by Rob Boffard
Do you know that for sure? Who’s to say the same person responsible for stocking the bar wasn’t responsible for filling up the water supply …
Everett scratches his stubble. “Would there be any food in the cockpit, or—”
“Don’t think so.” Hannah pushes a pile of food and drink towards him. “Can you help take these upstairs? You and Malik?”
“Sure. Right.” He and his son gather the food, making their way up the steps.
“Now what?” Jack says.
Hannah bites down on her irritation at him. It’s easier now – for the first time since this whole thing started, they’ve got some control. Not a lot, but enough. She might not be able to stop a whole station being destroyed, but she can handle doling out soychips.
“OK,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “We could probably use some sleep. I think … yeah, there should be some blankets somewhere.”
But there aren’t. A search of the bar reveals a single, rigid foil blanket, sealed in plastic and stashed in the first aid kit – useful for someone with hypothermia, but not exactly helpful when you’ve got ten people who need beds. Hannah digs through the rest of the kit, hoping to find a second blanket, pulling out bandages and boxes of nanoplasters and a couple of packs of nanomed capsules, but there’s nothing.
Hannah sighs. They’ll just have to deal with it. She can ask Volkova to turn up the ship’s temperature a little – the bar is freezing cold now, and she can’t imagine the main deck being much better.
“Could you just do one last check upstairs?” she asks Jack.
“For blankets?”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“How do you not know where they are?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re an employee of the tour company, yes? You should know the facilities on company ships, and you should know what to do in an emergency. So do we have blankets here, or not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why—”
“Because today was my first day.”
He says nothing. Just stares back at her.
The hell with this. She needs to eat, and so does the captain. She’s pretty sure Sigma Destination Tours doesn’t exist any more, which means she’s officially unemployed, and therefore not contractually obliged to be polite to passengers who aren’t polite to her.
God knows what she’ll tell her parents if they ever see each other again. Yeah, sorry. I lost the job. Tour company got blown up.
She pushes past the startled Jack, heading up the stairs. Halfway up, she turns back to him. “By the way, you might wanna clean up your puke on the main deck. It’s starting to stink.”
The look of disgust on his face is totally worth it. She takes the last few steps at a skip, bounding onto the upper level.
The cockpit stinks, too. It’s a cramped space to begin with, and cigarette smoke has mixed with Volkova’s sweat to turn the air into a swamp. The captain is bent over a control panel, peering at it, navigating through a set of menus at lightning speed. On another screen, there’s a command terminal, a set of instructions written into it. The computer is repeating its message again, but, as Hannah ducks inside, it cuts off mid-sentence.
“Ha!” Volkova slaps the panel. She spots Hannah, and flashes her a mouth of yellow teeth. “Not easy to turn off the voice, but I worked for Sigma for twelve years. I know all the tricks.”
“Is that a good idea?” Hannah says. “I mean … don’t we need it?”
“For what? It’s a dumb computer. It’s not helping.”
Hannah’s too exhausted to protest. And, besides, Volkova’s right. The ship itself might have a voice, but it isn’t a true AI. People who don’t bother to stock an escape pod with emergency rations aren’t going to shell out for a decent artificial intelligence.
Not that it would help them if they did. AIs had been restricted ever since the Dallas Incident – that little clusterfuck happened long before Hannah was born, but she’s seen the video, and it was nasty. Even if the Panda had an actual AI, it would be hard-coded with heavy-duty failsafes, and wouldn’t do anything without being ordered to.
Anyway, the ship’s voice and personality had obviously been chosen by someone who knew they’d never have to listen to it on a daily basis. Volkova could shut it up? That was A-OK by Hannah.
The cardboard coffee cup is now almost completely full of wet cigarette butts, so she’s surprised to see that there isn’t one in Volkova’s mouth. “I ran out,” the pilot says, when she sees Hannah looking. “You have any? I’ll even take a NicoStick, if you got one.”
“Sorry. Don’t smoke.”
