Tesseracts Seventeen Page 5

“Fine. Just for you.” She listed the words, cringing at the “c” word she’d never learned to like, even in the navy. “George Carlin. ‘Tits’ doesn’t belong on the list because it sounds more like a nickname.”

  “Now, list the words in reverse order and give one synonym for the last word you list. You have one minute.”

  “One minute? Fine.” She listed them forward in her head then reversed the order aloud, very slowly. “And ‘poop’. Synonym for ‘shit’.”

  “Excellent. Now an easy one to get your vitals back down. Name, rank, birth date, current posting.”

  “Rayn. Lillian Bianca. Lieutenant Colonel. June 20th, 2023. Commander of the International Space Ark Mayhew carrying two-hundred-forty-four colonists to planet Vesta, AKA Kepler-62e.”

  “Only the one mistake.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake.”

  “Save it, Lill. Now, give me a moment and we’ll do the touchy-feely part of this morning’s exercise.” Lilly heard a soft hiss in the pod and then a dozen points of pressure were applied to her extremities. “Tactile test. Twelve points of pressure, two minute test, random application of pressure in both sequence and degree, hard or soft. Two seconds to identify each locale. Go in three… two… one…”

  For the next two minutes she responded verbally to the mechanical pressures, “Left index finger — soft, right heel — hard,” and so on.

  “Done. One hundred percent. Thank you, Lilly. I’ll switch to the Justin Bieber overlay now.” The A.I.’s voice switched to a gentle tenor with a subtle Southern Ontario accent. “Your restraints should release in five… four… three… two… one.” There was an audible click and the padded strap securing Lilly’s left wrist retracted.

  “Um…” She lifted her arm as far as the secured pod lid would allow. “I’m still restrained.”

  “Standby, Lilly. I’ll try to trace the problem.”

  She was getting a bit antsy. “With your processing speed and power you could have run a full sys-check on the entire ship in the time it took to tell me what you were doing. Where’s the fault?”

  “I’m not able to run a sys-check at this time and am running a self-diagnosis to determine the cause. My local sensors however indicate that your restraints all released as programmed.”

  “Well, I’m telling you that they didn’t.” A year of deep-sleep and she was itching to start moving again.

  “I have visual confirmation of that but I’m still showing current running through the circuits in the other four straps. Standby while I attempt to reset your pod.”

  “Can’t you just fix it without describing it to me at every step?”

  “Of course. But I thought you might prefer my chatter to sitting in silence, thinking that nothing was being done.” The light in the pod flickered.

  “True enough. Thank you. I’m ready for the reset whenever you are.”

  “All done.”

  “The flicker?”

  “The flicker. Since your restraints are unfortunately still in place the next step is a five-minute reboot. Everything will go down, including environmental.”

  “You’re shutting off my air?”

  “You have twelve minutes of air in your pod and the autonomous reserve tank has sixty minutes’ worth, but the reserve won’t kick in until the quality in the pod drops below ten percent.”

  “And if our systems failure extends to the reserve?”

  “It’s autonomous.”

  She clenched her fists. “I know you’re programmed to project calm and hope, but this is my ship. You are my ship, and I’m trained to handle stress. Is that underst— oh, to hell with it.” She was a commander and it was time she took command. “Override personality overlay and initiate Emergency Protocol Alpha-Rayn.” She didn’t have time for this A.I. handholding crap. “Acknowledge.”

  “Acknowledged.” The tenor voice was still the same but the personality overlay had lost its fun edge.

  “On my mark, increase pure O2 fifty percent to this pod for thirty seconds then initiate reboot. Mark.” Lilly felt the difference in her air quality almost immediately and slowed her breathing. Then, without waiting a moment longer she reached across to the far side of the right wrist cuff with her unrestrained left hand and felt for the quick release she knew was there. She found the dimpled release button, centred her thumb on it and pressed. Nothing happened. Nothing except the realization that deep-sleep had robbed her of a lot of her strength. “Lovely. Just… bloody… lovely.”

