Alone (Third Earth Book 1)

by Dylan Steel

  The first reason turned out to be something more like winning a lottery.

  When I was born, the doctors on Proximacent discovered that I had a unique genetic mutation—one that allowed me to endure the rigors of repeated Naps for extended spaceflight without going full-on crazy. Everyone was tested for it, but only something like three percent of the population had it. I was one of the lucky ones.

  Most people were only able to handle two extended Naps—three, if they were really lucky—before they tried to scratch out their own eyeballs or live on Proximacent’s surface. Strangely enough, the length of a Nap didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as repeating the cycle of waking and sleeping. Anything over three months seemed enough to trigger the chaotic reactions. But thanks to dear old dad, my body was supposed to be able to endure more than two dozen Nap cycles. Hopefully, that would be enough. They thought I could probably endure more, but the doctors hadn’t experimented much past that before they sent me on my mission. It had also been a pretty small study, thanks to the rarity of the mutation and Proximacent’s rapidly shrinking population.

  I guess we were running out of time faster than they could run their tests.

  The genius bit was really more of a bonus for the Third Earth Directive—TED for short. Didn’t really matter how smart I was if I came unhinged and forgot that I was trying to find a new, survivable planet. And that was kind of important. Living underground on Proximacent wasn’t sustainable for the long term, and everyone knew it. My mission was, quite literally, one of the human race’s only hopes.

  Of course, most of the doctors and scientists and politicians who had sent me on this mission were long gone by now. A few of the politicians may have convinced the right people to set them up in a COFFIN until TED brought back good news, though.

  My nose wrinkled at that last thought. There were some people I really hoped I would never have to see again.

  Diving out the hatch, I passed along the side of the ship and into the vastness of space. I pressed my lips together, holding my breath. There was no need to, but I couldn’t help myself. Being outside the ship—literally outside the explored galaxy—was a feeling like no other.

  Silence enveloped me. I hadn’t expected it to bother me, given that I’d been alone for a few hundred years, but it was overwhelming. I decided it was better to take plenty of loud breaths—if only to remind myself that I was alive.

  Getting to the offending panel was harder than I expected. My fists clenched around the propulsion buttons in my hands, unwilling to let go even as my body wavered side to side in short, jerky motions. At least there were no witnesses to my clumsiness.

  “Quite graceful, Jade.”

  Correction: no witnesses except Taki. I really needed to figure out a way to erase his memory. Selectively, of course.

  “Oh, shut it. I don’t see you out here.”

  “Of course not. Considering I have no physical body, seeing me would constitute a hallucination. And that would present us both with an entirely new problem.”

  My eyebrows drew together as I unscrewed the panel. I was right. There was a pretty obvious hole in the side of my ship. “And what’s your directive if I do go full-on crazy?”

  “You know I’m not allowed to discuss those protocols with you, Jade.”

  Yeah, I knew. Which is exactly what worried me. I figured it wasn’t anything good. My life weighed against the whole of humanity? I seriously doubted that the scientists and programmers valued saving my life over preserving Taki’s ability to continue the mission unmanned. I wouldn’t be surprised if Taki had orders to open the airlock if I had the nerve to become a liability.

  I changed the subject. “There’s a hole, but it looks like the panel of sensors was just dislodged,” I said as I poked a light inside the panel, peering beneath the ship’s skin. “I could just—ah, except one. It’s definitely dead.” Smashed to bits, actually.

  “Well, you did bring extra sensor panel with you. Will a simple replacement suffice?”

  I glanced at my thick gloves. “I can replace it, but it won’t be simple.”

  “I thought I was the only one you felt that way about.”

  I snorted. “Careful. That was almost funny, Taki.”

  “Just trying to ensure you do not mess with my settings.”

  “Fat chance.”

  Pulling off the damaged sensor panel was relatively easy. I didn’t exactly need to be delicate with it. The replacement, on the other hand, proved to be a bit of a challenge.

  But after several minutes of wrestling it into place, some screws, and a bit of language that Proxfleet wouldn’t approve of, it was on. I’d managed ok.

  I patted the side of the ship. “Coming home, Taki.”

  “Lovely. Try to waste less oxygen on your way back in.”

  Rude. “You could just pull me back in by my tether, ya know.”

  “I would not dare rob you of such a valuable learning experience.”

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  Tossing a final glance at the void, I grabbed my jet controls and turned, heading back to the ship a little less clumsily than I’d left.

  As soon as I was safely inside, I bumped the button on the wall. The hatch closed behind me, assaulting my ears with the loud hiss of repressurization. Once it had finished, I peeled off my suit and stuffed it back in its closet before pushing off and heading out of the airlock toward the command center.

  “How’s that new set of diagnostics coming?” I asked as I floated toward the main computer.

  “Finishing now,” Taki said, “and—oh.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “Oh?”

  “You may want to see this for yourself.”

  He pulled a stream of data across the screen. My eyes flicked over it rapidly, taking in this new information. My stomach dropped as I realized what I was reading.

  “Well,” I began slowly, “the good news is that I rock at making repairs. The new sensors are working.”