Volkova mutters something under her breath, but smiles when Hannah passes her the bag of chips and a JamFizz. She looks spent, like she’s been wide awake for three days.
A thought occurs to Hannah – one that she should have had hours ago. “Why can’t we see the gate from here?”
“What you mean?”
“The gate.” Hannah points out of the cockpit viewport. “Shouldn’t we be able to see if it’s still there? It’s not that far.”
Volkova takes a slug of the soft drink. “The albedo’s not good.”
“Al … what?”
“Albedo. You work in space, you don’t know this? It means reflectivity. The gate is two miles wide – not very big, so it doesn’t give off much light. Hard to see until we’re maybe a hundred miles out.”
“So how do ships find it?” Another thought flickers in her mind, and her face lights up. “They must use a signal, right? Could we find it? See if the gate is still—”
“Oh, there’s a signal. Or there was. I already tried to pick it up. Nothing.”
“What does that mean?”
“Could mean anything. Ship transponder is crap, too. I never used it to pick up the gate signal before – no point. Or I might not have the correct frequency. Or perhaps it just fried itself. Who can say?”
Hannah sighs, defeated. Shit.
“You should get some sleep,” she says. “I can stay up and watch for the rescue.”
“Nyet. I am fine.”
“But—”
“Fine. And I will sleep. Right here, and I’ll turn comms up very, very loud so it will wake me if someone calls.”
“Should we have … I don’t know, heard something by now?”
“Too soon,” Volkova says. But there’s a shadow on her face that Hannah doesn’t like.
As she steps away, the ceiling speakers give a haughty bleep, followed by the Panda’s voice once again urging them to try all the facilities on their comfortable and spacious touring vessel. Volkova’s swearing sweeps Hannah out of the cockpit.
Chapter 15
The soychips have almost zero taste, although the JamFizz is OK, colder than Hannah thought it would be. She eats sitting in the passage leading to the cabin, back against the wall.
The other passengers are clustered in small groups around the main deck, and Hannah sees more than a few yawns. Corey and Malik are having an argument of some kind, something about the escape pod, which is wide open at the back of the deck. It’s a cramped, windowless module, with a triple-decker rows of jump seats stacked on top of each other. Unlike the seats on the main deck, there are uncomfortable looking straps hanging down from the headrests. A place for emergencies, for serious short-term use only.
Hannah carefully folds up the chip packet, slotting it into the JamFizz can. Then she rests her head against the wall, and closes her eyes. Just for a second.
She knows it’s a dream, but it doesn’t feel like one. It’s more like a memory. She’s back on Titan, at her parents’ house, sitting at the kitchen island. She’s eating toast – made from real bread, which is one of the luxuries her mom refuses to skimp on. It’s spread thick with honey, the good stuff, from the Acedalia plantations on Mars. Not too sweet, and thick as caramel.
Are you sure you’ve got everything you need? her mom says. She’s fussing over Hannah’s backpack, tr
ying to slide a sealed box of sandwiches into a side pocket already jammed to bursting.
I’m fine, Hannah tries to say. Either she has a mouthful of toast or it’s a dream where she can’t speak, but no sound comes out. She doesn’t much care. There’s artificial sunlight from the light banks at the top of the dome, shining through the windows, dappling the counter, and Hannah can hear birds chirping somewhere. Those, at least, are real. Perfect Titan morning.
Her dad smiles. For the last time, she’s OK. They’ll feed her on the shuttle. You don’t need to –
I know, her mom says, giving up on the side pocket and opening the main compartment, looking for room. On the other side of the island, Callista – ten years older than Hannah, with the very first lines of grey starting to appear in her jet-black hair – is blinking rapidly, looking at reports on her lens. Despite the fact that it’s the weekend, she’s dressed well, her tailored suit jacket a contrast to Hannah’s grey hoodie.
Her dad is looking at her, a slight frown flicking across his face, like a cloud passing before the sun. This time, she hears herself speak. You OK?
Hmm? Oh, fine sweetie.
