Andi stepped back and admired her last two hours of work. Her half of the lab was spotless: clean tables, organized racks of various chemicals, her instruments jigsawed together in the most spatially efficient arrangement possible.
She tapped a button on the collar of her suit, and a hardlight screen appeared in front of her. They roughly had twenty minutes until their scheduled launch. Twenty minutes until they entered hyperspace and headed for the farthest untamed planet that Central had ever attempted to colonize.
Almost without a thought, she hit another button.
No new messages.
She dismissed it immediately. Of course there were no new messages. She did not expect any. She just checked out of habit, because they would be entering hyperspace soon, and messaging wasn’t possible in hyperspace. Her father was likely busy with work of course, but she thought he might have sent a goodbye message, at least.
Focus on your work, he would say. Stop wasting time.
Right.
She surveyed the rest of the lab. At one end, various potted plants were tended routinely. Drones scanned the different flora, spritzing them with mineralized water and adjusting their individual UV lamps. Most of the ship’s maintenance was automated, hence the crew of only five. But Andi’s job involved double-checking everything, and she did not take that lightly.
On the other side of a wall of glass stood rows of cryo-tubes, open and ready for their first passengers. Andi would not clean them again—the sweeper bot had gone over them twice—but the urge was hard to resist. Everything had to be perfect.
Which meant she had to check on her counterpart’s half of the lab.
Despite the fact that the CCV Pinta was a large ship, it had only one lab to service both engineering and biochem endeavors. The upside was that it allowed for some clever collaborations for life-enhancing tech on an untamed planet. The downside was that Andi was stuck working with Percy Hunter.
“Percy,” she called. “They’ll be here soon, are you—Percy.”
“What?”
On the other side of her shelf—the best attempt at defining their separate workspaces that she could manage—was a catastrophic mess. Well, it was really a normal mess, but given the enormity of today, it was positively tragic.
The lab table was covered with bits of metal and wires and well-worn tools and minimal protective equipment, all strewn out haphazardly in Percy’s typical, regulation-breaking fashion.
He sat hunched over it all like a gremlin with his horde, a dual-ended miniature torch spouting small blue flames. Brown, messy hair, streaked a bit with grease already, glasses askew on his forehead to make room for protective goggles (his reasons for never pursuing corrective eye surgery were beyond her).
Part of her was still baffled that he was even here. During their time at the Central Academy of Space Exploration, they had been neck-and-neck in everything. Same grades, same accolades, same attention—just in different shades of science. He liked machines. She liked creatures. He wanted to sail the stars as efficiently as possible. She wanted to be the first human to discover non-human life. One fateful class project paired them up in their first year, and they had been stuck together ever since.
What brilliant minds.
Their skills complement each other so well.
Imagine their potential.
Their potential. Never her potential.
Percy looked up from his handiwork with a grin. “Can I help you?”
“Your bench is a mess! They’ll be here any minute.”
“I don’t see how those two realities correlate.”
“What are you even doing?”
“So glad you asked,” he said, motioning to the gun-looking device. “Just a little prototype.”
She was tempted to mention the regulation-breaking nature of making experimental prototypes on a colonization vessel, but her curiosity won out. She walked over to the table and picked up Percy’s newest contraption.
She noted the cartridge and readings on the side display. He had reduced hyperdrive tech into a small, combustible cartridge, presumably to be fired at a target. Actually ingenious. Possibly ground-breaking.
She said, “You made a time gun?”
“That is the most reductive description possible,” he grumbled. “But yes.”
“Okay, first of all, why would you even make a gun for a colonization expedition?”
“Because unlike you, I am cultured man who watches westerns.” He turned off his torched and chose a set of plasma cutters. “You know what it was like on the plains of Old America? People fighting for the last scrap of squirrel meat and getting attacked by cows.”
“Buffalo,” she corrected. “And don’t get your hopes up.” She had seen the spectra scans of their destination: a smaller Earth-like planet with 87 percent-grade survivability, which was enough to warrant a try at colonization. It could definitely house life. And it definitely had none. She tried not to let that disappoint her. It wasn’t a guarantee they wouldn’t find anything; it had just never happened before.