  4. ENOUGH SLEEP

  I dragged a hand down my face. “Is it really that bad, though?”

  Yes.

  “Jade, we would have to stop our current trajectory and make a hard turn. At the estimated size of this asteroid belt, rerouting the ship will cost us at minimum six months—not to mention the inordinate fuel expenditures.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” I stared hard at the screen, willing the data to change. Stars. “Is the fuel expense really that bad?”

  “It would be manageable for now, but it would deplete reserves that are, well, reserved for emergencies.”

  “And what would you call this?”

  “Not an emergency. We have approximately eight hours until we encounter the belt. More than sufficient time to consider our options and make a decision.”

  Sure. Easy. I rolled my eyes. “Taki, what would you do?”

  “If this had come to my attention while you were sleeping, I would have made the appropriate navigation corrections sufficiently in advance, and we’d be passing over it right now.”

  “Well, it would’ve come to your attention if you’d realized the sensors were malfunctioning,” I snapped.

  “Ah, but I would hate for you to think of yourself as unimportant in this mission.”

  I frowned. “Really, Taki?”

  “A little levity tends to help tense situations.”

  “After this is over, remind me to check your humor programming.”

  “I will remind you, but you know you cannot change my presets.”

  “Not without some elbow grease,” I muttered under my breath, then added a little louder, “But I can tweak your peripheral settings.”

  “True.”

  I leaned back. “But thanks to the malfunction, you didn’t catch this early enough. Neither one of us did. So if it were up to you, what would you do? Go around or through?”

  “By mass, this asteroid belt is approximately seventy-two percent comprised of larger, slower-moving rocks that would be easily circum
navigated by the Seeker’s systems. And nineteen percent of the matter is a more moderate size and speed. That shouldn’t be too challenging either.”

  “But…?” I prompted.

  “But the remaining nine percent is unpredictable. A challenge for either one of us to navigate safely.”

  “Yeah, and your track record with space debris lately is less than stellar.”

  “One mistake in four hundred years, and you suddenly can’t trust me.”

  “Well, you did let me almost die in the shower.”

  “We have already discussed this, Jade. You were not in immediate danger.”

  My nose wrinkled. “Also, remind me to tweak your definition of ‘immediate.’ Things are a lot more urgent when you’re mortal.”

  “Then perhaps we should return our attention to the more immediate issue at hand.”

  “Right. You never answered my question.”

  “The two options pose similar statistical risks. But one risk is more known and immediate—”

  “I get it. You know what the word means.”

  “—and the other risk is more speculative. I would choose to avoid the known risk.”

  “Ah, come on, Taki. Live a little.”

  “I am not alive.”

  “That’s for sure.” I blew out a puff of air. “So you want to go around? Even with all the wasted time and fuel?”

  “I do not want to go around. That is simply the option I would choose given the information.”

  I frowned. Typical AI logic. “You said it would take eighteen hours to get through the belt.”

  “We’d have to drop our speed considerably for navigation, so yes. But I need to stress that eighteen hours is merely a best estimate. It could take as much as two days to get through it. Nine percent of the field is highly volatile and unpredictable, which means it is better suited to our combined piloting skills. If the attempt runs long, you will be unable to pilot the Seeker VI the entire time. You would have to sleep during significant portions of the trip.”

  “You don’t sound terribly optimistic about our odds of going through it, Taki.”

  “Frankly, it is inadvisable.”

  I chewed the inside of my lip, debating my options.

  “Going around will cost us a lot of time. That’s the one thing we don’t have.” I clenched my fists. “I’ve slept enough, Taki. We’re going straight through.”

  5. UNDER PRESSURE

  There’s nothing quite like a fifty year Nap to make a genius feel like an idiot.

  At least, I was going to blame the Nap for my sluggish responses.

  My chest harness slammed into me, digging into my skin as I maneuvered in the small space between an asteroid and a fast-traveling micrometeoroid. I was not about to let the Seeker VI be taken down by another one of those bastards.

  “That was your fourth near-miss in the last half hour, Jade. Would you prefer if I took over piloting for the next couple hours and let you get some rest?”

  “Says the one who let us get hit ten years ago and didn’t even realize it until I almost drowned.”

  “That was an anomaly. The odds of it recurring are—”

  “No. No more odds.” I gritted my teeth as my grip tightened around the controls. “I know you think you’re helping, Taki, but you’re not. I’m driving this bird.”

  “I only offer because the section ahead seems reasonably calculable. I should be able to maneuver through the field with relative ease.” He paused. “And your reaction times seem to be slipping.”

  “Not…” I jerked the ship portside to avoid another meteoroid, “…helping.”

  I wasn’t about to admit it, but Taki was right. I’d been at this for twelve hours already, and other than the recent fifty years, I was only operating on about three hours of sleep. That was all I’d had time for before reaching the edge of the asteroid belt.

  “Well, at least you’re better at this than your personal flight.”

  “Hilarious, Taki.”

  “Sarcasm is a bad look for you, Jade.”

