaving it lying in the puddle of sewage that had dripped off it.
The other gauges showed the ship was still functional, at least the ones Nigel knew how to read. So where was everyone?
“We don’t have a choice,” Captain Williams spoke. “Navigational controls are completely destroyed. The ship is on a collision course with Neptune. We have to abandon ship. The Ares will not be able to reach us in time.”
“The port lifeboats were hit,” Emily reported from the damage station. “Only three of them are still functional. We won’t have room for everyone, even if we crowd the lifeboats.”
“Someone will have to stay behind.” Jack Williams stood beside his command chair. “Abandon ship, Commander Kaile. Give the order.”
“Sir?” She met his gaze with a questioning one of her own. “We can institute repairs—“
The damage officer shook his head. “Life support is still online, but the engine control systems are completely destroyed. One week and the ship will be caught in Neptune’s gravitational pull. We don’t have the parts or the expertise to repair guidance systems before then. If the Ares speeds up to catch us, she’ll go down with us.”
“And leave those in the lifeboats to perish.” Jack struck a heroic pose. “We will fit as many as we can into the lifeboats and launch them towards the Ares’ flight path. Send a message to her to slow and prepare for rescue operations. All hands, abandon ship. Proceed to the designated lifeboats in an orderly manner.”
The hooting call echoed through corridors painted red with emergency lights. The scientists among the crew scrambled to download data. Crew members grabbed what small objects they could stuff into their pockets before reporting to the lifeboats. Emily stood guard, maintaining order and keeping the boats from too much crowding. She pulled the release lever as each one was filled and sealed.
The stragglers hurried to the last functional lifeboat. Emily counted them off as they boarded. She stopped the last two from boarding. “The lifeboat is at maximum capacity. I’m sorry.”
The purser traded glances with the galley assistant. “We aren’t staying here to die.”
Captain Williams spoke from behind. “First Officer Kaile, what is the problem?”
“Lack of room, sir. We have one remaining seat on the lifeboat. And four of us left on the ship.”
“Correction,” Davey said, poking his head out of the hatch. “We lost a couple of men down in the engine rooms. We have two seats on this boat.”
“And still four of us,” Emily said.
Jack drew in a deep breath, puffing out his chest. He squared his shoulders before speaking. “I shall remain to die with my ship. It is the captain’s duty.”
Emily shot a sidelong glance at Davey and the lifeboat crowded with crewmen. “Then it will be my duty and pleasure to also remain behind. It has been an honor serving with you, Captain Williams.” She snapped her heels and gave him her best salute.
He returned the salute, keeping his hand pressed to his forehead until the purser and galley assistant had scrambled past Davey into the overcrowded lifeboat. The hatch clanged shut before he snapped his hand away. The lifeboat launched with a hiss of escaping air.
Emily’s lip trembled, but her back remained straight. “I guess it’s just the two of us, sir. How long until we are crushed by Neptune’s atmosphere?”
“A week, maybe ten days. And since we’re the only two left on board, there is no need for formality.” Jack let his shoulders sag. “Might as well get comfortable.” He slouched off to his quarters.
Emily flexed her hands. For the first time in her life, she had no schedule to keep, no duty to fulfill. She had no idea what to do with her freedom. She glanced down at the bulge of her nightgown beneath her uniform.
She grinned as a wild notion entered her head. No one would ever know. Who would report her to the captain? The lock light on his door flashed red. Emily allowed a small giggle to escape as she stripped off the uniform and let her hair down. She left the uniform on the floor as she danced away with her sky blue satin nightgown swirling around her bare feet.
Nigel’s mouth hung open in shock. They’d abandoned ship and left him behind? He stared at the deserted stations, the tools left behind where they were abandoned. The screen flashed its ominous message: Abandon ship, all hands, abandon ship.
“No one thought to tell me? To use the radio or even the intercom?” He slammed a fist into a bulkhead. Then shook his hand and winced. Well, at least he no longer had to worry about Davey bossing him about. He ran his hand over the control panel, dismissing the alert and opening the status.
“Steering is full red, attitude jets are gone. That might be an issue.” He muttered to himself as he worked his way through the system status reports. “Engines are still operational, mostly. Yellow lights on half the systems. Life support shows green. Hull integrity might be a little problem. Not bad shape, considering. As long as we’re not headed straight for—“ He pulled up the feed from the external cameras. “Of course we’re headed straight for the planet. I might have enough time, though, if I can get the engines to slow us a bit.”
He tapped his way through the controls. Davey hadn’t let him touch them, but that hadn’t stopped Nigel from stealing the simulator programs and running them on his personal tablet in his bunk. He could fly this ship, given the opportunity. And it seemed to be right in front of him. The ship was abandoned after all. It was just Nigel and his dreams. He could do as he pleased.
