by B. C. James
“What do you want? I got cargo manifest, ship schematics, crew manifest, mission objectives—”
“Crew manifest,” Sharp interrupted, leaning over to peak at the screen.
“Let’s see. Captain Jacob Pierce, Commander Douglas Thompson, Lieutenant Stephen Daniels,” Briggs read off the screen.
Something odd caught Sharp’s eye. “What’s that?” he asked pointing to the bottom of the crew list.
“Hmm, that’s strange,” Briggs said as he scrolled down the screen. “There’s thousands of lines on this list but only the first twelve spaces are filled in. The rest of the spots just have TBD listed.”
The comm crackled into Sharp’s ear before he could think about it further. “Captain,” Cormac’s voice buzzed. “Franklin’s reporting an hour till repairs are completed.”
He glanced over at his O2 levels. “Cutting it close, Commander. We’ve only got about an hour and fifteen minutes of air left. See if you can’t get the ornery old bastard to hurry it up a little, will ya?” he said, trying to joke his way out of the tension he was feeling.
“Roger, Captain,” Cormac replied. “And in the meantime, try to breathe a little less.”
Sharp smirked, feeling slightly better about the situation, but not much. He looked over and saw Briggs intently studying the monitor.
“What is it?”
“Well, Cap, it looks like the life support system is back online. It’s attempting to balance the heat and O2 levels, but it seems to be malfunctioning. It’s displaying an error message saying the atmosphere won’t be ready by the time the crew wakes up. I could try to repair it, see if I can get the atmosphere up to safe levels, so if all else fails we can breathe here at least.”
“Alright, get on it, Ensign. I’m sure when the crew wakes up they’ll appreciate being able to breathe as well,” Sharp replied. He didn’t like the idea of taking off his helmet, it would leave them at the mercy of this old hulk and its ancient life support system, but it was good to have a backup plan.
“Yes, Sir. I’ll be down in engineering,” Briggs said as he stood and left the bridge.
Sharp turned his attention back to the main display and tried to access the mission objectives. Instead, he got a message saying the information was restricted. He scrolled down to the cargo manifest and got the same message. He shook his head. Why were these people headed to Alpha Centauri? His guess was that they were on a colonization mission, but they predated the settling of Alpha Centauri by about sixty years. Could they have been on a research mission and intended to make a return trip to Earth? That made little sense to Sharp. With their propulsion tech, it would have taken them almost a century to make the round trip.
About to give up, he noticed the ship schematics tab. Intrigued, he selected it, although he expected it to be restricted as well. To his surprise, it opened and displayed a cutaway image of the Endurance. He scanned the image, checking off the areas they had already explored. Past engineering was a series of large rooms labeled Cargo Section, and beyond that, an even larger room labeled Propulsion Magazine. They appeared to be the only habitable parts of the ship they hadn’t yet visited, and he made a mental note to check them later. He hoped they would give him some insight about these people and their mission.
***
Sharp sat staring into the stasis tube, deep in thought. His attempts to visit the lower levels of the ship had proven fruitless. He had found the round structure in the center of engineering to be an elevator, but the door was locked, requiring command codes to access it.
He sighed as he looked through the curved glass of the cryochamber. What was he going to do with these people? He couldn’t leave them out here in the void of deep space, and he couldn’t take the Endurance with him. He’d have to convince them to abandon their ship then somehow find room for them on the already cramped Pescado Rojo. Where was he going to find room for a dozen ancient Terrans? There were a few vacant crew cabins, but they were crammed full of cargo and supplies. He could probably fit them in there if he cleared them out, but then he’d have to find somewhere to store the displaced cargo.
“Captain,” the comm buzzed in his ear, pulling him out of his trance.
“Go ahead, Cormac,” he responded.
“Franklin’s got the membrane patched up, and we’re ready to attempt docking.”
He glanced at the O2 meter on his HUD. He had thirty minutes remaining. Franklin had finished early. He must pad his repair estimates to make himself look good, Sharp thought, grinning to himself.
“Alright, Commander, you’re a go for docking.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied. “Initiating docking procedure.”
