by Rob Boffard
He glances at Roman. “Right?”
Hannah exhales. It might actually work. Holy shit.
“If we do this,” Anita says, “then how?”
“I was thinking,” Malik says. Corey gives him a surprised look. “What if we got Roman to contact the other ship when it arrives? On our radio or whatever? The range should be short enough. He can say he survived the attack, hid in here, and then they’ll let him come back. He can talk to them and make sure they let us on board.”
“Comms are down,” says Lorinda with a grimace. “Happened while I was outside.”
Everyone falls silent. If they can’t get the comms back up and running, if there’s no way for them to let the Victory know that Roman is on board …
“I can try reset the systems,” Hannah says – not that she has the faintest idea how to do that yet. “Maybe that’ll reboot the comms, too.”
Jack sniffs hard. “I don’t like it. So we reset the comms, get the ships talking. What’s to stop him—” he points at Roman “—just telling them about what happened? Letting them nuke us?”
Malik’s face falls, and Hannah can see why. If Roman does that, they’re toast. On the other hand: she doesn’t think Roman will. Not any more.
“We go with him to the other ship,” she says, skipping ahead. “Someone keeps an eye on him. They can pretend they’re just another Frontier soldier until they get there.”
“Plus, he promised,” says Corey.
“I need at least one other person anyway,” Roman says softly. “If you think the Victory crew are going to help you get out of here, you’re insane. The only way this works – the only way – is if we take the bridge. We lock the crew out, and jump ourselves.
“But understand this: it isn’t as simple as just hitting a button. We don’t actually jump the ship through a wormhole. It’s more like …”
He stops, as if trying to find the right words. “We make a bubble around the ship. It distorts spacetime, and moves it instead of us.”
“Whoa.” Corey’s eyes are huge.
“It’s difficult, and it requires a lot of input. You need to control the matter shielding levels, as well as your drift inside the bubble.”
“Why can’t the AI do it?” Hannah says. “The other ship would have a better one than ours, right? Surely it could handle the … the bubble?”
“It won’t help us. AI’s keyed to the commander, then his 2IC, then down the chain. It wouldn’t even recognise me. In any case, I’m going to need someone to assist. Someone with EVA experience, preferably. The Victory crew see someone not in control of their trajectory on the journey over, they’ll know it’s not one of ours.”
One by one, all eyes turn to Lorinda. She’s already nodding.
“No.” Corey gapes at her.
“I’ll do it,” she says.
“But you can’t,” says Anita. “That last time, it almost …”
“I know.” A shadow crosses her face. Hannah can’t believe how exhausted she looks.
“Then let one of us go,” says Everett, pleading with her.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re saying she has the experience?” Roman says, giving Lorinda a disbelieving look. “She knows how to use a suit?”
“She’s the one who brought you in here, man,” says Malik. “Don’t you remember?”
Roman glances at him. “No.”
He turns to Lorinda, shifting his bound hands underneath him, looking at her with a new respect. “In any case, if she’s the only one who can EVA, you’ve got problems. There’s no way she’d pass for a soldier. You need someone younger.”
Lorinda gives him a look. “Oh, do you now?”
“No disrespect,” he says, sounding surprisingly sincere. “You can obviously handle yourself in the black. But if we’re going to get onto the bridge, we need someone round my age.”
Anita’s hand finds Corey’s, gripping it tight. Hannah can’t stop herself sizing her up, along with Everett. Could they do it? They’re around Roman’s age, after all. The thought of sending them out there, splitting them from their children, is horrific, but if they don’t figure this out –
“How about you?” Lorinda says to Jack.
“Me?”
“Sure. Brendan and Seema are obviously not in play, and there’s no way we’re breaking up the family right now.” She glances at Hannah, as if she sensed her thoughts, then turns to Roman. “Can he do it? Pass as one of you folks?”
Slowly, Roman nods. “It’s possible. We all knew each other on the Resolute, but if they’re having to send a rescue out to us, chances are it’s one they had to put together quickly. The crew might not know the original one by sight.”
“What if they do?”
“Then we’re dead. It’s that simple. There’ll be a few other soldiers on board, along with non-combat personnel. If there’s a welcome party and they recognise us – which they might, especially if the commander is there – then it’s mission over.” His eyes move to Jack. “You up?”
Jack looks like what he wants to say involves several words Anita Livingstone would disapprove of, but he pushes it back. “I’ve never done one before,” he says. “An EVA.”
“I’ll show you the suit,” Lorinda tells him. “And I’ll be there on the comms the whole time, talking you through it.”
“Can you even—”
“EVA’s are tough when you start them, and it’s going to take one hell of a team effort. But between the two of us, we’ll get you there.”
“Wait a minute,” Everett says. “What about the rest of us? How do we get on board?”
Lorinda points at Hannah. “There’s our pilot.”
Hannah goggles at her. “Excuse me?”
“When I was hanging around the other ship—”
“Hanging around?” Jack mutters.
“—I saw that it had a cargo bay door on its hull. One that might be big enough to take the Panda, if we’ve got someone to fly it in.”
“Wha—” Hannah’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “No. Oh no.”