  She changed her grip and tried again. This time the button depressed and the strap released. She had both arms free but was still trapped by the torso strap just below her breasts and the two straps holding her ankles down. It took her a moment to find the release for the torso strap tucked under her ribs on the left side. The angle was awkward and when she twisted to improve her leverage she applied more pressure and the release stuck.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” She grabbed the restraint’s padded belt with her right hand and pulled it to relieve some of the pressure on the unit. Then she exhaled for another few centimeters of slack and pressed the button again. This time it released and she took a deep breath to reward herself as it pulled back into its recess.

  It was only with her lungs full that Lilly realized that there was something seriously wrong with the air. Gone was the pure oxygenated edge, replaced by a mild acidic taint. Then the pod’s interior glow was extinguished and the five-minute reboot began, or so she assumed.

  Strapped in, boxed in, in complete darkness, in the absolute death of space, and yet so close to their destination, she was getting twitchy. “I can handle this. I am trained for this, damn it.” She concentrated on calming herself first. She smiled broadly, not caring that no one could see the smile, just knowing that the simple act of shaping it released calming natural endorphins into her system— endorphins that might just give her the edge she needed to escape before she snapped. Lilly held the smile for a solid fifteen count and then set about getting the hell out of the pod that was starting to feel like a coffin.

  She knew that, like all of the pods on board, hers was two-metres-long, sixty-centimeters-wide, and thirty-centimeters deep. Length wasn’t important for what she had in mind but the width and depth were vital. She prayed that her loss of strength didn’t mean a loss of flexibility, and carefully rolled over on her left hip, counting on a little bit of “give” in her ankle restraints. She’d been asleep for so long that the soft material of her suit felt like burlap to her awakening skin. She didn’t just need to piss, she needed to take a shower, too. First things first, though and she kept moving. It was slow going, but she got what she needed and was soon in a position where she could bend her knees and curl up into a distorted, contortionistic ball.

  Her right shoulder bumped into the pod’s lid but she curled her shoulders and continued. Only the memory foam of each sleep pad was custom fit— everything else was designed to fit an average man of average fitness level. The fact that she was shorter and narrower than average meant that Lilly had almost enough wiggle room where she needed it most. Almost. Her knees bumped up against the left side of the pod just as her back met the right. She reached for the ankle strap with her right hand and came up a few centimeters short.

  “Shit, piss, fuck…!” She stopped short of the fourth word of Carlin’s list, let out her breath, drew her knees in just a squidge more, tightened her soft abs, and reached just a little bit further, willing her fingers to stretch, just a little bit longer. The strap was… there! And the release button was…

  A cramp! Her right thigh cramped with a Charley horse the size of a Clydesdale. Logic told her it would pass, but in spite of the tiny endorphin boost from the smile, Lilly’s pain centre knew that someone had just shoved a glowing, red-hot, steel spike through her quadriceps and was twisting it around.

  “Not… this… time… ass
hole!” She pushed past the pain, blinded by tears, found the strap release and squeezed it with everything she had left. At first it stuck, but after a final moment of stubbornness it gave way and the restraint shot back into its recess. Released from the agony she straightened her leg out until it kicked the bottom of the pod, which wasn’t that far at all. Lilly frantically massage the knot in the quad, weeping until it was gone and she could relax.

  With the pain banished, Lilly could taste the machine-smoke flavoured air. Damn! Enough was enough. This massive, wormhole-navigating ark was her pride and joy and no minor mechanical glitches were going to keep her from completing her mission and seeding space with some of the best and brightest of mankind. Reaching down, Lieutenant-Colonel Lillian Rayn released her final restraint and then straightened back up, slowly. The “atomic clock” in her head let her know when the five-minute mark had come and gone with no reboot. “Sorry, J.B., but you had your chance. It’s time for this Navy chick to crack her own egg and stretch her cramped wings.”