He looked around the stasis room. Arnold was at the opposite end poking around the crew cabins.
“Briggs,” he said over the comm, “you still down in engineering?”
“Yes, Cap,” he answered.
“How’s it coming with the life support system?”
“Almost got it, Sir. The atmosphere is up to eighty percent.”
“How much longer do you need?” Sharp asked, standing up and waving Arnold over.
“Five or ten minutes ought to do it.”
“Make it five then meet Arnold and me on the bridge. We’re redocking.”
Sharp made his way to the bridge with Arnold following. Sitting down in one of the pilot chairs, he scanned the field of switches laid out before him. He found the one he was after and flipped it. The blast shields slowly slid away from the forward viewport. Craning his neck to look up, he saw the ruddy-brown hull of the Pescado Rojo lurking above them. He watched as the docking boom moved toward them, disappearing as it closed in, the view obscured by the roof of the bridge. His heart lifted as the sound of the soft seal membrane sucking itself to the hull echoed through the room.
“Soft seal established, Captain,” Cormac reported over the comm. “You are clear to disembark.”
“Good work, Commander,” he said as Briggs entered the room.
Sharp nodded to him and made his way to the airlock door. He grasped the handle and tried to twist it. It didn’t budge and a bolt of pain shot through his sprained wrist.
He stepped back cradling his arm. “It’s not moving. Give it a try, Briggs.”
Briggs stepped forward and wrestled with the handle, jerking at it several times. He turned his attention to the control panel at the side of the hatch and pressed a few buttons. “It’s got a command password lockout,” he reported.
Sharp looked at his O2 gauge, twenty minutes remained. “Can you bypass it?”
“I’ll try, Cap,” he said as he punched more buttons and twisted the handle to no avail. He looked down and yanked open the access panel below the controls then fumbled around inside the narrow hole with his bulky gloves. “When the power was out, we were able to manually open the door,” he spoke as he decoupled a connector. The control screen went dark, and he twisted the handle. This time, it turned smoothly, and the door creaked open.
They stepped inside the airlock and closed the door behind them. “Can we depressurize this room?” Sharp asked. “We don’t want to blow that hatch open like last time. Especially with the membrane damaged. The sudden change in pressure could blow out Franklin’s patch job.”
Briggs looked around and found a blank control panel near the door. “It’s no good, Cap,” he said. “Looks like when I cut the power to the other panel this one was disconnected too.”
Sharp’s O2 gauge flashed on his HUD, he had fifteen minutes of air left. Shit, he thought, now what? Another indicator on the HUD caught his eye. Atmospheric Pressure 0.6 bar, it read. His eyes shifted back and forth as he searched for a solution. The soft seal wasn’t designed to hold high pressure, but he hoped it would withstand a little over half an atmosphere. “Cormac,” he said, almost shouting, “can you pressurize the soft seal to point six bar?”
Sharp felt his heart pounding in the pause before she replied. “Sir, Franklin says the membrane may hold at that pressure, b
ut he’s not sure about his repair patch.”
Sharp decided it was worth the risk. “Do it anyway,” he ordered. “Ramp up the pressure slowly. Try not to put too much stress on it.”
“Okay, Cap,” she replied. “Pressurizing now.”
He heard a muted hiss of air coming from the other side of the hatch, and a creaking as the membrane expanded.
“Point one bar, point two,” Cormac counted off over the comm.
The creaking turned to a groan.
“Point three, point fou—”
A boom shuttered through the airlock, and the floor shook under Sharp’s feet as the membrane blew out. He closed his eyes in disappointment.
“We lost the membrane,” Cormac whispered.
“Shit,” Sharp said under his breath. “Looks like we’ll have to attempt an EVA over to the Rojo. Briggs, pop the hatch.”
“Wait,” Cormac shouted, “I’m getting a warning light on the airlock. It looks like the outer door seal was damaged in the blowout. You won’t be able to pressurize the airlock.”
Sharp’s heart sunk. What else could go wrong? “Get Franklin out there. I want that door repaired ASAP. Understood, Commander?” he ordered, his strained voice betraying his growing agitation.