She turned over the gun in her hand before setting it back down. “You realize you could’ve just made a regular blaster. Would’ve saved on materials.”
“Going for non-lethal, obviously,” he said. “It just freezes them temporarily in a sub-temporal vacuum.”
“Sure, if the theta radiation doesn’t kill them first.”
“Zeta radiation, thank you, which is just about harmless.”
“Unless you mix it with harton particles.”
“What’s that?”
“The dust you get from grating these two alloys together!”
“Oh.” He paused. “Well, take some iodine pills.”
“Iodine for Theta radiation?”
“I don’t know, what do you use for Theta radiation?”
“Proper protective gear and a prayer.” She set the gun back on the workbench. “There are a million other ways to stun a victim through biological means.”
“And now there’s one that involves freezing time. Come on, you know it’s amazing.”
She did, and it irked her. “Did you double-check the automated plower as requested?”
“Yep. Can confirm it’s a plower.”
“Percy.”
“Will you relax? We’ve done practicals of this a hundred times over. We know how this’ll go. We’ll sit around, fix a gravity matrix or two, double-check everything until we puke, and then land on a new planet that’s marginally hospitable to humanity. No big deal.”
No big deal. Maybe not for Mr. Genius Inventor over here, but for her, this was everything. Her best chance to be the first to find alien life.
“Actually,” he said, standing up as he looked at his wrist that did not feature a watch. “I should probably go prep the hyperdrive for takeoff, huh?”
“Sure, great,” she said, turning back to her section before he could catch her eye. Hyperdrive, right. She had not forgotten. She had just been…mentally ignoring it.
He paused next to her, a full head taller, and murmured, “There’s still time, you know.”
“Time to what?” she snapped. “Time to give up? Throw in the towel at the last minute?”
“There are plenty of other bio specialists who would drop everything to fill your spot—”
“Or—” Andi cut in, her temper flaring. “Did you mean there’s time to tell the captain about you breaking regulation?” She shook the time gun in her hand a bit.
“Hey,” he said. “You owe me for the frogs from second year.”
“Oh please, that was years ago.”
“Two, actually—”
“And you have well cashed it in since then.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes really,” she insisted. “I introduced you to the head of Central’s Tech Division.”
“Uh, your father did that, actually.”
“Oh come on—”
“And I’m not that easily distracted.” He leaned in closer. “There’s no shame in finding a cushy desk job working for your dad.”
“Stop it,” she snapped. “I want to be here.”
“I know, but—”
“I mean it, Percy. Don’t say anything.”
He paused. For a moment, the furrow in his brow deepened, making him look genuinely concerned. She realized quite suddenly that they were standing less than a foot apart. He was freshly shaven, no sign of forgotten stubble, which suggested that he was more nervous for this day than he let on.
He was meeting her gaze still, and the seconds were ticking by, and neither of them were stepping back. Her heart felt like it was floating in zero-G.
But then the mirth returned to his features, as quick as it had left. He shrugged and headed for the door. “If you say so. I’m off to cause headaches elsewhere.”
She looked away, frustrated for feeling baited like that. She didn’t feel that way about him anyway. Her father had forbidden romance of any kind for good reason, and she had continued to carry the torch even upon reaching adulthood. Romance was an unnecessary hurdle, an unnecessary pain. A distraction.
A waste of time.
Just outside the door, Percy stopped and saluted at someone down the hall. “Captain.”
Andi froze. They’re here!
She scrambled to shove Percy’s time gun in a drawer just as the rumble of voices and footsteps echoed from the hall. She pressed her hands on her suit in a vain attempt to flatten out wrinkles. Her hair—should she have tied her hair back? Yes, she should have.
Captain Belinda Haley stepped into the room, followed by a crowd of people in standard white and gray jumpsuits. Andi hadn’t met them officially, but she had studied their medical records for the past week and nearly had them memorized: thirty-two cryo-passengers. Most of them were young couples of one specialty or another: construction, robotics, medicine, nutrition, agriculture. Their one unifying trait was a desire to start a family on a new planet.
