At the Helm: A Sci-Fi Bridge Anthology (Volume 1)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Each elevator platform had jets which I could use for final adjustments, but they weren’t powerful enough to muscle the turbines twenty meters against the current.

  “We’re twenty east,” I said. “Let’s elevate ten, bring ‘em back up.”

  The nearest turbine was a smooth sculpture caught in a web of cables that led upward as far as my sonar reached. ROVs, remote operated vehicles, scooted about or hovered patiently nearby. And when I switched briefly to my fuzzy, nearsighted normal vision, the busy sea became busier, shot through with the ROVs’ beams of light. All of this generated surprisingly little noise: the whirring of ROV props, the harp vibrations of the current against the cables.

  The first explosion sounded like God had slapped the surface, a bass thunder that reached me an instant after the VLF net surged with voices.

  “Was that the engine?”

  “Fire! Fire!”

  “Number two crane’s lost all exterior cables—“

  The last bit of information I personally witnessed as the turbine sagged in its web. If it fell, it would roll into the cradle tower and ruin weeks of hard labor.

  I swam closer, thinking I might use the platform jets to keep it afloat or ease it to the bottom, but two ROVs tumbled into my path as their operators lost contact. I kicked left. One struck my scarred shoulder and numbed my arm.

  I had been assigned an emergency frequency to connect me directly to Stenstrom. Would he be there? The way the ROVs had shut down, the comm room might have been destroyed. I said, “This is Garcia—“

  He was near panic. “Can you stabilize number two?”

  “I’m on it. What’s happening?”

  “We’re under attack, speedboats, they’re widecasting some Animal Earth crap!”

  Three small cylinders lanced into the far range of my sonar, moving fast. Smart torps. They were beautiful in the way that sharks can be, sleek and purposeful, a hard swarm of warheads chased by their own turbulence.

  I probably wouldn’t attract their attention, not being a power source or made of metal—not much metal—but the concussive force of a detonation anywhere nearby would kill me.

  I dug and kicked down, down—

  Tightness in my bad arm made my effort lopsided, slowing me. The buzzing torps grew very loud.

  The rift was not deep compared to the plunging valley where I’d encountered the squid, but at its edge was a thick bulge of carbonate. I ducked past, scraping my hip.

  That rock saved me by taking the brunt of the explosions, then nearly killed me as parts of it broke away. I was stunned, slow to move.

  Animal Earth. The rant-and-slants they’d posted during our efforts here had been based on a refusal to accept our stated purpose. They were Greens. They should have supported us, but frothed instead about the blatant destruction of ocean habitats….

  I stayed in the rift for two hours, watching, listening, afraid to broadcast on any channel in case there were more hunter-killers waiting to acquire targets. The attack had stopped after five minutes but our radio communications remained incoherent. Stenstrom tried miserably to raise me on the emergency link again and again.

  He tried the general frequencies, too, even sharecasting his public response to the attack. One of the speedboats had been apprehended by Japanese military aircraft and suspects were in custody. Given the armament involved and the coordination of the assault, Stenstrom suggested that the whole thing was a cover for our competitors in the nuclear or oil industries, and already there were conflicting denials and claims of solidarity from Animal Earth spokespeople.

  Finally I began my ascent, goaded by the constant dig of the voices in my cheekbone. At one hundred feet I saw a man, a body, deformed by violence and twisting loosely in the current. We hesitated together in the dim, penetrating glow of the sun.

  Then I turned my back on him.

  Andrea and the boys were well provided for, and she obviously didn’t need me. Brent had never needed me, and Roberto…Roberto was young enough to forget and move on. Let them think I was dead, lost to the tide. The insurance payouts alone would be a fortune.

  Four miles proved to be the radio’s range.

  I kept going into the beautiful dark and never let anyone intrude on my world again.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jeff Carlson is the international bestselling author of PLAGUE YEAR, LONG EYES, INTERRUPT and THE FROZEN SKY. To date, his work has been translated into seventeen languages worldwide.