  “It’s my only look. And lay off—I’m a little busy keeping us alive here. More gratitude, less attitude.” Ugh—Did I seriously just say that? That was one of the most pitiful comebacks I’d ever used.

  If I hadn’t been so focused on weaving between giant chunks of space rock, I would’ve managed to come up with a more scathing retort. Definitely.

  “I do not have an attitude.”

  “Oh, please. You’re the most—”

  A deafening boom thundered across the cabin. The chair I was strapped to was ripped from the floor with an unearthly groan, and we were tossed across the room together like a pair of rag dolls. My back crashed against my seat, driving all the oxygen from my lungs in under a second. Silver and black streaked across my vision as I hurtled through the air.

  In that instant, that flash between inspiration and insanity, life and death, I found myself really wishing that I’d focused more on my piloting skills than Taki’s insults. But I couldn’t take it back.

  We’d been hit, and I had no idea how. I would’ve bet my life that there’d been nothing immediately threatening on the screens. Nothing.

  But that didn’t matter because my body was now plastered to side of the cabin, and I was pretty sure my leg was being ripped in half while I struggled to hold on to consciousness.

  “Taki,” I choked out.

  No response.

  “Taki! You’d better not tell me this isn’t an emergency!”

  Still nothing. The impact must have affected him too. With any luck, it was nothing more serious than a system reboot.

  Rolling my head to the side, I tried to look around to assess the damage, but the chair was blocking my view of the cabin. Groaning, I reached for the release button on my restraints, unhooking myself from the useless chair. As I pushed it away, I saw the offender—a fist-sized hunk of rock embedded in the far wall of the cabin. It was absurd to think something that small could have such an effect on my ship.

  I glared at it for a moment before my brain started functioning properly again. I was still able to breathe. The hull breach must have gotten plugged somehow.

  Silver lining.

  “Agh-argh!” Searing pain shot through my leg. I winced and glanced down, hoping it wasn’t broken.

  My heart stopped.

  Now I knew what had plugged the hull breach.

  Not good. This was not good at all.

  A solid two-thirds of my left leg was stuck on the other side of the cabin wall. That explained a few things. Namely, why I could still breathe—and why my leg felt like it was in the process of exploding. Or freezing. I didn’t think I could tell the difference—or that it mattered given the agony rippling through my limb.

  It had saved me just to kill me.

  Planting my hands on either side of myself, I braced myself and pushed against the wall, trying to wrench myself free. A fresh wave of pain rolled over me, stopping my efforts.

  Black clouds raced along the edges of my vision as I fought to maintain consciousness. The walls shuddered again, and I could hear the echoes of another impact on the other end of my ship.

  “Taki,” I shouted, “I could really use your help piloting this ship right about now!”

  Useless AI. This was all on me. But as long as I was stuck in this hole, there was nothing I could do. Any hope I had of still surviving lay at the command center. I had to get to it to navigate through the remaining debris—not to mention finding a way to deal with the more immediate problem. If I did get out of this blasted hole, I’d have to patch it with something. And fast. Oh, and also not bleed out or explode or freeze.

  My chair floated past again, just over my head. An idea struck me suddenly. I stretched forward in desperation. I swore as the seat passed an inch above my fingers, but I strained again, just able to grab the edge of the belt. Grunting, I tightened my hold and reeled the chair toward me.

  Reaching under the chair, I grabbed the knife sheathed t
here. Originally intended as a defense against potential, unknown space predators, it was going to serve a different purpose today—one that would hopefully still save my life.

  Cutting away the belt, I strapped it around my leg and pulled the improvised tourniquet tight, gritting my teeth against the pain. I wasn’t sure what my next step could even be, but I was already done entertaining the idea that my leg would be saved after all this. And if I wasn’t prepared when it finally broke free, losing a leg would be the least of my worries.

  “Jade?”

  “Taki!” Relief swept over me as another surge of pain bent me in half.

  This is a terrible way to die.

  “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m kinda stuck here. Any great ideas for getting me out of this?” I asked, gritting my teeth. “Alive?” I added.

  “I have limited functionality. It seems that part of my central network was compromised on impact, and I can no longer perform simultaneous tasks or navigate the ship or—”

  “Really don’t need the whole list right now, Taki. What can you do?”

  “I still control most of the environmental systems, short-range communications…”

  “Environmental controls?”

  “Yes. Did you want me to raise the temperature? That is a considerably low priority for the current situation.”

  I ignored him and swallowed hard, hating myself first for thinking I could escape an asteroid belt unscathed and second for what I was about to do to try to save my skin. I blew out a shaky breath.

  “So you can depressurize the cabin?”

  “Yes, but of course I would not do so with you in—”

  “You have to lower the pressure in here so I can get my leg out.”

  “Jade, I must tell you that you cannot survive long under those con—”

  “Just do it!” I pounded my fist against the wall beside my leg. I should’ve felt it. It should’ve hurt. It didn’t.

  I was running out of time.

  “You can raise it again once I’m out and find another way to plug the hole,” I snapped.

  “Understood. Lowering pressure.”