He set the engines to reverse burn. It would slow the Kepler only slightly, but it would buy another day or two. That might give him enough time to set up his experiments. And if he could pull it off? He’d go down in history as the man who brought the stars within reach.
He, Nigel Jones, would be known as the man who invented the first faster than light stardrive.
But only if he could get it online before the ship smashed into Neptune. He couldn’t stop whistling and grinning as he fetched his plans and started gathering tools.
“O beauteous ball of cerulean hue—“
Jack stopped and tapped his lip with his pen. He could only write poetry by hand, on real paper with an old ink pen. Or so he told himself, his excuse to never actually commit his words to paper.
He crossed out ball.
“O beauteous orb— Closer, but not quite right.”
He tapped his lip as he stared at Neptune. He’d routed the feed from the main camera to his room, then messed with the computer until he’d pr
ojected it onto the bulkhead wall. The blue planet, in all its swirling majesty, watched him back like an omnipotent sea god waiting to crush an insignificant bug beneath his feet. Impressive, despite the ripples from the compartment’s doors.
“Truly, you were well-named. And truly, I would give my command for a decent thesaurus.”
Jack threw the pen in the general direction of his desk.
“Face it, thirty years of the Navy has not freed your inner poet. You are still shackled, haunted by your mother’s ambitions for you. Damn you, mother!”
He shook his fist at the ceiling.
“Do you wish me to retrieve the latest message from your mother?” the computer asked politely.
“No.” Jack hesitated, then let his lips curl in an evil smile. “Actually, yes. Play it and overlay the entire video with flames. Burn her. Burn her to ashes!”
“Please rephrase your request. Query not understood.”
“Just delete it. I never want to see her or hear her voice again.”
The computer complied.
Jack fidgeted, unhappy with the quiet resolution. Burning all ties with his mother and her ambitions for him should have been accompanied by trumpets and fanfares and wild symphonies.
“Computer, can you play music?”
“I have seven thousand three hundred twenty-two songs in my library.”
“Can you play the music on the bridge?” It would be more dramatic with Neptune swelling on the screen. Death was certain, but he would face it his way.
“Certainly. What do you wish to hear?”
“Do you have something about the Flying Dutchman perhaps? Doomed ship of the damned seems very appropriate.”
“I have der Fliegende Holländer Ouvertüre by Wagner. Is that suitable?”
“Perfect. Please play it once I’m on the bridge.”
Jack opened his closet. He should wear something befitting the occasion. He was going to the bridge to stare at Neptune, listen to Wagner, and court his poetic muse. He had a week to compose his magnum opus. The captain’s command chair was the most comfortable place he’d found to sit on the whole ship. And with no one to impress, he could wear what he liked. He settled for his white dress uniform jacket with the thick gold stripes on the sleeves and his green silk pajamas underneath. He would have worn a tuxedo if he had one. Green silk was close enough. He thought the pants looked rather dashing under the white jacket.
He gathered his notebook and pen and strode from his cabin to the bridge.
Emily scooped another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. She danced her way down the corridor as she let the creamy cold slide across her tongue. The half empty carton dangled from her hand. She closed her eyes and twirled through the hatch into engineering. She shivered at the delicious taste of freedom. No more rules or regulations. No more rationing. She could eat what she wanted, wear what she wanted, keep whatever hours she pleased. At least for the next week. She’d pull out her dress whites and wear them for their funeral plunge into the ice giant Neptune, but until then, she’d rebel in whatever way she pleased.
A wrench clanked on the floor.
Her eyes snapped open. A man was bent over the fluctuator assemblage for the engine manifold uptake. “Who are you? Why didn’t you abandon ship when the order was given?”
The man stopped fiddling and spun around. “Why are you still on the ship?”
She pulled herself to attention. “I asked you a question,” her eyes flicked over his collar. “Yeoman,” she finished when she found no insignia there.
“Rank doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” The man retrieved the wrench from the floor. “I’m Nigel Jones, and I’m the one who’s going to save our lives.”
“You can fix the engine? The head engineer said the steering was completely destroyed, and we didn’t have the parts or the time to repair it.” Emily set the melting carton of ice cream on a nearby control desk.
Nigel shifted the ice cream to the floor, his lips pursed in disapproval. “Did you have your heart set on suicide by gravitational crushing? Because I don’t.”
“Why did you stay if you weren’t willing to die?” The man intrigued her. He didn’t act like a yeoman, or even an ensign. He acted like a man with a plan. She had nothing better to do.
“I was in the septic tank and didn’t hear the alarm. Faulty radio system in my suit. By the time I climbed back out, everyone was gone. Or so I thought.” He shot a glance at her. “Is it just you and me, then?”
