Corrupted

by M. J. Kaestli

  If the ship crashed on impact, none of the sleeping passengers would even feel it, or know it had happened. They would be asleep, and then they would be dead. Fear of failure was not what was causing her restlessness; it was the fear of success. If that ship landed safely and the transport device was properly constructed on the other side, Colin might go from a distant memory into a real-life being right before her eyes.

  She would rather he simply stay a ghost that haunted her dreams like Ursa did. The only consolation was that as the head of State, she would never have to see him. He would stay on the colony world and help to build their new society, the society she would lead from this side of the transport device. If the Council was in such a panic about her simply leaving the State house, there would be no expectation for her to visit the other world.

  Her work was here. Her work was to make changes, to enlighten the minds and the ways of the Council. Once a new system was in place, she could rest easy. Somehow, she sensed that her rule would not be a long one. Once everything was running smoothly, there was no purpose to have one leader. The government could be elected, they could rule for a term, and then hand the responsibility to someone younger, someone who had grown up in a different era with new ideas.

  She could retire; she could return to a greenhouse or work on the grounds until she could work no longer. Power held no appeal to her; it never had. She simply responded to a life she owed a debt to. She didn’t choose this; she simply acted when it was necessary, when there was no better alternative in sight. She was here because Ursa and Lewis bet their lives on her, and she would fight with everything in her to not let them down.

  Once there were no longer vegetables to collect, Freya knew it was time to head back to her office. Her time in the garden had given her sufficient rest and a clear mind. The messages, as usual, were in abundance. Most of them she could just skim or delete; only a few truly held her interest. She worked until her eyes became heavy, and she refused to make a habit of sleeping at her desk. Time spent in her apartment was limited to sleep and showering, but at least she could sleep. It overtook her only moments after her head hit the pillow.

  Chastity was waiting for her when she arrived in her office the next morning. “Come along.” It often amused Freya the way Chastity spoke to her. She was the head of State, yet Chastity still ordered her around without any explanation. She led her down to the military tunnels, deftly taking each turn with no consideration. “In here.” She led her into a room.

  A woman waited for her there and urged her to sit down. “If you are going to suddenly start appearing in public, we need to clean you up.”

  The woman took her hair out of her bun and began to comb it. This room was not the usual place one would get their hair cut. The woman began to snip along without speaking. Chastity had obviously told her what kind of style to do before they arrived.

  It was much shorter than Freya had ever worn it before in her life—it didn’t even touch her shoulders, which left her feeling oddly exposed. The woman finished quickly, and Chastity led her back up to the office.

  “You should start to wear your hair down when you make public addresses. The Council feels your hair looks too militant,” Chastity explained.

  Freya looked at her, annoyed, but she knew there was no purpose arguing. The Council had decided, and Chastity agreed. Once Chastity had left, Freya was surprised by her own vanity. She headed to a bathroom so she might look in a mirror. Her first reaction was shock; she almost didn’t recognize the person who looked back at her.

  Wearing her hair loosely hanging definitely made a difference. Her wrinkles around her eyes and lips were less notable; her streaks of gray in her temples less predominant. This style would not be practical for working in the garden, but she understood why it would be more suitable for her.

  They were walking a delicate path. The Council needed to see her as idealistic, perhaps even innocent—the people needed to love her. She wondered whether the Council had in fact mentioned a change in her hairstyle, or whether it had been a part of Chastity’s keen wits.

  There was a third party to consider also: the colonists. They had left Earth at a different time, under a different rule. Surely there had to be people who preferred the rigidity of the State’s way of life. There would also be those who found her modernization a far cry from acceptable change.

  Every person, every topic, every change had to be dealt with delicately. Making her appear softer, more feminine, could possibly soften the blow to those who were not happy with the changes.

  She finished playing around with her hair, now accepting her new appearance even though it still felt foreign to her. She sat down at her desk and began to sift through the messages that had poured in overnight. It was times like these that she wondered whether anyone in power ever really slept. So many messages were always sent in the dead of night. Not the same volume that came through during the day, yet it was much more than she felt should be expected.

  Her mind started to wander after a few hours, with more messages constantly pouring in. It felt like a good time for her to work in the garden for a while. Nothing tired her more than working on her tablet. Just as she looked up to close the messages, she saw a subject heading that caught her eye: Colony ship status.

  Knowing it was drawing near the time for the ship to either land or to have something go terribly wrong, she knew this message needed her immediate attention. She opened the file and read the message several times before her mind could accept its meaning.

