by Dom Testa
Bon, for all of his gruff demeanor, had been too afraid to let down his guard with Alexa. Channy vowed to never wall off her heart like he had done.
As if on cue, he turned his head and briefly made eye contact. Then, simultaneously, he turned his attention back to the bike while Channy spun on her heel and stormed back to her office to finish the day’s planning.
* * *
Gap had barely seen his room in the past week, except for quick sleep breaks. After lunch he forced himself to seek shelter there, to sit quietly and meditate for an hour. He dimmed the lights, dialed up low, soothing background music, then sat cross-legged on his bed and closed his eyes.
More than anything he wanted to calm his mind, and allow himself to process the events which had cascaded upon each other in the past few days. He hadn’t even come to terms yet with Triana’s surprising disappearance when suddenly he was confronted with the task of temporarily leading the crew. He had barely begun to acclimate to that duty when the question of his nomination as Council Leader was presented.
And now, before he could adequately consider that wrinkle, Hannah had suddenly popped back into his life, sending his thoughts pinwheeling out of control. Her questions, as well as her tone, seemed to imply that she was not only encouraging him to pursue the position, but that she had finally recovered from their break.
Did that mean she was open to the idea of reconnecting?
So many new complications, all within a matter of days. Not to mention the potentially deadly radiation threat, and now a mysterious bolt of space lightning. No wonder he felt overwhelmed and in need of downtime.
He craned his head to one side, then the other, and pulled his shoulder blades back. Even the stretching helped a little bit, and he made a conscious effort to control his breathing: deep inhale, hold, long slow exhale.
When he felt himself settling into a relaxed state, he began to address the matters one at a time. With Triana, there wasn’t much within his control. She was gone, she might or might not return, and they were doing all that they reasonably could at the moment. He acknowledged that the primary issue with Triana was of a personal nature; his feelings for her were a mixed bag, including a new tinge of anger.
But none of that was helpful. Emotions might run strong, but his rational mind fought to put all of that behind him for now and to concentrate only on the relevant—and actionable—things on his plate.
Leading the crew for the short term didn’t seem to be a problem. The nervousness that he felt at the beginning of the crew meeting had quickly evaporated, and it was obvious that he felt comfortable in that position.
Did that equate to taking on the position of Council Leader on a full-time basis? He had admitted to Hannah that the idea was appealing. A nomination was easy enough to come by; then it became a matter of convincing the crew that he was the right person for the job. He would easily have the support of the other Council members, including Bon, who would merely want the process over and done with as quickly as possible.
And he seemed to have the support of Hannah Ross. Why was that suddenly so important to him?
He knew that, of all the things on his plate right now, this was the least critical, and yet it had forced its way to the top. Since their brief meeting in the Dining Hall, he found himself not only reliving each moment of the conversation, but suddenly recalling many of the things they had done together months before. The feeling was not unlike the original sensation of their relationship, which on the one hand confused him, but on the other hand excited him. He’d questioned his role in their breakup so many times, and recognized that he regretted how he’d handled it all. Just the chance to make it up to her, to undo all of the hurt he’d caused … that’s all he’d hoped for. It seemed like the door might have opened.
What would happen if he rushed through that doorway? He had to be honest with himself, and acknowledge that the idea of reconnecting with Hannah had certainly caused a jolt of excitement. For a few moments he allowed himself to daydream, to envision a future—perhaps a very near future—where he was suddenly Galahad’s Council Leader, and Hannah was once again at his side. All would be forgiven, they would work together, they would laugh together …
Was it too good to be true?
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the ship’s computer.
“So sorry to burst in like this,” Roc said. “But there are a couple of things we need to talk about right away.”
Gap opened his eyes. “What’s up?”
“First, just to satisfy my curiosity, how do you sit like that without your feet falling asleep? And second, our little blip with the radiation shield has happened again.”
“What? How long this time?”
“About a second and a half, and then all seemed normal again. Seemed would be the operative word. Things are not normal, and they’re getting less so with each passing hour. Engineering has gone on alert. Ruben was around again this time; I told him I would let you know.”
Gap pushed himself up from the bed and slipped his shoes on. “Tell Ruben I’m on my way, and let the other Council members know, would you please?”
He sprinted out the door, and two minutes later rushed into the Engineering section. The air felt charged, and all eyes immediately turned to him. Ruben was waiting.
“Same as last time,” he told Gap, and together they hurried over to the radiation control panel. “An alarm went off, and this thing lit up like crazy. The first time it barely blinked; this time it was still quick, but lasted a little longer.”
Gap looked over the data, then, using the keypad, fired off a sequence of code. “Roc,” he said while he typed, “are we able to isolate whether it’s an internal issue with our shield, or if it’s being caused by something from the outside?”
“Now that’s an excellent question,” the computer said. “If this is what happens when you sit in that lotus position, I won’t make fun of it ever again.”