“The captain’s somewhere around.” Emily shrugged. Jack had made it clear he wanted to be alone. She’d track him down later, once she worked up the courage to tell him how she felt about him. Ever since that first day she’d come aboard and seen those dreamy brown eyes, poet’s eyes, and that sad little smile of his, she’d been smitten. But a good officer didn’t let it show. Not that it mattered now. They were doomed, and no one but Jack would ever know how she truly felt.
“Anyone else?” Nigel glared at her, as if her staying behind was a personal affront to his plans, whatever those were. “I have to recalculate everything.”
She licked a stray drop of ice cream from her finger as she shook her head. “Just the two of us. And you. You should have heard the alarms. You should have abandoned the ship. We’re going to crash into Neptune and die in about a week.”
“Not if I can help it. Didn’t you hear me? I can save us.” He thumped the wrench onto the desk as he trapped her with his intense and slightly cross-eyed stare. “I can build us an FTL jump drive. We’ll pass through Neptune, and pop out the other side. Once through, we call for help, then wait for the Ares to catch up to us.”
She stopped licking her finger. “FTL is impossible. That’s why the Kepler is on the grand tour, to see if mankind can handle long-range spaceflight. It will take years to reach the nearest star. If we can make it that far.”
“You’re wrong. I can build an FTL drive using our drive as a basis. I’ve been working on these calculations for years. See here, if we cross connect the flavinator with the hexachromic converter—“
Her eyes glazed over as he poked and prodded and talked his way through the engine. She had no idea what he was saying. Her expertise had been command tactics, not engineering physics and definitely not subatomic particle theory.
“—and that creates the thrust that will shove us to the proper acceleration. But I need at least an ounce of gold to get the reaction to stabilize.” His gaze dropped to the locket dangling between her breasts. “Is that twenty-four carat or eighteen? I can refine it if needed, but I have to know how pure it is.”
Emily clutched her hand around the locket. “You can’t have this.” It held her dreams, her escape from the military life.
“It won’t matter in a week, will it? We’ll all be dead. Or you can give it to me and I can save us all.” Nigel held out his hand.
“I don’t think I like you. I think you’re a nasty man, mean and small and twisted and—” She let her voice trail off. She couldn’t think of any more insults for the rat-faced man. She turned on her heel, her nightgown billowing around her.
“I need gold. Either your locket or someone else’s, but if you want to live, find me gold. And quickly.” His nasal voice followed her as she marched out of engineering.
She faltered outside the door. She’d left the ice cream behind and it was the last carton of her favorite flavor. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to retire from the Navy and buy that seaside cottage. She imagined her future four children watching her, sad frowns on their faces. She turned back to Nigel.
“Can you really save us?”
“There’s no guarantee, but I’m ninety-five percent confident it will work.”
She fingered her locket. “Ninety-five percent?”
“Okay, eighty-three percent certain. We have a good shot at making this drive work, but I need your locket. And a few other things.”
Emily slowly unlatched the chain and slid her locket free. What good was it if
she were dead? She could buy another one. She pictured her children, all with Jack’s soft brown eyes and dreamy smile. Yes, it was a worthy sacrifice. She held the chain out to Nigel. The locket spun at the end.
“What else do you need?” Her voice quavered only a little as the nasty little man snatched it from her.
“I’ll get you a list.”
She grabbed the carton of ice cream from the floor and fled as tears threatened to fall. She really hadn’t wanted to die. She just wished Jack was the one with the plan to save them, not this horrid Nigel man.
Her bare feet whispered down the empty corridors. Somewhere, wild dramatic music crashed in a tangle of violins and horns. She followed it, searching for Jack. It was time to tell him of her dreams and their chance at surviving long enough for them to come true.
Jack waved his hands, conducting the doomed Flying Dutchman through a wild symphonic storm. The music raged through his thoughts. He was Captain van der Decken, cursed to sail forever through the black void of space. Words swirled in his mind, phrases of poetry half-formed then rejected. He’d write his magnum opus later, after the symphony had inspired his muse. Or when his arms grew tired of conducting the doomed ship on its cursed journey.
Or perhaps he’d go to the galley and eat whatever delicacies he found. No reason to hoard them now, not with only a week of travel left before their journey ended.
Would it be with a blaze of glory? Would they explode as they plowed into Neptune’s atmosphere, or would it be more of a slow quiet death by compression as the pressure rose the deeper they plunged into the planet? He paused, frowning at the view as cymbals crashed.
“Jack?”
He turned to find Emily framed in the doorway, carton of dripping ice cream clutched in her hands. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her seem soft and delicate, not controlled and in command as he was accustomed to seeing her. She wore a flowing blue gown. He briefly wondered why she’d brought it with her on a space voyage with no possibility of a formal dinner that would require such a dress instead of her uniform.