  Although still in complete darkness, Lilly closed her eyes to aid her concentration. Her mind was still a bit fuzzy and some of the memories were hard to come by, but the schematic of her pod drifted back eventually. The deep-sleep pods were never intended to be opened manually from the inside but safety regs insisted there be a latch, just in case the impossible happened. Well, it’s impossible time, Lilly thought. She opened her eyes, felt down the side of the lid near her right hip and found the lid’s release. She hooked her thumb in the ring and pulled. Nothing.

  “This is getting monotonous. How about next time I trigger a piece of equipment it work the first time?” She tightened her grip on the ring and was about to give it another tug when the rest of the memory made it through the fog. In order to reduce the chances of an accidental opening of the pod, the emergency release procedure was a two-handed job.

  Lilly’s left hand felt by her left hip and then slid up the side of the pod and along the lid until it was over her navel. She found the dial she was looking for and turned it as far as it would go, then she pulled the ring still hooked on her right thumb and she felt the “kachunk” when the lid latch released. The lid, however, stayed put.

  “Damnation! I… want… out!” Still holding the two release controls she brought her knees up and pushed on the lid with them. The silicone seal fought back for a moment, then Lilly won the battle, the seal popped, air hissed in, and the lid cantilevered open.

  “It’s about goddamned time.”

  “Please proceed to the nearest command station and initiate Recovery Sequence Alpha.”

  “J.B.?”

  “We are currently in an emergency situation and all hands are required on deck. Please proceed to the nearest command station and manually initiate Recovery Sequence Alpha.”

  “It’s okay, J.B., I’m out of the pod. You can call off the emergency.” Then she smelled the smoke. “Oh shit.” It was still blacker than black in her quarters. “I need light. Give me light.”

  “Negative. Unable to comply. Primary electrical system has failed. Back-up system is only operating at twenty percent.”

  “Then can you at least remind me where the Command Station is?”

  “Two-point-three metres from the head of your sleep pod and one-point-four metres up from the floor.”

  Lilly quickly found the Command Station, placed her palm on the reader, and leaned in to the unit’s microphone. “Rayn. Lillian. Lieutenant-Colonel. Command sequence Gamma-Gamma-Delta-Niner-Eleven-Twenty-Oh-One.” The palm scanner rolled the blue-lit sensor up and back, then right to left. An illuminated keyboard folded down and revealed a fifteen-centimeter-square screen.

  The smoke was growing more acrid and she could now see a faint haze by the screen’s light. She typed a command, read the reply on the screen, typed another command, read the reply to that, then typed a final command with her access code and hit enter for the third time. The ceiling lights above her head flickered briefly, then came on with a subtle pop. The smoke at the ceiling was a lot thicker than she’d first suspected.

  “J.B., I’ve started the recovery sequence but the air quality is getting worse. What do you need me to do?”

  “Commander Rayn, I require you to reset my system manually. If I fail to come back online automatically you will need to do it yourself. The instructions are now on the command station screen. The process should take less than one minute on automatic. In two minutes you must follow the instructions.”

  Lilly read the instructions in question and then read them again. Once the A.I. went down she’d be relying on her memory. She typed the first command and immediately the screen went dark. Then the air stopped hissing through the ventilation system and, finally, the lights went out, again. It was only when all of the background noises had been eliminated that Lilly heard the nearly random sound of rock on metal.

  “What the hell? J.B., are you hearing this?” There was no answer of course. The sound repeated twice more, in rapid succession so Lilly felt her away around her quarters, listening, with one hand on the wall to keep oriented. There was a single repeat, louder than the previous two, but the lights and air circulators came back on and then she couldn’t hear anything other than the ship’s systems reasserting themselves. The Command Station flickered to life again so she stepped over to watch the screen. J.B.’s voice repeated what she read.

  “Reboot was successful. Sys-check complete. ISA Mayhew has sustained severe damage from multiple micro-meteor impacts over the last three Earth days. System failures include deep-sleep chambers on Levels Six to Eighteen, primary air filtration, wormhole navigation, and the external communications array.”

  Lilly was stunned. “Levels Six to Eighteen? That’s everyone! How serious is the failure? What’s required to get it back online for God’s sake?!”