“You’ve spent more time in that cockpit than anybody. You give us the best chance. They open it up, you fly right in. Easy-peasy. Unless, of course, you still feel like having us kill ourselves.”
“Huh?” Corey blinks up at them.
“Never mind,” Anita says, wrapping an arm around him. “Figure of speech.”
“No, it wasn’t! Was she really going to make us commit suicide?”
“Bakwas, man,” Malik mutters.
Hannah does her best to ignore them. “Can’t you?” she says to Lorinda.
“Why does everybody think that because I’ve lived in space I know how to do everything? I’ve never actually flown a ship – we had rig-hounds for that, back on Kuiper.”
Lorinda lets the blanket drop, the foil crinkling at her feet. “If it were up to me, I’d be going in Jack’s place, and we’d still have the captain around. But since that isn’t going to work, you’ll have to manage. Besides, I don’t know about the rest of you, but this was a crappy tour. I’m ready to go home.”
Jack swallows, eyes never leaving Lorinda’s. Then he gives her a tight nod.
For the longest time, nobody says anything. Nobody even seems to want to look at anyone else.
Hannah’s hands are shaking. Roman could so, so easily go back on his word, at absolutely any time. He could kill them the second he’s free. He could murder Jack. Leave them all to die. He could give them away before they even leave the ship. And herself in the pilot’s seat … Jesus.
Suddenly, she very badly wants to hug her mom. She wants her mom here, and her dad, and Callie. Most of all Callie, because Callie would know how to handle this. She’d understand exactly what to do, and in what order to do it. She’d handle it with the same laser-focus that she did everything else.
Hannah closes her eyes, then opens them again.
What a pile of shit.
Callie would have run, just like Hannah did wh
en the station was attacked. Her mom and dad would have freaked out, both of them – and they both would have turned to whoever was in her position for help.
They could talk as much as they want about personal responsibility and being a leader, but when you really got down to it that just meant following a single, predetermined path. There was no room for anything outside that – nothing but disapproval.
And isn’t that why she left for Sigma? When she really gets down to it? They expected certain things from her, and they never told her what those things were. Not really.
It wasn’t about that. I needed a job. She half laughs. A job. If she’d wanted, she could have stuck it out living at home, or gone to work for Callie. But she didn’t want that. She just wanted to get as far away as possible.
They can’t help her. They are a million light years away.
Volkova. She’d believed that Hannah was more than she thought she was. Because she had on the red shirt, because someone had hired her for a job, and that must mean she was able to do it.
And Lorinda: when Hannah had proposed pulling all the oxygen out of the ship, letting them all drift off, Lorinda had refused to accept it. It might not have been an easy choice, and it would have been a mercy, if things had got bad. But it was also her checking out early. Refusing to fight.
“We—” Hannah starts, then stops.
She was about to say, We vote. But then she meets Lorinda’s eyes, and she understands.
You be the commander, or all the soldiers die.
She looks around the main deck of the Red Panda, taking in the exhausted faces and slumped shoulders, the torn soychip packets and JamFizz cans, the crumpled-up jackets and sweaters. The grime that has crept across the floor and viewing dome. The crusted blob of puke that still hasn’t been cleaned up.
And up, through the dome. The Neb outside, daring them to escape. The endless black void, stretching out to infinity.
Lorinda smiles, as if she knew all along what would happen.
Hannah puts one foot on the seat next to Roman, leaning behind him to undo the tape.
“Let’s go home.”
Chapter 56
The destroyed ship hangs in the middle of the cockpit viewport as Hannah eases herself back into the pilot’s seat.
She still doesn’t know if she did the right thing – even now, the thought of letting Roman go makes her shiver. If he turns on them, she’ll be responsible.
You can’t think like that. With a shaky breath, she puts her hands on the controls.
The others are downstairs, getting Jack and Roman ready. At some point, Hannah’s going to have to do what Volkova did, back at Sigma: line the Panda up with a very tight entry point. She might not have to do it with the entire universe exploding around her, but she also doesn’t have Volkova’s piloting skills.
She needs to figure out how to turn on the comms, then turn off autopilot, then actually fly this thing without getting them all killed. Her throat feels like it’s swelling closed, like she can’t get enough oxygen into her lungs.
She makes herself take a deep breath, a second, then opens her eyes. Comms first. That’s the most important thing – if they can’t hail the Victory, this is going to be almost impossible.
As the thought occurs, Hannah sees a blinking message on one of the screens. FULL SYSTEM RESET COMPLETE. CONFIRM PROGRAM RESTART?
Finally a break. The Panda’s voice is annoying as hell, but maybe it can turn on the comms for her. She taps the message, then the YES on the option box that appears.
She’s expecting the voice, but it still makes her jump. “System restarted. Welcome aboard the Red Panda, registration XT560 dash T1.”
It’s the original voice of the Panda: the cheerful American male. Hannah opens her mouth to tell it that she’s not Volkova, but it beats her to it. “Captain Volkova not detected in cockpit. Captain Volkova not detected in vessel. Contacting Sigma Station Control.”