  He was born on the day of the first manned moon landing and narrowly escaped being named Apollo, Armstrong or Rocket. His father worked for NASA Ames at the time. His granddad on his mother’s side was a sci-fi fan whose library included autographed copies of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy. Guess what they talked about?

  Jeff lives with his wife and sons in California.

  You can find out more about his work at jverse.com. He can be found on Facebook and Twitter at www.Facebook.com/PlagueYear and at @authorjcarlson.

  THIS LONG VIGIL

  BY RHETT C. BRUNO

  “Inhabitant 1724 is undergoing the recycling process. The birthing of replacement Inhabitant 3287 will initiate immediately afterwards,” Dan announced. He was the ship-wide artificial intelligence in command of the Interstellar Ark, Hermes.

  I groaned, got up out of my bed and rubbed my eyes. “Understood, I’ll head there now,” I responded, though performing my usual duties was the last thing on my mind.

  As the human Monitor of the Interstellar Ark Hermes—the sixth to be chosen for that designation since the ship departed Earth—it was my job to be awake and attentive so that I could help with the few tasks which Dan couldn’t handle alone. Typically that consisted of presiding over birthings, or fixing pieces of malfunctioning equipment, but it was always under his careful guidance. I was the pair of mobile hands able to reach the few areas of the Hermes he wasn’t able to.

  Most days, however, I just spent my time waiting for my next task and talking to Dan. He had no problem carrying out his many responsibilities while simultaneously keeping me entertained. Everything I knew I had learned from him: how to speak, how to think, what Earth was like—everything. Even my name, Orion, was just the designation of a constellation of stars I’d taken a liking to in my early days as I stared out of the tiny viewport in my room. I never had human parents to give me one like I’ve heard is the customary practice back on Earth, so that was what I chose. Though I suppose you could say Dan was like my father.

  I stepped out of my quarters and into the long, cambered hall of the Hermes’ Living Ring. It was a looping passage wrapping entirely around the ship’s central Conservatory and it rotated continuously in order to produce a sense of serviceable pseudo-gravity.

  “What is always coming but never arrives?” Dan asked as I began my trek.

  I smirked. Dan had a soft spot for riddles. Whether or not he told them to distract me or himself—if that was even possible—I’m not sure, but often times I spent days trying to come up with an answer. I got a few right from time to time, but they were always challenging.

  “This is a simple one,” I replied.

  “You have the answer already?” If he could sound surprised I imagined he would’ve. I never figured them out that quickly.

  “Not yet, but you won’t stump me this time.”

  I repeated the riddle over and over in my head as I made my way down the Living Ring. It was nice to get to think about something else besides the people floating in the glassy tubes running down both sides of the passage. They were Hermes’ Life-Chambers, holding the exactly nine hundred and ninety-nine inhabitants hibernating on the Hermes. All of them slept quietly in their artificial wombs, showing no more motion than the occasional twitch of an eyelid due to an unpleasant dream. There were never any more in stasis and never any less. According to Dan, the ship’s makers had calculated for its Conservatory to be capable of producing only the precise amount of nutrients necessary to support that population.

&nb
sp; Only one chamber remained empty—the one I’d emerged from—and it would remain so until I turned fifty-years-old and had to return to the long sleep so that a new Monitor could take over and a new chamber would be vacated. Presently, I was forty-nine, and my birthday wasn’t far away. My time walking the halls of the ship was swiftly coming to an end, and seeing the docile faces of the inhabitants only served to remind me of that fact each and every day.

  “Every day,” I said out loud. “Is the answer, tomorrow?”

  “Very good, Orion,” Dan responded almost instantly. “That was your fastest time yet. Only four hundred ninety-seven seconds.”

  “I must be getting smarter in my old age,” I chuckled.