Andi stood up straight and wrestled a smile on her face. Or should she be serious? Too late, they were all looking at her.
The Captain said, “Everyone, meet Specialist Andromeda Cielo. She’ll be overseeing your stay.”
Andi raised her hand to wave and then quickly lowered it. “Hello, everyone.”
“How old are you?” a man asked towards the back.
Andi found this an annoying question. Her profile had been made available to him, just as theirs had been for her. Was he just trying to embarrass her? “I’m eighteen.”
“Oh wow,” said another.
“Fresh out of the academy.”
“Yes.” Andi briefly considered using the term sir and decided against it. These specialists were definitely more experienced, but they didn’t technically outrank her.
“So you haven’t done this before?” a woman asked, sounding worried.
“Neither have you,” Andi blurted. “You’ve been working in Central Analytics for the last four years.”
A few people chuckled as the woman blinked.
“Let’s go over the plan, one more time,” Haley said. “We’ll be coasting through the Whirlpool Galaxy for most of this, which is dense, which means we’ll be in hyperspace for a while before our first stop.”
Andi swallowed. This trip was long enough to include several dips from hyperspace, but this first stretch would be eleven hours—her longest jump ever. For the whole trip in total, subtracting their scheduled dips for maintenance and navigation, they would be in hyperspace for roughly 183 hours.
She almost couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
“Is that safe?” another woman asked.
“Last I checked,” Haley said slowly, “uncharted seas have always been dangerous.”
It felt like a stock warning to Andi. Surely Central wouldn’t have devised this colonization mission in the first place if they had thought it would be dangerous.
Haley waved to Andi. “Specialist, take it from here.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Andi gestured toward the rows of cryopods. “I’ve labeled each tube for a specific person, organized alphabetically by last name. Once you are strapped in properly, I will give you a vial of cryo-sedative that will help you fall asleep quickly.”
This was a perfectly efficient explanation, as Andi had revised it several times in her head, but still people had redundant questions. She fielded them all for another five minutes before she could herd them all to the cryopods.
The next half-hour—far too long, in her estimation—she went to each pod individually, sometimes helping with the straps, sometimes re-explaining what the cryo-sedative was, insisting on the alphabetical order of their pods because she would not be able to handle anything else for the next two weeks. Had no one else on this ship read the briefing?
One small figure stood just by her pod, her head bowed. Bringing children on these colonization trips wasn’t unheard of, but it made the whole operation feel a bit more brittle to Andi. She didn’t have much experience with kids.
“Hello Cassie,” Andi said. “Do you need help strapping in?”
The girl shook her head.
“Have you been in a cryopod before?”
She shook her head again.
“Are you scared?” Andi asked.
The girl nodded.
Andi waited, the seconds ticking by. She glanced around for help, but the child’s parents were already settled in their pods. There were ways to forcibly drug the child and strap her in, but that seemed premature.
“Well, fear is usually for things we don’t understand,” Andi reasoned. “Do you have any questions?”
The girl looked between Andi and the pod. “Is it cold?” the girl asked.
“Technically yes,” Andi said, “but the temperature is so quick that your brain doesn’t register it as cold.”
“Does the sedative taste good?”
“Uh, it’s all right,” Andi said. “Sort of like tooth sanitizer. Very minty.”
“Do people die in these?”
“No,” Andi said. “Never. Why didn’t your parents tell you this?”
“They don’t like questions,” she said. The girl looked up at her. “Will you be here when I wake up?”
Andi blinked in surprise. “Yes.”
The girl nodded once. “Okay. I’ll go in.”
It was a surprising, quiet moment of bravery. Andi offered a hand to help the girl in, as the bottom lip of the door was a bit high for her. Andi helped her strapped in, made all the system checks, and handed her a much smaller dose than the others.
The girl drank it quickly and shivered, but already the sedative was making her eyes droop. Andi quickly typed in the final commands, and the pod door slid shut.