“Don’t bother,” Hannah mutters. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The Panda might not even let her deactivate the autopilot – it might only respond if it’s Volkova in the pilot’s seat. She’ll have to do this manually.
She turns, intending to shut the voice off again, when it says, “Sigma Station Control is unresponsive. I require more information to perform at expected levels. Passenger: please state the whereabouts of Captain Jana Volkova.”
Hannah stares out of the window at the remains of the Resolute, shrouded in glittering debris. “She’s dead.”
For a few moments, the ship doesn’t respond. Then it says, “Please confirm cause and time of death.”
Her mouth feels too dry, her tongue way too large. Eventually, she clears her throat. “She was killed. I don’t know how long ago. A few hours, I guess.”
“Acknowledged. Thank you, passenger.”
Is it her imagination, or does the AI’s voice carry a tiny note of regret? Before she can process this, it speaks again. “An incident report has been prepared for submission to Sigma Station Control and Sigma Destination Tours. Would you like to hear the contents of this report?”
After a long few seconds, Hannah says, “Yes.”
“Captain Jana Magdalena Volkova, deceased at unknown period on April 10th, 2172. Service length with Sigma Destination Tours: twelve years, three months, twenty-two days and unknown period. Total completed tours aboard this vessel: twenty thousand, six hundred and fifteen. Satisfactory performance reviews: eleven. Unsatisfactory performance reviews: none.
“A complete record of Captain Volkova’s verbal commands, voice profile, ship actions and journey logs have been appended to this report. Would you like to hear them now?”
Hannah is about to say yes again, but that would mean listening to twelve years of logs. “No,” she says eventually. It’s barely a whisper.
“Report will be transmitted at next available contact with Sigma Station Control. Sigma Station beacons not detected. Recovery ship beacons not detected. Emergency destination coordinates not detected.”
“Wait,” Hannah says. She closes her eyes for a second, wondering how to phrase it. “Are the … the external comms. Can we transmit?”
“Correct. Communication systems are nominal.”
Hannah slumps back against the seat, closing her eyes again. OK. Comms are good. Now they just have to hope they stay that way. And that all the million other insane things they’re about to do go off without a hitch.
“In the event of the loss of ship commanding officer without direction from station command,” the computer says, “control is to be passed to a capable passenger or staff member. Please confirm you are a capable passenger or staff member.”
“Confirm,” Hannah says. She’s still barely able to speak.
“Autopilot engaged. No proximity detected. Manual control may be required to guide this vessel to safety. Would you like to run the emergency ship control tutorial?”
Hannah blinks. “There’s a tutorial?”
“Correct. All vessels operated by Sigma Destination Tours contain multiple layers of safety protocols. In the event of a loss of command combined with no signal from a recovery beacon, a capable passenger or staff member may need to take control of the ship. The tutorial covers basic steering, thruster operation and radio operation. Would you like to run the emergency ship control tutorial?”
Hannah sits back in her chair, stunned relief washing over her.
The Red Panda might not have additional food supplies in its escape pod. It might be only barely capable of working in space. But at some point in the distant past, some company programmer decided to create an emergency tutorial program, and, right now, it looks like it might just save their lives.
She’s about to tell the Panda to run the tutorial when she gets the craziest idea.
“Computer … did you say you kept a voice profile of Captain Volkova?”
“Correct. Over Captain Volkova’s service period of twelve years, three months, twenty-two days and unknown period,
all verbal commands and voice patterns were recorded and stored, as per Sigma Destination Tours staff data analysis regulations.”
“Can you …” She stops, unsure how to phrase it. “Can you speak as her? With her voice?”
“I am capable of transmitting commands in over four hundred different Frontier-recognised languages and over fifty accents.”
“But can you switch your voice pattern to the captain’s?” It sounds stupid even as she says it. What are you doing?
She’s expecting the computer to say no. And why wouldn’t it? The whole idea is crazy – Volkova is dead, and she’s on her own. But to her surprise, the ship immediately says, “That is correct. Would you like me to switch to Captain Volkova’s stored voice patterns for the emergency ship tutorial?”
In astonishment, Hannah says, “Yes. Confirm.”
There’s a split-second pause. Then the thick, Russian-accented voice of Jana Volkova comes from the speakers. “Welcome to the emergency ship tutorial for the Red Panda, a Sigma Destination Tours vessel. Please state your name.”
Hannah tries to speak, and finds that she’s crying. Tears roll down her face, dripping onto her forearms. She hugs herself tight.
“Please state your name,” Volkova repeats.
She means to say Hannah Elliott, but what comes out, when she finally finds her voice, is: “Guide. My name is Guide.”
“Welcome, Guide. This tutorial will demonstrate how to safely operate this vessel. Please place your hands on the control stick, as shown in the on-screen diagram immediately ahead of you.”
Hannah does so. Her hands only shake a little.
“Please confirm you are ready to begin the control tutorial.”
“I’m ready.” Through her tears, Hannah smiles. “Tell me a story.”
Chapter 57
Lorinda takes extra care to make sure she looks calm, even if she doesn’t feel anywhere close to it. She has an idea that if she doesn’t, Jack is going to pass out.