  Without even realizing, it’d taken me almost the entire walk to come up with the solution. I stopped and looked left at Inhabitant 1724. My smile vanished in an instant when I recognized who it was. An old man floated upright in the liquid-filled Life-Chamber. A dozen different tubes and needles were affixed to his sagging flesh, each of them performing some crucial task in order to sustain his life. His time had run out.

  “I thought I recognized the number,” I said. “Poor Fish finally ending his sleep, huh?”

  “Fish?” Dan questioned.

  “Yeah, I ...” I considering explaining, but decided against it. Dan called him by his numerical distinction. I knew him as Fish. It was a name I’d given him because his wrinkled face looked remarkably similar to a certain type of fish from Earth which Dan had once shown me.

  “Nevermind,” I said. I didn’t want Dan to think I was being foolish. He didn’t inquire further. “Are you sure his time is up?”

  “Yes. He is seventy Earth-years old as of 1404 UTC today.”

  I sighed. “Go ahead and initiate then.”

  The point where Fish’s chamber met the ceiling fanned open, and the greenish liquid inside began to drain through it. All of the tubes and needles in his loose skin popped out. Then he was then sucked up through a dark hole and into the innards of Hermes.

  “Evacuation complete,” Dan announced.

  The glass face of the vacant chamber peeled open so that I could do the routine checkup following an evacuation. I stepped in and began analyzing all of the circuits and other apparatus within. Everything looked to be in fine order, even after having remained relatively untouched for the seventy years since Fish’s birth.

  I opened my mouth to let Dan know it was clear, but all that came out was air. Even after helping with more than one hundred of them, the recycling of an Inhabitant always got to me. I swallowed the lump in my dry throat and forced the words out. “All looks good.”

  “Thank you, Orion. Please proceed to Inhabitant 2678’s chamber. She has been prepped for birthing.”

  I stepped out of Fish’s chamber and when it resealed behind me I released a mouthful of air. “Bye, Fish,” I whispered.

  • • •

  It was a short stroll around the Living Ring in order to reach the Life-Chamber of Inhabitant 2678. This time I couldn’t help but stare at the bodies of various ages and sizes floating beside me along the route. Every one of them was unique, down to the tiniest strands of hair on their bodies. It was important to Hermes’ builders to make sure that the ages of those on board remained staggered. Apparently, variety was going to be crucial for the development of a new society at Hermes’ destination. That was why the builders didn’t just send frozen embryos.

  When I reached the pregnant inhabitant, I turned my back to her chamber. It never seemed right to me to watch them give birth. The tubes attached to her would lift her legs and spread them so that a spindly apparatus descending from the ceiling could draw out her offspring. When I finally turned around, that metallic arm was lifting a bloody infant up through the opened ceiling. I made sure her readings were satisfactory while I waited for it to disappear. Everything went perfectly, as usual. The red-stained fluid in the chamber was flushed and replaced straightaway, clean as ever.

  “A male,” Dan announced.

  I nodded before traveling back to Fish’s vacated tube. By the time I got there it was refilled and the unclothed newborn had already been lowered in. The infant’s tiny arms flailed and the face on his oversized head was scrunched as if he was in pain. He cried silently behind a mask of bubbles until a respirator tube entered his mouth. Then he quickly fell into an unconscious state, allowing the chamber’s many needles and tubes to painlessly fasten themselves to his flesh. I checked the chambers readings twice to be sure. Again, everything was fine.

  “Inhabitant 3287 has successfully been planted. Thank you, Orion,” Dan said.

  “You’re quite welcome, Dan. Always happy to help,” I replied.

  With my task completed I began to make my way back to my quarters. After a few steps I noticed out of the corner of my eye that I was standing beside the only empty Life-Chamber on the Hermes. My eyes froze on it. My heart sank. I decided to go the other way.

  “I notice that your pulse is quickening. Are you alright?” Dan asked.

  “Fine,” I lied. “Just been thinking a lot.”

  “Still considering which inhabitant will be your successor again?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” I grumbled.