She sighs. What is it? She’d forgotten this part – pushed it out of her mind, more like. Why is she reliving it now? If this is a dream, can’t she just skip forward or something?
He looks at her for a moment, then folds his hands on the table in front of him. Inwardly, Hannah sighs. It’s the thing he does when he wants to Talk Serious. He’s done it since Hannah was a kid – lately, she’s even seen Callie doing it once or twice. Can’t they just leave it today? Of all days?
You know we want you to be happy, he says.
Oh, come on, Dad. Not now, please.
We’re just not sure you’re making the right decision here.
Hannah reaches down for her duffel bag, not meeting his eyes. We’ve been through this. It’s the only job I could get.
And I keep telling you that you just have to think outside the box. I know your degree wasn’t in business like your sister’s, but –
And you could always go work with Callie, her mom says. You guys are hiring right now, aren’t you?
Callista’s gaze switches from middle distance to close up. What? I mean, yeah, we’ve got some junior positions open, if you wanted to apply or whatever. Her eyes meet Hannah’s, a sympathetic smile spreading across her face. Not sure I could be involved though – I could make a recommendation, but it’d be nepotism if hired you, so—
Oh, please, says Hannah’s dad. You run the place! It’s your company. What you say goes.
Callie takes a sip of her coffee. You and Mom hire her, then.
Um, hello? Hannah says. Right here.
Ah, it’d be too many politics at my place, her dad says. Too many people. He points at Callie. You’re still small, though. Agile. She’d slot right in. And you could teach her about marketing, right? She can learn from the best!
Callista’s smile brightens for a second, then fades. She goes back to her reports, and Hannah stares at her, wondering what happened. Where’s the Callie who stayed up with her for hours flicking through boys on Red Heart? The one who had shitty taste in music and loved reading ridiculous slash fiction aloud when she was drunk? When was the last time she’d even been drunk?
It’d just make us a lot happier if you were doing something you could advance in. Her mom wraps her arms around her dad. This tour guide job … I just don’t see where you’d go from there. It doesn’t pay very well.
This again. She knew it was coming – knew it from the minute her dad folded his arms. What gets her is that they think they’re sugar-coating it, and it just makes it worse. She knows what they’re really trying to say. Take responsibility. Do something important. Isn’t that what she’s doing? Didn’t she hustle to get this gig? Admittedly, she has no idea to transition to an actual museum job, but she sure as hell isn’t going to do it working for Callie’s marketing startup, or in her dad’s logistics company.
She bites back on the familiar anger, taking another delicate mouthful of toast, barely tasting the honey. A shrug worms its way across her shoulders.
Her dad gives her another sad smile. We’re just gonna miss you, rook, he says.
She knows something is wrong, that he said something wrong, something different from the memory, but she can’t figure out what. She tries to tell him that she’s going to miss them, too, but suddenly she’s outside the house, clambering into a cab. She’s at the rear, dropping her bag into the trunk. The blowback from the hover generators is hot and dry against her bare ankles. The street is quiet, empty.
We love you! her mom shouts. Her parents are on the front porch of their gabled house, arms around each other, Callie alongside them. Her dad pushes his glasses back up his nose again. Hannah’s already said her goodbyes, hugging them all tight, and she waves as she climbs into the cab. She’s going to miss them, even Callie.
Please speak your destination, says the cab’s automated system.
Hannah opens her mouth to tell it to take her to the shuttleport, and that’s when she sees the metal sphere. It’s diving out of the blue sky, heading right for the house, coming in so fast that it’s nothing more than a silver blur.
She opens her mouth to shout a warning, but no sound comes out. Then the sphere hits the house and the world vanishes in a searing ball of light and Hannah is pounding the cab’s windows and everything is shaking –
“Guide,” says Volkova. Her voice rips Hannah from the dream. She blinks up at the pilot, and for a second she can’t remember where she is, or what she’s supposed to be doing. She was dreaming, she knows that, but the dream is already fading.