“Roc…”
“Well, let’s just say that I haven’t been able to isolate any particular malfunction with the unit itself. However, that doesn’t mean the failures aren’t affecting it. And, since we’ve run tests on the ship itself and found no cause for this, it might be time to see what’s going on outside. I see you’re setting up an external scan.”
Gap shrugged. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. If the system had a problem it would show up in one of the diagnostic checks. Hannah brought up the idea that something might have leaked out of the wormholes.”
Ruben, who had been standing quietly behind Gap, spoke up. “But the wormholes have all closed up. Why would they affect us now?”
“I don’t know,” Gap said. “Maybe they’re not. But it’s an interesting theory.” He finished typing in the code, then stood back and looked up at the monitor. “And, even if that’s not it, we might find that it’s something else out there. We’re definitely in uncharted space now; who knows what we’ll run into?”
He ran a hand through his spiky hair. “Now, Roc, let’s talk about something you said a few minutes ago. You said the system is getting less normal. Explain that.”
“One drop in the shield was fine, especially for less than a second. Now, with multiple drops I’ve picked up a fractional decrease in unit efficiency.”
Ruben gave Gap a confused look. “What does that mean?”
Gap exhaled a long breath. “A fractional decrease in unit efficiency sounds like a fancy way of saying that it’s wearing out.”
“Not fancy,” Roc said. “Sophisticated. ‘Wearing out’ is so … common. But it works out to the same thing.”
Gap understood immediately and considered the possibilities. One particularly nagging thought forced its way in, but he didn’t want to vocalize it in front of Ruben and the other crew members who stood nearby.
If it was an external problem, it was apparent that the ship’s defense shield had problems with it. Big problems, which were getting worse with each incident. And if t
hey couldn’t be remedied—and quickly—then all of the other things he’d thought about in his room wouldn’t matter at all. Galahad would be a lifeless shell, hurtling through space.
7
He’d insisted that Roc wake him by five thirty, for the day was sure to be interesting. And yet when the ship’s computer pulled him from a dark, heavy slumber with an imitation yodel, Gap groaned and pulled the pillow over his head.
Roc immediately piped in sounds of a rooster crowing, letting it repeat three or four times.
Gap pulled a corner of the pillow away from his mouth. “Hey, Daniil doesn’t need this, you know. At least let him sleep.”
“Your roommate left ten minutes ago for an early morning workout,” Roc said.
Turning over and raising himself up on one elbow, Gap saw the empty bed on the other side of the room, then fell back. “How does he do it?” he said under his breath.
“Willpower, determination, a sense of pride,” Roc said. “If you need help looking those up, I’ll help you with the spelling.”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Gap said, letting the pillow fall back over his face.
“Oh, really?” the computer said. “Is this funny?” Suddenly the room was filled with the sound of screaming monkeys.
After enduring it for half a minute, Gap sat up. “All right, all right, I’m up.”
The sound of monkeys was replaced with the soundtrack of applause. Despite his irritation, Gap found himself laughing. “Okay, I’ll admit, that’s funny.”
He stretched and hauled himself to his feet. The next few minutes were spent showering and getting dressed for the day. By six o’clock he was sitting at the computer, scanning his mail and checking reports from the ship’s various departments. His first priority was the update from Engineering; with a sigh of relief he saw that no further radiation shield breakdowns had occurred overnight.
Just before falling into bed he had sent a note to Bon, requesting an update on crew work schedules. There was no response yet.
The other item that tickled at the back of his mind would be posted on the crew’s message board. He glanced at the clock in the lower corner of his monitor, saw that it was almost 6:15, then punched in the key to take him to the main board. Highlighted against the random messages that were tacked there was a bulletin from Roc; it was tagged Council Leader Nominations.
He sat back, his finger hovering above the Open key. A strange sensation swept over him, and it took a moment to realize that it was a combination of two separate fears: one, that he would not be nominated, and two, that he would be nominated. He took a deep breath and silently acknowledged that both scenarios held equal amounts of tension. If his name was on the list, it meant that he was one step closer to taking on responsibility for the most daunting mission humankind had ever embarked upon.
If his name was absent, it meant that the crew found him undeserving.
He couldn’t bring himself to open the bulletin. The seesaw battle within him began to rage again, beginning with the swirl of anxiety that he was unworthy of the role. His earlier self-doubts bubbled back to the surface, the same doubts that had plagued him weeks ago and had slowly been put to rest.
At the same time he found that deep down he craved the validation from his peers. He’d worked hard, beginning at the Galahad training complex, and during the first year of the mission. This, in essence, was what he had spent the last two and a half years of his life working for.
He drummed his fingers on the desktop for a moment, then leaned forward and clicked the Open key. His eyes quickly scanned the notice from Roc:
The twenty-four-hour nomination process, in which every crew member was eligible to submit a name as a candidate for the position of Galahad Council Leader, has officially ended as of six o’clock this morning. Two crew members have been nominated, and will now face an election in one week.
Gap immediately seized upon the two names listed in alphabetical order. The first one was Gap Lee.