  The colony ship had touched down; all systems were operational. The program was beginning to deactivate hibernation. The civilians on the ship would start to wake up.

  Freya called out for Chastity, who ran into the office. She showed her the message. Chastity cheered and hugged her; Freya’s body remained stiff even though she did not reject the hug directly.

  “I need you to set my computer to alert me as any messages come through about the colony world. These messages cannot wait,” Freya said, nearly panting.

  “Of course.” Chastity looked a little tense about her harsh tone. Chastity took hold of her tablet, worked on it briefly and handed it back. “I will prepare your address.” She turned to leave the room.

  Freya grasped her wrist and stopped her from leaving. “We need them to wake up and make contact before we address the people.” Her hands nearly shook.

  Chastity looked at her through squinted eyes. “I never thought you would side with the Council about withholding information from the people.”

  “I can’t tell them the ship landed safely until I know the people are alive and mentally sound.” Freya looked away. “What if I get everyone’s hope up, and there is nothing but heartbreak to come? If something were to go wrong, I don’t want to give everyone false hope on the eve of disaster.”

  Chastity looked at her for a moment, as if she was thinking something but chose to hold it back. “As you wish. We will wait for our first radio contact.” Chastity then left the room.

  There was no comfort for Freya to take; it would not be possible for her to spend time on the grounds now. How could she? That would require her taking her eyes off her computer screen. Freya had no answer for the irrational fear that gripped her. Her logical mind could not even kick in and tell her to calm down.

  All she could do was sit with her hands tightly gripping the computer, her knuckles nearly white from the tension in her hands. She didn’t even know that she had concerns about the success of the mission until this very moment. Trivial messages continued to pour into her inbox, and she deleted them all without reading a single one of them.

  Near day’s end, the ship’s computer sent her another automated update. Her hands trembled with anticipation as she opened the message. It reported that the first hibernation pod had been opened, all life aboard was alive, and the civilians were slowly being woken up. Mere seconds after she read the message, the monitor on the wall flashed. The Council had called an emergency meeting.
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br />   “Madam head of State,” a male voice said. “I am sure you have been reading the updates sent to us from the ship’s computer?”

  “Yes,” she said with a dry, cracked voice.

  “We called a meeting to prepare our strategy for you to address the people. Chastity informed us that you wished to wait until the success of the mission was guaranteed before your address?”

  “Yes,” she replied again, still unable to say more.

  “That is good of you to consent to our request. We share the same fears of igniting excitement and hope, just before a tragedy. Are we all in agreement to wait for the ship’s door to open before we alert the people?” There was a large consent among the monitor. Freya, however, couldn’t find her voice.

  “I am a lead scientist on this project. May I take the liberty to debrief everyone on the current situation?” a new female voice asked.

  “Yes.” Freya’s stomach was flipping in knots; she was concerned she would throw up at any second.

  “Our first concern was for the ship to land safely and intact, which we have surpassed. Our next concern would be if the people were able to come out of hibernation, which, so far, has also been successful. I would like to share with you the other cause for concerns we have, where a delay in information could be of benefit.” She paused.

  Freya was not sure whether she was trying to get her emotions in check before speaking or whether she was consulting a list.

  “Every civilian on the craft has a device implanted under their skin that will monitor their vital signs. We can track their heart rates, oxygen intake, adrenaline levels, and so forth. The purpose of this is so we will know instantaneously if they find danger, or if death takes them. Thus far, all information processed is to be expected. We have yet to find out what happens when they open the door to the spacecraft.”

  “What could possibly go wrong when they open the door?” another Council member asked.

  “Quite a lot, actually. What waits for them on the other side of the door is what we can’t predict. We were able to plot their course, keep them safely in hibernation, and wake them back up. We can’t predict if there is a predatorial animal or insect waiting for them when the door is opened. If there is a disease, or lack of proper food source to maintain their survival. Our biggest and most immediate threat is whether they landed in the correct spot. If they landed in a body of water or the top of a mountain, it would drastically reduce their chances of survival.”

  “Are you suggesting that we wait months until they have set up appropriate agriculture and habitat before we share information with the people?” another Council member asked.

  “No, of course we can’t go to that kind of extreme. I simply want to give them some time, a few weeks perhaps, after the door is opened. We will need to share the risks facing them with the people, but that can be done at a different time. We need them to open the door, to assess their environment, and wait for them to report in. Another risk—if the ship was damaged, if any part of their systems malfunction, then they may survive but not be able to build the transport device.”