“Yes, Sir,” Cormac replied.
Sharp looked at his O2 gauge. Ten minutes remained. “Alright gentlemen, I guess we’ll be staying here for a while. Helmets off, let’s keep a reserve oxygen supply in case we need to take a walk back to the Rojo.”
“You first,” Arnold shot back sardonically.
Sharp reached up and twisted the lock ring on his helmet. It popped open with a whoosh, and he lifted it off his head. He sniffed cautiously, testing the stale air, then breathed in deeply through his nose. He held it in for a moment to see if he’d choke or drop dead suddenly. After exhaling slowly, he gave a thumbs up to his companions. They followed his lead, popping their helmets off and sucking in the ship’s air.
“No sense in lugging this clumsy thing around,” Sharp said as he stepped out of the airlock and lifted the life support module off his shoulders. He stripped off his gloves and shoved them into his helmet then slipped out of his armored pressure suit. “Leave your gear here next to the airlock,” he instructed. “Briggs, get power back to the controls. We need to figure out how to depressurize that airlock. I want to have an escape route off this ship if things turn ugly.”
“Aye, Sir,” Briggs replied as he stripped off his suit.
4
Pierce
Captain Sharp sat in the stasis room watching the timer tick toward zero. It had been almost two hours since the soft seal had blown out and left them stranded on the Endurance. Chief Franklin had repaired the airlock door seal and repatched the membrane, but Sharp didn’t want to press his luck attempting to pressurize it a second time. He hoped Briggs would get the airlock controls working, but that optimism had faded after the first hour slipped by with no progress. Sharp had ordered the Rojo to keep the docking boom poised a few meters off the Endurance’s hull. If they needed to make an emergency escape, they could blow the hatch and risk an EVA through open space over to the Rojo.
Well, I hope they don’t mind us invading their ship, he thought, as the final seconds ticked off. He had found the tube labeled Captain Pierce and watched the dehibernation process unfold. Color returned to the man’s face, warming into a rosy pink under the dense brown stubble that covered his cheeks. His chest had started to rise and fall with shallow breaths about an hour ago. A small display screen next to the tube listed his vitals: pulse, respiration, body temperature, and neurological activity. The last surprised Sharp. It showed a flurry of activity even before the heart began beating.
“Any luck, Briggs?” Sharp asked over the comm.
“Sorry, Sir, not yet. I still can’t get past the command lockout.”
“Alright, better get down here. It’s time,” he said, giving up on his last glimmer of hope.
The countdown on the console reached zero, and the screen changed to display:
DEHIBERNATION PROCEDURE COMPLETE, COMMENCING WAKE PROCESS.
The tubes hissed and their curved glass doors popped open then gently lifted up.
“Arnold, check him out,” Sharp ordered as the man in the tube began stirring.
Arnold stepped over and reviewed the vitals on the screen. “Looks normal as far as I can tell,” he said.
As his eyes fluttered open, a look of terrified confusion covered the man’s face. His pupils darted back and forth under half-closed eyelids as if trying to make sense of the scene. A dry wheeze escaped his throat as he opened his mouth, trying to speak. His arms twitched as though they were relearning how to move.
“Easy, Captain,” Sharp said, moving closer. “You’ve been in cryostasis. Try not to move too much.”
The man stopped struggling. Leaning his head back, he blinked his eyes against the bright overhead lights. “Are you… real… or dream?” he croaked with a slow rasping voice.
“My name is Captain Edwin Sharp. This is Lieutenant James Arnold,” he replied as he gestured toward his companion. “We found your ship adrift in interstellar space.”
The other chambers had opened as well, and their inhabitants were waking. “Arnold, grab Briggs and go check on them,” Sharp ordered.
He turned his attention back to the chamber. The man wiggled his arms and legs, slowly stretching them and shaking off five centuries of inactivity.
“Alpha… Centauri?” the man asked, looking at Sharp.