“Whrshm,” she says. It feels like most of a tube of glue was used to stick her eyes shut, and the rest was squirted into her mouth. Has she been drinking? Then she smells smoke, and puke, and remembers.
Volkova glances towards the cockpit. “We must head to the gate. I’m taking the ship out.”
“Whuh—” Hannah licks her lips, tries again. “Are the other ships here? Frontier?”
“No. So we must go to—”
“I thought the plan was to wait until they got here.” She lifts her head, winces at her stiff neck.
“Too long,” Volkova mutters. “And still no signal.”
It takes Hannah a few seconds to work out what Volkova is saying. Her eyes fly open. “How long was I sleeping?”
“Eight hours? Nine?”
“Jesus.” She pulls herself to her feet, using the wall to keep her steady. Her head is packed with lumpy cotton wool.
“No comms,” Volkova says. “No signal, like I say. By now, the other ships would have come. There’s nothing out there, and I don’t like it. Not one tiny bit.”
Hannah glances at the main deck. The Livingstones are sleeping sitting up, Corey cradled in his mom’s arms, Malik resting his head on his dad’s shoulder, his holocam tucked into his armpit. Brendan and Seema are lying on the floor, spooning, using their leather jackets as pillows. Lorinda is up, her back to Hannah, eating something, and Jack is sitting up with his arms folded, head tilted back. His mouth is open, his tongue just visible.
“If there aren’t any ships …” Hannah says.
“Da. Maybe the gate is gone. Defences, too. If the Frontier was coming, they would be here by now. I can find the gate without signal – I know where the quadrant and sector is, and I get close enough so we can see the exact location.”
“Really?”
Volkova scratches the side of her neck. “Increasing acceleration on three thrusters, with gravitational forces … I think, maybe … It will take maybe two hours, two and a half.”
Hannah rolls her neck. Getting her thoughts in order is like trying to grab slivers of soap in a hot shower. The gate might have been destroyed after the ship travelled through it, one of the metal spheres set to detonate post-jump. On the other hand, the ship might be hanging around the gate, destroying any Frontier vessels that came through.
Could it really do that? No, it’d be too risky, surely, even for something that well-equipped. Sooner or later, the Frontier would figure out what’s happening, and they’d send something too fast or too well-armoured for the other ship to handle.
Still …
As if drawn by a strong magnet, she looks up through the viewport again. A large chunk of debris is just drifting past the Panda – a ripped, shredded metal plate the size of a big car, scorch marks crossing it like tiger stripes. There’s still enough surface undamaged for the metal to be slightly reflective. The reflection is soft and distorted, but the Panda itself is visible on the plate’s surface, suspended in an ocean of black. The metal drifts a little further, and the reflection vanishes.
Hannah feels the familiar dread lighting up in the pit of her stomach. The problem is, they just don’t know what’s out there. After the attack, they could afford to wait for rescue. But Volkova’s right – it’s been far too long. They’re already digging into their food supplies.
“Let me talk to the passengers,” she says.
Chapter 16
Corey’s mom is strangling him.
She’s not doing it on purpose. He fell asleep nuzzled into her, and, as she drifted off, her arm tightened around his neck. He wakes up with his throat buried in the crook of her elbow, her head pressing into the back of his.
He really doesn’t want Malik to see, which is stupid, because he was snuggling up to his mom before when his brother was awake. Doesn’t matter; he needs to squeeze out, or his mom is going to do to him what the smoke didn’t.
He tries to slip through, but his chin catches on her arm. He twists his head sideways, doing it gently so he doesn’t wake her, but she responds by pulling tighter. And now his mouth is smushed into her arm. Great.
Anita Livingstone sighs with sleepy pleasure.
“Mom, get off me,” he says, only it comes out as “Mmgeroffee”, the words muffled by the fabric. She doesn’t move, so he tries to winkle one of his hands into the space between his throat and her arm. That just makes it worse. Not only does it not help, but now his hand is trapped as well.