Below it, the other name glared out from the screen, searing both his eyes and his heart in one shot.
Hannah Ross.
He sat, frozen in his chair, barely breathing. No matter how long he stared at the name, it didn’t seem real. Slowly he pushed back his chair and stood up, but kept his gaze locked on the screen. His mind drifted back to his conversation with Hannah in the Dining Hall, and within seconds he felt a surge of anger.
She had quietly quizzed him about his plans, all the while aware that she would be a competing candidate for the position. She had tricked him, he was sure, into opening up and spilling his thoughts about the position itself, as well as his intentions for the crew.
And now she was going head-to-head with him in a run for Council Leader of Galahad.
He began a relentless march around the room, hands on his hips. Each time he passed his desk his eyes darted back to the taunting name on the screen.
Hannah Ross.
He silently fumed. Suddenly it was no secret why she had broken her long stretch of silence. He had allowed himself to sit there and entertain wispy daydreams of rekindling their relationship. He had imagined them once again laughing together, walking hand in hand, holding court like a royal couple aboard the ship. How could he have been so blind, so foolish? How could he have …
Wait, he told himself. What about her? How could she have done this to him?
He stalked to the far side of the room and leaned with one hand against the wall, the other running through his hair. Then, with a loud exhale, he rushed back to the computer, closed out of the bulletin board, and snapped off the screen.
In seconds he was out of his room, storming down the deserted corridor, with no particular destination in mind.
* * *
At eight o’clock the lower level of Galahad was bustling with activity as crew members passed each other in the hall, some heading towards the gym, others winding back to the lift after finishing a workout. They exchanged boisterous greetings, many punctuated with friendly jabs. There were also excited conversations exchanged regarding the bulletin board posting about the upcoming election. The chatter lent an excited air to the gym side of the ship’s basement level.
In the opposite direction things were much quieter. Tucked around a corner from the lift was a corridor that led to the Storage Sections and Spider bay. Shrouded in mystery, the Storage Sections had been sealed before being loaded onto the ship, with explicit instructions that they not be touched until reaching Eos. The Spider bay was Galahad’s hangar, housing the sleek metal shuttles that would eventually carry all of the crew members to the surface of one or both of the two Earthlike worlds that orbited the target star.
Along this hallway was a large window that framed a spectacular cosmic display. Hannah stood there now, leaning against the wall and gazing out at the fiery array of stars. She instinctively picked out the familiar constellations, mentally cataloging the individual stars of which they were composed. Her mind skipped through their descriptions, everything from star-type to size to distance from Earth. Growing up in sparsely populated Alaska she’d been blessed with a sky free of light pollution, allowing her a beautiful canvas upon which to gaze, and which later inspired her to create dazzling artistic renditions of cosmic scenes.
None of which could compare with this view.
She understood, however, that the exercise of naming the stars was purely a distraction from the anxiety which gnawed at her. It had, in fact, been eating away at her for a full day. By now she was sure that Gap had seen the announcement of her nomination; she was also quite sure of his reaction.
Ironically, this had been the location of some of their most intimate conversations. Huddled together, gazing at the spectacle outside, this had been the setting for her happiest moments. They were moments she’d never forget.
Nor, for that matter, would she likely forget the transformation within her that was born from their split. She wondered if the change would have occurred anyway,
at some given point in her life, but needed the kick-start that Gap had unexpectedly provided. For the most part she felt as if she was the same Hannah as before—her devotion to science, her need for order, her outward manner, for instance—and yet a subtle shift had definitely taken place. Her decision to accept the Council Leader nomination was merely the first public evidence of that shift.
Now she traced a finger along the pane that separated her from the icy vacuum of space, and—although she knew it was only her mind playing tricks with her—felt that same cold flowing through her body. Her stomach was in knots.
The nomination had not been her idea. In fact, when originally presented, her initial response had been to laugh and politely decline. But the more she listened to the crew member sitting across from her in the empty Conference Room, the more she had been seduced by the possibilities, and by the logic of it. A fresh viewpoint, a fresh voice, a new direction. It had somehow made sense.
Now that she had seen her name on the screen, the magnitude of it weighed upon her. This meeting with the crew member who had nominated her was, if anything, a pep talk designed to steel her nerves for the weeklong campaign ahead.
She heard the footsteps but kept her face glued to the window. A moment later she heard him speak.
“I’m guessing you didn’t eat anything this morning.” The voice had a tinge of laughter behind it.
“Ugh,” she said. “I don’t want to think about food right now. My stomach won’t be able to handle anything for a while.”
She felt him slowly approach and stand beside her, staring out at the stars.
“I will never, ever get tired of this view,” he said.
She nodded in reply. They remained silent for a moment before turning to face each other. Merit Simms pushed a strand of long, jet-black hair out of his face and offered a smile.
“So, other than the butterflies, how are you feeling?” he said.
Hannah shrugged. “Okay. Nervous, obviously.”
He turned his head slightly and frowned. “You’re not second-guessing this, are you?”