  The screen returned to standby mode and the A.I. continued its verbal report. “Twenty-nine hull breaches have resulted in irreparable damage to oxygen feed and containment. Twelve separate fires have resulted in full atmospheric evacuation on Levels Four to Nineteen. Casualties include all personnel in deep-sleep, including your command crew on Level Four.”

  “Oh shit. Oh God.” She had to be stuck in a nightmare, although this was worse than any nightmare she’d ever had. “What about their backup air? They all had a reserve!”

  “When containment failed, all deep-sleep pods opened simultaneously. Atmospheric evacuation removed all tainted air and total of reserves was insufficient to sustain personnel.”

  Everyone gone? Seventy-five children— gone? Her niece, Ashley, the brightest mind of her generation in Astrometrics— gone? All eleven members of her command crew: Campbell, Venables, Rahn, Greenwood-Cruise, Zefram, Salter, Ross, Barkin, Baker, Montgomery and Guertin— all gone? Lilly slumped to the floor; just slid down the wall she was leaning against. The disembodied and impersonal voice of the A.I. was getting on her nerves, especially while it was reporting the loss of every one of her crew and passengers. She needed to feel she wasn’t alone, even though it appeared she probably was. “J.B., reinstate personality overlay but switch to Pete. Better to keep company with the sound of someone I once loved than someone I’ve never even met,” she mumbled to herself.

  “Sure thing, Lill.” Pete was back, and the simulated emotion in his voice was strong. “I’m running full diagnostics, again, and rerouting what air we have left to the passages between your quarters and the deep-sleep levels. You will need a sealed EVA Suit to inspect the pods as neither the pressure nor the O2 levels are sufficient for unprotected access. I’ll charge up the one at Airlock Four-Delta. Maybe the human touch is what’s needed here. Maybe there’s something you can do that I couldn’t.”

  “Good thinking.” She pulled herself to her feet and forced herself to keep moving. Her unused muscles were exhausted.

  “Pete, since we seem to still have artificial grav
, can you reduce it to fifty-percent, please.”

  “Of course, Lill. Done.” And it was. Lilly’s next step bounced her up to the ceiling but she was ready and pushed herself back down fast enough to grab hold of the handrail that ran parallel to the floor. She adjusted her thinking quickly and her low-grav training came back to her. Soon she was bouncing and pulling her way to Airlock Four-Delta.

  The Mayhew had no windows, but most of the external cameras had survived the journey from Earth and the ongoing meteor event so Pete-the-A.I. was able to create the illusion that one entire wall of the bridge was a window, showing the verdant green and blue of the world they orbited. Lilly sat at the communications station, unable to bring herself to sit in the command chair when her mission was such a catastrophic failure. She checked the calculations on the larger of the two screens at the station and continued with her verbal report, tears drying on her cheeks as she harnessed her emotions as best she could.

  “Manual inspection of all two-hundred and forty-four deep-sleep units confirmed initial remote assessment. I am the only survivor and only because the deep-sleep pod in the commander quarters is isolated from the damaged levels. Only luck spared me, though maybe they were the lucky ones, not knowing what happened.” She took a deep breath and the recording paused automatically, starting again only when she spoke.

  “The Mayhew will be able to maintain a constant orbit for another thirty days before the loss of the stabilizing rockets results in a degraded spiral ending in impact somewhere near Vesta’s smaller continent. I have chosen that same continent for the location of my ground base and will begin ferrying equipment planetside as soon as the minor repairs to the shuttle heat shields are complete. Estimated time for complete relocation is eight days. I will continue the report later but right now I’m exhausted and need a real bed without a lid. No more lids, ever.”

  Growing up in San Francisco, Lilly didn’t see many tumbleweeds as a rule, and she sure as hell didn’t see any three-metres-tall like the one rolling languorously through her camp. The twisted, dried, giant, skeletal ball slowed and seemed to observe her observing it, then it rolled on and away. She was a long way from San Francisco. Hell, she was as far as any human had ever been or was likely to be until the next ark arrived in five years. She adjusted her breathing filter to a more comfortable spot on her face. “Will I make it that long? Five years?”