  “In twenty-three hours you will be fifty-years-old. As you know, I was programmed by my maker to ensure that there is always an able-bodied human on watch—”

  “I know that!” I snapped, somewhat unintentionally. Last time he told me it was thirty-seven hours. There was less than one day until my eyes would never open again. It was going by too fast. “Sorry. I just ... I don’t want to mess this up,” I said.

  “You can’t. There are two hundred and eleven members of this crew who are of the required age and size to be awakened.”

  “Yet only one to choose. I wish it was easier.”

  As soon as I said that I found myself staring at the Life-Chamber positioned directly adjacent to my quarters. The woman inside was around the same age I was when the previous Monitor chose to wake me; however, there was something different about her. Something which drew me that I didn’t really understand and that Dan could never manage to explain.

  “Perhaps Inhabitant 2781 is the one?” Dan said suddenly, startling me. “You’ve spent approximately fifteen hours of the last week studying her Life-Chamber.”

  “Maybe,” I said softly.

  I knew he was right. I’d decided on her almost a year prior. As much as I may have wanted to let Dan know, however, I couldn’t tell him the reason why I was taking so long; that I wanted to be there when she took her first wobbly steps even though I knew I couldn’t. I wanted to grasp her smooth hands and welcome her to the realm of the living; to feel the pulse of her veins beneath her skin—real human contact. Sometimes I’d watch as her chest gently heaved from the air she unconsciously breathed in through her respirator, and that was often enough to get my heart racing. All my wakened life I enjoyed taking the time to name inhabitants like Fish. I’d make up stories about what their ancestors might’ve been like or what they would’ve done if they’d never left Earth. I could never think of any tale fitting for her. I couldn’t even think of a worthy name.

  “Who am I to get to choose who wakes up and who doesn’t?” I asked. I placed my fingers against the glass. It was warm to the touch.

  “You are the sixth Monitor of the Interstellar Ark, Hermes. Constructed on Luna Station in 2334 C.E. by Pervenio Corporation.”

  “Imparted with the task of ensuring the completion of our exploratory journey,” I finished for him. I took a long stride back from the chamber and sighed. “Did the other Monitors take this long to decide?” I asked.

  “They were under the same restrictions that you are. Consequently, their decisions all arrived by the required time.”

  “Was it hard for them too then?”

  “I could sometimes detect elevated levels of anxiety in them as the date of their return to stasis drew closer, though I am sorry that I cannot be one hundred percent positive
as to what the origin of that anxiety was in each particular case.”

  “You didn’t talk to them about it?”

  “We conversed about a great many subjects. However, they never shared their feelings on this topic with me as explicitly as you have. I found that all five of your predecessors remained very reclusive throughout the final year of their service.”

  “Were you like a father to them as well?” I questioned, a hint of jealousy creeping into my tone.

  “They never articulated it, so it is possible that they did not feel that way,” Dan admitted. “My maker left me with many recordings about your species’ history, but the data does not account for how each individual human develops unique, social tendencies. It has been remarkable to analyze firsthand.”

  I lowered my gaze from the woman and began shuffling away. “You’re all I have, Dan,” I replied solemnly.

  He didn’t respond right away, which usually meant that he noticed from my tone that I was dismayed. He could be peculiar that way. A few times when I was younger his logical responses only served to frustrate me more. It seemed he’d learned from those instances.

  While he was quiet I turned out of the Living Ring and into my private quarters. It was a small nook tucked onto the outside of the circular structure, where the Hermes’ pseudo-gravity was the strongest. In it there was little more than a bed and a closet filled with a dozen identical boiler suits, but it was the tiny viewport sunken into the far wall which always drew my interest.

  I sat on my bed stared through it. The glass was dense and tinted with shielding agents in order to protect me from radiation. It made the countless stars that shone through it appear like blurry, white specs, but it was the best view of the world beyond that the Hermes had to offer. I was grateful to its builders for at least providing me with something to show me that the interior of the ship wasn’t my entire universe, though I’d longed to step outside for my entire life.