“Nice work,” Haley said from the doorway. “Surya is going to unclamp us from the docks soon. Meet at the hyperdrive in ten.”
“Yes ma’am,” Andi said, fighting the urge to wince. It was often customary for the crew to gather at the hyperdrive for the start of a long jump, but Andi had hoped (desperately) that Haley wasn’t a tradition kind of person.
Haley left, likely to provide final clearance for their pilot. Andi was tempted to miss the hyperdrive start-up and claim to be busy, but it was possible that Haley wouldn’t clear them for launch until Andi was there, and that would just bring more attention to her that she really didn’t want.
Ten minutes bled by quickly.
Andi heaved a sigh and headed out.
Unlike the lab, most of the ship was a maze of narrow hallways and automated sliding doors. Most of the ship was storage for the necessary equipment: collapsible and pressurized habitation pods, various agricultural machinery, enough non-perishable food stores to serve them until they had crops to sustain them all, lab equipment for the many specialists on board.
Towards the stern of the ship was one of the larger spaces, second only to the lab: the hyperdrive. A huge, towering apparatus took up most of the space, a complex array of metal and servos and wires and blinking lights. Even when not in use, the machinery always made a rumbling noise of some kind; at the moment, she heard the buzz of a claw moving pieces around and the hiss of coolant running through the pipes.
Two men shouted a conversation from opposite sides of the room.
“I’ve seen the tests,” Percy was saying, “and there’s no evidence that hyperspace does anything to the brain.”
“Kid, I’ve been doing this for years,” Donati Badar said, first officer. Older but built, with dark skin and salt-and-pepper facial hair. “I can name a dozen guys off the top of my head who’ve been messed up by too much hyperspace.”
“Hey, there’s our med expert,” Percy said, noticing Andi. “Cielo, what are the effects of extended longterm hyperspace jumps on the brain?”
“There are no quantifiable effects to cognitive function following extended hyperspace travel,” she replied immediately, reciting the conclusion of a study verbatim.
Percy waved a hand in her direction. “There ya go. Spoken like a living research text.”
“All right, everyone,” Haley said, handing out small, corked vials to each person. “Pleasure to officially meet you all in person. We’ve got quite a trip ahead of us. I’ve read all your files, so I assume you take your jobs seriously.”
Andi nodded firmly, a knot of stress growing in her chest. This was going to be terrible. Percy glanced at her, his warning from before plain on his face: there was still time to pull out.
She stood a little straighter and glared at him. She had worked just has hard as he had to get here—harder, really. She would not be turning around now.
He looked away first, sighing. “All right, then. Captain, at your command.”
Haley raised her glass, and the others mirrored in a toast. “To the Pinta.”
“To a week of quiet bliss,” Percy added.
“To the longest hyperspace trip ever attempted,” Badar said.
Andi scrambled for something to add. “To exploration.”
“May we enjoy the next nine days of boredom before being worked to death,” Haley concluded. “Cheers, everyone.”
Everyone downed their drinks quickly—Andi briefly wished alcohol was allowed on Central colonization vessels—and passed their vials back to the captain.
“Specialist Hunter,” Haley said to Percy. “At your leisure.”
Percy grinned. “To the stars.”
He pulled the lever.
The complex matrices of metal and wires began to glow, a steady whine rising in pitch as power flooded the system. A bright ball of blue and yellow energy gathered in the center, growing larger and, despite the thermal anti-radiation glass surrounding it, quickly warming the room.
Andi braced, but no amount of preparation made this part easier.
The high-pitched whine grew and expanded until it seemed to be drilling through Andi’s brain, making her eyes water. She glanced around, but no one else cringed at the sound. Because no one else could hear it.
Haley’s words were barely audible to Andi, “All right crew, to your stations.”
Andi bolted from the room first before her expression could betray her as an automated voice came over the PA system. “Pathing through galaxy NGC 5194 has begun. Ship is now coasting in hyperspace. Next dip from hyperspace will be in eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes. Safe travels, crew.”
Jennifer San Filippo 