“Yes, that’s where you were headed,” Sharp replied, avoiding a direct answer. Better to break it to him slowly, Sharp thought. “It looks like you suffered a power failure. We found your ship and boarded to check for survivors.”
The man straightened and grasped a handle next to his tube then pulled himself out. He ran his fingers over his short brown hair and opened a slim access panel next to the chamber. Reaching inside, he pulled out a flat rectangular pouch. He tore off one corner of the bulging silver package and pressed his lips over the hole. Squeezing the pouch, he gulped down its contents. Tiny droplets of water escaped and floated through the air as he pulled the pouch away from his mouth.
“Can you tell me your name?” Sharp asked.
The man looked around the room, taking stock of the scene through his squinting eyes. “Captain Jacob Pierce,” he announced, still scanning the room. His eyes finished their scan and shot back to Sharp. “Now, will you please explain who you are and what is going on with my ship?”
Taken aback by the sudden demand, Sharp gave a dumb smile, not knowing what else to do. “Alright, Captain,” he replied, coming back to his senses. “As I said before, I’m Captain Sharp. I command the cargo vessel, Pescado Rojo. My crew and I found your ship dead in space and drifting off course. We picked up a faint power signature and decided to investigate. We found you still in stasis and main power out. When we restored power, your navigation system came back online and one of your cryochambers was damaged. We tried to revive just the one occupant but the dehibernation system activated for all the chambers.”
Pierce looked Sharp up and down, his brow furrowing at his unfamiliar attire. “Cargo ship?” he asked. “To where? Luna Station?”
Sharp shook his head.
“Mars? Ceres?”
“No, Captain Pierce. A little farther out.”
Pierce’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “How far off course are we? Are we near Alpha Centauri?”
“We can discuss the details later, Captain,” Sharp said, not wanting to overwhelm him in his weakened state. “For now, I’d like to get you back to my ship and have you checked out by the medical pod. We’re not sure if long-term cryostasis may have had any detrimental effects on you and your crew.”
“Long-term?” Pierce questioned with a growing impatience in his voice. “It was only supposed to take us fifty years to reach Alpha Centauri. How long have we been asleep?”
Sharp shifted his eyes away from P
ierce, not wanting to lie to him, but also desiring to withhold the truth for the time being. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now you need rest and medical attention.”
Pierce straightened up in front of Sharp. Even in his weakened state, he struck an imposing figure. “No, we will discuss it now. This is still my ship, and I want to know what the hell is going on,” he demanded with a raised voice.
Sharp looked around the room. Briggs and Arnold were looking toward him, their faces questioning if they should come to his aid. He dismissed their concern with a subtle shake of his head, and they returned to helping the other crew members.
He turned back to Pierce. “Alright, Captain. You have the right to know,” he said in a calm low voice, trying to ease the tension. Sharp waved him toward an empty recess between two cryotubes, hoping their conversation would be more private in the small nook. “Look, Captain, try not to be shocked, but you’ve been drifting for quite some time.”
“How long?” Pierce demanded.
Sharp put out his hand, signaling Pierce to lower his voice as he looked him dead in the eyes. “It’s been about five hundred years, Captain.”
Pierce’s jaw fell open momentarily before he regained his composure. “Five hun… five hundred… years?” he repeated to himself. “You cannot be serious.”
Sharp only nodded in affirmation, remaining silent to let Pierce take in the revelation.
Pierce leaned back against the wall, his eyes darted back and forth then shot up to Sharp’s. “Are we near Alpha Centauri?” he asked slowly, as if afraid to hear the answer.
Sharp sighed. “No, Captain, we’re around fifty light-years past Alpha Centauri.”
Pierce audibly gasped at the news. The color he had regained during the dehibernation process drained from his face. “I’ve got to get to the bridge,” he said, moving past Sharp. “Commander Thompson,” he yelled to a man across the room. A young brown-haired man looked up at him with groggy eyes and managed only a low grunt in reply. Pierce noticed Thompson’s state of undress, and in turn realized his own nakedness for the first time. He was almost nude, save for a pair of tight white compression shorts. “Get dressed and meet me on the bridge,” he barked to Thompson.