  Freya’s mind spun. The anxiety she had been feeling may have been intuitive, but it was most definitely correct. She knew there would be threats, but to hear them laid out for everyone in a clear list made their chance of survival sound so futile.

  This entire project was a mistake; she knew that now. Now she had added to that mistake. She had made changes to their society, changes that could not be maintained if this colony project was not a success. Tears formed in her eyes. How could I have been so foolish? She had focused too much on the threats that could come through the transport device; never had she considered whether that transport device would ever work.

  If the colony world couldn’t open, she had just broken the fragile ecosystem of their land. The population controls had always been in place for good reason. If she had just damned her own world, history would remember her for certain—as a destroyer.

  “Madam head of State, what do you say to this?” requested the male voice who often spoke up.

  “All information should be passed at the time agreed upon by the lead team of scientists and the Council’s consent.”

  Freya didn’t know how she had found her voice; it almost sounded foreign to her. She could hear the words, understand their meanings, yet it sounded as if it came from a source outside of her. There were a few more words spoken, but her mind didn’t hear or comprehend their meaning. The monitor shut off, and she returned to her previous duty, which was to stare at her tablet and wait for news.

  Once she had time to recover from the shock that had previously overtaken her, all her emotions rose to the surface. Her office door was closed, and Chastity was the only person in the house at this hour. Even if that had not been the case, she could not have controlled herself, but she took comfort in the thought of privacy.

  Freya began to cry, if crying was a word that could even describe what was happening to her body. A violent pain tore through her chest, her stomach; she could even feel it in her limbs. Her body shook violently. She had never felt these sensations before; her body was not familiar with this level of pain.

  When she had mourned the loss of Colin and Ursa, it was her own pain, which was something bearable. What she felt now was the pain of condemning an entire nation. If the vessel didn’t open, she may have just killed them all.

  No personal loss she had ever experienced could even come close to the unintentional genocide of her people. Why had the Council listened to her? Who was she to take the fate of their people into her own mediocre hands?

  The State should have been run by someone less emotional, someone better educated. There were a million attributes she felt a head of State should possess that she did not. The mere concept that Ursa and Lewis had both given their lives for their belief in her was ludicrous. She was a gardener, nothing more. She had never listened, or truly let Victor’s taunting words he uttered just before his death resonate with her. She had rationalized that a desperate man would say anything to gain back his power. The harsh reality was he had been right. She was no leader.

  Her mind was made up. If the transport device never became functional, cutting them off from the new world, she would step down as the head of State, if they didn’t execute her for treason first. If by some miracle everything worked out, she would step down anyway. She had been tested and found wanting, even if no one realized it yet. It was just a matter of time before everyone else knew it also. It would be best for her to leave willingly.

  Her head rested on her arm as she contemplated her future plans. It was not her intention to sleep there like that; it just happened. She had neither the will nor the strength to get up from her desk and walk back to her bed. She slept soundly without movement for a few hours, until she was jolted awake by her computer alarm. It took a moment for the sleep to clear enough for her to understand her surroundings, and then she finally turned off the alert and looked at her tablet.

  The spacecraft door had been opened.

  Her vision blurred, and stars danced across her vision. Her blood pressure had shot so high she could have fainted. There was no further information—simply the door had been opened. It didn’t even state when it had happened. For all she knew, it could have been just then, an hour ago, or even a week ago. Freya didn’t understand well enough how long it took transmissions to send, or whether the information was given to her immediately, or whether it was delayed.

  Time slowed to a crippling rate for Freya; she was never really sure if she was sleeping or awake. It was difficult to determine, as she rarely moved from her desk. She could hardly eat, or drink, there was too much anxiety coursing through her veins at all times. Updates were coming sporadically, never giving her enough information, or presenting the information in the way she most needed to hear it: was it working as planned? The messages were data, numbers and statistics, and calculated probabilities.

  It took every ounce of control to not jump
up and throw her tablet against the wall. She would have to wait, just like the common people. If something went wrong, would they alert me immediately? Or would they wait until the damage had been fully calculated?

  She was too exhausted to pace, yet too tense to sit still. Occasionally she would move her body as though to get up and then quickly moved back to stay in her spot. Her hands gripped her hair, and her body started to rock involuntarily.

  She had read once of spontaneous combustion, thinking it impossible and laughed that some people ever believed in such a thing. Now, it seemed only logical. The only miracle to her was that her entire body had not burst into flames, or that her heart didn’t give out. Nothing happened to her, and so she just swayed back and forth in her seat.

  Her tablet chimed once again, and with trembling hands, she looked at her message. This one was different than the others, it simply contained a soundbite.